Bogota, Colombia

April 15, 1996

It was Tax Day in the United States of America and Jake Kingsley had left the country in the company of Jill Yamashito, his accountant, but not for reasons of evasion or exile. His taxes were already filed and paid in full, his return accepted by both the state of California and the US Internal Revenue Service, and, as far as the two of them knew, they were still in a state of grace with their monetary obligations. Instead, they were in South America for another reason; a reason that Jake was extremely enthusiastic about but that Jill, who was much more practical and niggardly with Jake�s money than Jake could ever hope to be, was quite dreading. It was time to take a look at the Avanti-180 aircraft that a gentleman named Eduardo Gomez wanted to sell.

Traveling with them was a man by the name of Travis Young. He was forty-three years old and was a supervising aircraft mechanic at the Fly Safe Aircraft Maintenance and Repair facility located at the Rocky Mountain Metropolitan Airport in Broomfield, Colorado, just outside of Denver. Fly Safe was one of only two facilities in the United States authorized by Piaggio Aerospace, the Italian manufacturer that produced Avanti aircraft, to perform B, C, or D level maintenance checks or major repairs on their products. Greenville, South Carolina, home of the North American Piaggio facility, was the other. Travis had been recruited for this mission with the assistance of Austin Grover, the pilot who had first introduced Jake to the Avanti (and had even let him take the controls for a bit). Austin had given Jake Travis�s phone number. Jake called him up and offered him a little all-inclusive paid vacation to Colombia if he would come along and examine the maintenance records of the Avanti-180 Jake was considering purchasing (as well as the actual aircraft itself). He had even offered to include Travis�s wife in the deal if she wished to come.

Travis� wife did not wish to come, and Travis himself had been more than a little reluctant to travel to a city that was regularly reported as having one of the highest murder rates per capita in the world and was located in a country that was currently immersed in a decades-long civil war with radical communist guerrilla forces.

�We�re not going to be anywhere near any of that shit,� Jake assured him. �We�ll be in a five-star luxury hotel in the best district of the city. You�ll have your own suite, room service, all meals and drinks paid for by me. We�re not going to go trekking around in the mountains or anything like that. The only place you�ll have to go besides the hotel is this muni airport north of the city where the plane is kept.�

�I don�t know,� Travis replied, still clearly uncomfortable.

�I�ll give you five grand for the job,� Jake offered.

�Five grand? You mean ... five thousand dollars?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Cash money. You don�t even have to tell the IRS about it if you don�t want to. Call it a gratuity for a job well done.�

�That is a lot of money,� Travis had to admit, �but still...�

�Seventy-five hundred,� Jake said.

That did the trick. �All right,� Travis said. �I�m in.�

�Good man,� Jake told him. �Do you have your passport?�

�Uh ... no,� Travis said. �Will I need one?�

And so, after going through an expedited passport approval process paid for by Jake, Travis had been flown to Dallas-Fort Worth Airport (first-class) and put up in the airport hotel (one of the luxury suites) where Jake and Jill were already waiting for him. It was here that Jake had met the man in person for the first time. He was a friendly enough guy, though he did not seem to possess much of a sense of humor, and he seemed to be a bit of a worry-wart. He was short and stocky, balding, and had a distinct Midwest accent. He told Jake at dinner that night that he spent twelve years in the United States Navy and had served on two separate aircraft carriers (as well as several shore bases) as an aircraft mechanic, working primarily on F-18 Hornets. He, like Celia�s pilot Suzie, had been offered a healthy discharge bonus during the draw-down of forces following the 1991 Gulf War. These days, he was one of only thirty mechanics in the entirety of North America certified to work on Piaggio aircraft above the level of basic maintenance tasks.

The next morning, the three of them flew direct from DFW to El Dorado International in Bogota, Colombia aboard an American Airlines A-320�a five-and-a-half-hour flight. After clearing customs, where Travis got his very first stamp on his new passport and Jill and Jake got their very first South American stamps, they endured a terrifying thirty-minute taxi ride through the crowded, congested city streets of the capital city to the Hotel Charleston, a historic luxury lodging located on the east side of the city, nestled up against the towering Andes mountain peaks that rose another nine thousand feet into the sky.

The trio spent most of that day acclimating themselves to the high elevation of Bogota. The city sat an average of 8800 feet above sea level on a high plateau of the Andes and its air was very thin by Los Angeles, or even Denver standards. Jill made the adjustment by staying in her bed as much as possible and moving as little as she could. Travis tried this for a bit but then elected to go with Jake�s method: sitting in the bar and drinking while munching on local appetizers. It may not have been a method endorsed by the medical community for dealing with such a situation, but it did take their minds off their hypoxia.

And now, at ten o�clock in the morning of US Tax Day, it was time for them to head to Guaymaral Airport to take a look at the plane. Not wanting to put himself or his companions through the terror of another taxi ride, Jake had arranged with the concierge of the hotel to have a limousine pick them up for the forty-five-minute drive.

�How�s the breathing today?� Jake asked Jill as they settled into the back seat of the white stretch limousine in the valet area.

�It�s better,� she said with a shrug. �The headache is gone, and I only feel winded when I go up a staircase or a hill.�

�Then don�t do those things,� Jake suggested.

She gave him a sour look. �Why didn�t I think of that?�

Jake turned to the mechanic, who was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a blue button-up shirt. �How about you, Travis?� he asked. �Did you sleep okay?�

�Passed out like a light,� he said. �And I still have quite a headache, though I�m pretty sure it�s not the altitude that�s causing it, but all that guaro we had at the bar.�

�Guaro?� Jill asked.

�It�s a very popular local drink, apparently,� Jake said. �And very economical, you�ll be happy to hear. Only five thousand pesos apiece, plus tip, of course. That�s cheaper than buying an American beer or a shot of American whiskey.�

�They did go down pretty smooth,� Travis said.

�That they did,� Jake agreed. �I wonder if I can get some of that guaro shit in the states?�

�If you can, it will undoubtedly be at an extremely inflated cost,� Jill told him.

�I don�t care about that,� Jake said, telling her nothing she did not know. �Think of how cool it would be to have a party and serve some genuine South American hooch as part of the theme.�

�It would go well on taco night,� Travis suggested.

�Hell to the yeah!� Jake said, smiling. �I�ll get the Nerdlys and their internet surfing skills working on this thing as soon as I get home.�

Jill simply shook her head and opened a bottle of water to help sooth her dry throat. You just couldn�t tell Jake anything.

The limo pulled out of the hotel valet area and onto the congested boulevard. The driver, who had introduced himself as Jeronimo, spoke only limited English and Jake spoke even less Spanish, but they had managed to achieve communication on a high enough level to get across their destination and to agree on a price for the trip, the waiting time, and the return trip (ninety thousand pesos, the equivalent of about twenty-five dollars American, which even Jill had to agree was a very reasonable price). He closed the partition as soon as they started out and turned on a local talk radio station, playing it loud enough that the sound filtered through into the back. He drove aggressively, with many rapid starts, stops, changes of lanes, but nowhere near as wild as the taxi driver from the airport.

The weather was chilly and overcast, with a steady misty rain falling and obscuring their visibility to some degree. It reminded Jake of Seattle weather, both in temperature and precipitation. They passed by a plethora of high-rise hotels and office buildings and then, about twenty minutes into the trip, the urban landscape began to thin out to some degree, replaced by more hilly terrain covered in lush green vegetation. Again, the similarity to Seattle and the Pacific Northwest in general was quite apparent.

They arrived at the entrance to Guaymaral Airport. It was a moderate sized muni facility with a fair amount of traffic taxiing about or coming and going from the runways. Jake thought it would be quite challenging to take off from and/or land at the facility as there was high terrain on all sides and the elevation of the runways was just over 8300 feet above sea level. Still, the runways were nice and long, although one of them was grass instead of pavement. And, curiously, the longer of the two runways was the grass one. Interesting.

Jeronimo pulled up in front of the main airport services building�Ificio de Servicios Aeroportuarios, the sign read�and parked immediately behind a large SUV that was black in color, raised off the ground, and looked a little bit like a tank. He then jumped out and opened the rear door for his clients, allowing them to step out into the misty morning dampness.

�Gracias,� Jake told him. And then, in a mixture of pidgin English and poorly pronounced, grammatically incorrect basic Spanish, he told him they would be back in two hours or so hopefully. Jeronimo indicated his understanding and then climbed back into his vehicle to get out of the rain.

Jake led the accountant and the mechanic into the services building. Here, he found himself on the most familiar ground he had been on since leaving Texas. It looked just like any other airport office in a muni airport he had been in during his flying career. There was a desk where two employees worked. There were air charts on the wall. There were shelves that contained flight plan paperwork and tables where said paperwork could be filled out. There were vending machines lined up against one wall that sold sodas, chips, candy bars, and pre-packaged sandwiches. There was a coffee machine in the corner that smelled of burned coffee. The familiarity was comforting to Jake.

About half a dozen men of varying ages were scattered about at the charting tables. Most were working on flight plans and did not even look up when the trio entered. One, however, did not have any paperwork before him and he did look up. He was a handsome man, light skinned with light hair and a fit frame, wearing a pair of dress slacks and an expensive looking button up shirt. He appeared to be in his early thirties and his eyes showed clear recognition when he saw them. He immediately stood and approached them.

�Se�or Kingsley?� he enquired politely.

�Yes, I�m Jake Kingsley,� Jake told him.

�I am Sebastian Hernandez,� he said. �Se�or Gomez�s primary pilot. He asked me to meet you here and then take you to the hangar to examine the aircraft.�

Hernandez�s English was impeccable, with only the slightest hint of a Hispanic accent. This was not surprising, however, as he was a pilot and English was the international language of aviation. All commercial pilots and air traffic controllers worldwide were pretty much obligated to speak clear and concise English as a prerequisite of their respective professions.

�Nice to meet you, Sebastian,� Jake said, holding out his right hand. �Please, call me Jake.�

Hernandez shook with him, his grip firm and sure. �Very well,� he said. �Jake it is.�

Jake then introduced his small entourage. �This is Jill Yamashito, my accountant,� he said. �She�s the one who found Se�or Gomez�s plane for me.�

�Se�orita,� he said with a smile, taking her right hand in a much gentler fashion, holding it from the palm instead of side to side. �I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.�

Jill smiled and actually blushed a little. �Me as well,� she said. �And please, call me Jill.�

�As you wish, Jill,� he said, still holding her hand. �And I am Sebastian ... at your service.�

Jill�s blush increased a little and she only reluctantly pulled her hand from the pilot�s. Jake could not help but notice the little flash of electricity that had seemed to flow between the two of them. Interesting, he thought.

�And this,� Jake said once the moment seemed to have concluded, �is Travis Young. He�s an aircraft mechanic who works at the Colorado Avanti service facility.�

�Ah yes, Se�or Young,� Sebastian said. �Se�or Gomez arranged to have his primary mechanic available to speak with you in the hangar. He has brought all the service and repair records from the time the aircraft was delivered until the last maintenance cycle last month for your perusal. He will also assist you in your examination of the aircraft.�

�Uh ... cool,� Travis said, shaking with him. �I look forward to meeting him. Oh ... and you can call me Travis.�

�Very good,� Sebastian said. �Now then, shall we make the walk? It is not far. And Se�or Gomez is very much looking forward to meeting you, Jake.�

�Meeting me?� Jake asked, surprised. �You mean, he�s here?�

�He is,� Sebastian confirmed. �That is his SUV parked in front of your limousine. Ever since he heard that Jake Kingsley was considering buying his aircraft, he has been very excited to make your acquaintance.�

�Oh ... I see,� Jake said slowly, starting to feel a little nervous now. Though they did not know that Eduardo Gomez was a Colombian drug lord, the possibility was certainly high on the list of probabilities. What would such a man be like? A man who had possibly ordered the deaths of people? Who may very well own politicians, police officials, customs officials?

�Is that a problem, Jake?� Sebastian asked.

�No, not at all,� Jake told him. After all, there was really no alternative at this point, was there?

The hangar where Eduardo Gomez kept the Avanti, as well as his brand-new Cessna CitationJet 525, was the largest one at the facility. It was over two thousand square feet, temperature controlled, with room for both aircraft and a few cars as well. As soon as they walked in out of the drizzling rain into the building, Jake�s eyes went immediately to the Avanti, which was parked on the left side, facing outward. It was painted in a simple two-tone scheme, white on the top and the wings, candy-apple red on the bottom of the fuselage, below the windows. It had obviously been cleaned and polished for his particular viewing and it absolutely gleamed under the overhead lights.

He only had a moment to look at it, however, before his attention was pulled to the gathering of men standing around next to it. There were five of them in a cluster. Three were wearing business suits, one a pair of work overalls, and one a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting sweater. Two of the men in the suits were large men, intimidating in appearance, with expressionless faces and watchful eyes. They stood just behind the man in the jeans. The other suit was a smaller man, slight in appearance, clean shaven, including his head, and with a pair of wire glasses perched on his nose. The man in the overalls was thin and wiry and reasonably young; no more than forty by appearance. The man in the jeans was the oldest-appearing of the group. He was moderately overweight and appeared out of shape. He sported a thick, carelessly groomed mustache and at least two days� worth of beard stubble. He had a jovial, amused expression on his face. When he saw Jake and Jill and Travis enter the building, the expression of amusement kicked up by a factor of two, at least.

The five of them walked across the concrete floor and met Jake and the others halfway across. Sebastian stepped forward and made the introductions.

�Jefe,� he greeted the man in the jeans, �may I present Se�or Kingsley to you. Jake, this is Se�or Gomez, the current owner of the aircraft you are interested in.�

Gomez held out his hand. And then, in a moderately accented English, he said, �Jake Kingsley! May I call you Jake?�

�Of course, Se�or Gomez,� Jake replied, shaking with him.

�Call me Eddie,� Gomez said, �like a parcero! It�s an honor to make your acquaintance. My children are great admirers of your music. And I�m a fan as well, mostly of your newer, solo material.�

�Thank you ... uh ... Eddie,� Jake said, feeling decidedly strange to be calling the man that.

�And this,� Eddie said, pulling the slight member of the suit brigade forward, �is Nicolas Sanchez. Nick is my primary personal finance account manager. It is he who has been speaking to your accountant about your possible acquisition of the Avanti.�

Jake shook with him�his grip was weak and effeminate�and then introduced Jill to Nick and Eddie both.

�It�s nice to meet you, Se�or Gomez,� Jill told the man. �And it�s nice to finally speak to you in person, Nick.�

�You as well,� Nick returned, his eyes looking everywhere but Jill�s face. It reminded Jake of Eric the violinist.

The rest of the introductions were made. The man in the overalls was Samuel Lopez, the primary mechanic who took care of the routine maintenance on the aircraft and who arranged for it to be delivered to Cali�where the Colombian Piaggio maintenance facility was located�when it needed its B checks or C checks. So far, according to Lopez, the plane had required no repairs that could not be done here in the hangar. Eddie introduced him to first Jake and then to Travis. Fortunately, Samuel spoke pretty good English.

The two large men in the suits were not introduced, not by name anyway. �They�re just my security staff,� Eddie said dismissively. �You know how it is. Just pretend they�re not there.�

�Will do,� Jake said, hiding his nervousness. He was pretty sure that both of the �security staff� were packing guns under their suit jackets. He had seen the bulges when they had turned their bodies to check the entrances on what seemed routine scans. And they definitely both had those little earpiece communication devices in their ears�just like those the Secret Service agents protecting Slick Willie wore. It was going to be very hard to pretend they weren�t there.

�All right then,� Eddie said. �Now that we all know each other, how about we go take a look at the plane? That�s why you�re here, right, Jake?�

�That�s right,� Jake said, his nervousness easing a bit. �I can�t wait to see it.�

�Let us wait no longer then,� Eddie said. He waved toward the aircraft.

Jake took it in once again as they walked over to it, getting a good, long look at it this time. It was a twin-engine turboprop propellor-driven aircraft, the fastest, most fuel efficient propellor-driven business-class plane in existence. It could climb at up to three thousand feet per minute to an altitude of up to forty-one thousand feet, could cruise at over three hundred knots, and had a range of more than fifteen hundred miles. The engines were mounted on the wings near the back of the aircraft and the propellors faced backwards instead of forward, making it a �pusher� not a �puller� like most prop-driven airplanes. This equaled increased cabin room and a much quieter ride. In order to offset the weight imbalance caused by mounting the primary wings, with their heavy engines and their internal fuel tanks, further aft than on a standard aircraft, the entire fuselage itself was shaped like an airfoil and actually provided a sizable portion of the lift. As a final balancing and control measure, there were two small wings attached just behind the nose, giving the front of the plane an appearance similar to a hammerhead shark. Jake had thought the nose wings looked incredibly cool ever since he had first seen them in Phoenix, but it was not until the flight to Bogota and a discussion about the aircraft with Travis did he come to understand the actual purpose of them.

�The main reason is for stall protection,� the mechanic had explained. �If you get the aircraft in a stall situation with the weight of the engines and the fuel that far aft, the nose will want to go up. You can�t recover from the stall if the nose goes up. The nose wings, however, change that equation. They�re designed in the weight/balance algorithm to support the weight of the nose and the cockpit just enough to keep it balanced in flight. If you stall, they will stop producing lift before the main wings do. That ensures that your nose will drop down as you approach stall conditions, thus allowing you to recover.�

�That makes sense,� Jake said, impressed by the man�s knowledge of and enthusiasm for the aircraft.

That enthusiasm was showing quite plainly now.

�I work on fifteen or twenty of these a year,� he said, �and I never get tired of looking at them. It�s an engineering marvel.�

�Indeed, it is,� agreed Eddie with a smile and a nod. �I fell in love with the aircraft the first time I looked at one. I knew I had to have it for myself.�

�I know what you�re saying,� Jake said, reaching out and caressing the silver five-bladed propellor on the left-hand side.

Eddie patted Jake on the back�a pat that was hard enough to qualify as a pound. �It�s a good thing to be in a position in life in which we are able to go out and get the toys we desire, isn�t it, Jake?�

Jake looked at the man and nodded meaningfully. �You got that right, Eddie,� he told him. �It�s a very good thing.�

Eddie chuckled�drug lord or not, he was a very jovial man. �It�s been a good plane,� he said. �I�ve gone on many adventures in her. I am saddened to let her go, but ... well ... the Citation is a little bigger and a little faster than the Avanti. It was time to make the change.� He looked sharply at Jake. �If I agree to sell her to you, you�ll take care of her like you would a lady? Make sure she is maintained and that you take her out on a regular basis?�

�Absolutely,� Jake promised, now caressing the empennage as they made their way around it in a circle. �She�ll be flown almost daily when I�m working, making the commute between my home in San Luis Obispo and Los Angeles and then back again at the end of the day.�

�Very nice,� Eddie said approvingly. �How long of a flight is that?�

�In this thing ... about twenty-five minutes or so each way, from wheels-up to touchdown. Of course, that is not all we will be using it for. With the speed and range of this beauty�and the fact that it has a bano�my wife and I can take weekend hops all over the western US just for the hell of it. And when we fly up to Oregon for recording sessions, we can hop up into Canada, over to Glacier Park, or go skiing at Schweitzer.�

�I didn�t know you skied, Jake,� Jill said.

�I don�t,� Jake said. �But this might be a good time to learn.�

�It is a rather expensive hobby, I understand,� said Nicolas, clear disapproval in his tone.

�I was just about to point that out,� Jill said, delighted. �What with all the equipment, travel, lodging, potential medical expenses from injury.�

�Not to mention missed productivity if one should become injured and unable to perform one�s customary duties,� added Nicolas.

�Exactly!� said Jill.

Eddie shook his head and gave a little roll of the eyes. �Accountants,� he said sadly. �It seems they are the same no matter what their nationality.�

Jake smiled. �I was just about to point that out,� he said.

They continued their trip around the plane�Jake pausing to caress the hammerhead wings at the nose�and then finally came to the door on the left side, just behind the cockpit area. Se�or Gomez was not entirely sure how to open the thing, so Sebastian stepped forward and performed the action for him. A small stairway was folded down from the bottom of the door and Jake stepped inside, followed by Eddie. Everyone else stayed outside in the hangar.

It was dark in the interior, the air a little musty, but Jake could plainly see the setup. It was very similar to the aircraft he had ridden in with Austin on the trip from Phoenix to Denver, the standard business-transport arrangement. There were six luxurious seats behind the cockpit, the first two facing forward, the second two facing aft, the third two facing forward. Between the second and third sets, wooden tables could be pulled out from the walls. Behind the third set of seats was a sink and a small bar. Behind that were three more seats, all facing sideways, two on the left side, one on the right. Immediately behind that was a small door that led into the tiny bathroom. There was no cockpit door installed, so it would be easy for the pilot of the aircraft to converse with the passengers, especially those immediately behind the cockpit. The lights were all recessed. The interior color was a soft beige that was pleasant on the eyes. Like the one he had flown on before, the cockpit was equipped with computerized digital instruments with analog backups and had the Garmin integrated navigation package.

�What do you think?� asked Eddie after Jake finished the tour of the interior.

�I like it,� he told the businessman. �In fact, I love it. I want it.�

�Very good,� Eddie said, pleased. �I like a man who goes after what he wants.�

�It�s the only way to live life,� Jake replied, still looking into the cockpit and envisioning himself in that left hand seat.

�Well then,� Eddie said, �I understand that you brought your mechanic with you to examine the maintenance records and the aircraft itself, correct?�

�Yes,� Jake said. �That�s correct.�

�Well then, how about we let he and Samuel get to that? And I�m sure Sebastian will be helpful to their cause as well.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said, heading to the doorway.

�And I�m sure that Nicolas and Se�orita Yamashito have their own things to discuss,� Eddie said, following behind. �We have already agreed upon a price for the aircraft, but they must start discussing things like inspections and transfer of funds and escrow accounts and all of those things that accountants like to go on about.�

�Yes,� Jake said, stepping back out into the hangar. �I�m sure they do.�

�That is likely to take a few hours, correct?� Eddie asked, casting his gaze on Jill and Nick, who were already putting their heads together over in the corner.

�At least,� Jake agreed.

�Well then, since you and I seem to be without much to do until that time, how about we pop out for a drink or two?�

�Pop out ... for a drink?� Jake asked softly.

�Right!� Eddie said. �There�s a wonderful bar just a few miles from here. I would so love to enjoy a few local brews in the company of one of the world�s most famous musicians.�

�Uh ... well...� Jake said hesitantly, not at all comfortable with this idea. This was, after all, Colombia, a country known for political kidnappings and the ransoming of the victims of this crime. And he was being invited to climb into a car alone with a man who may or may not be a Colombian drug lord.

�Is there a problem with this, Jake?� Eddie asked, his eyes probing into Jake�s.

�Uh ... well ... not really, it�s just that ... well ... I am an American and this is not America ... and I�m not sure how things work and all...�

�I assure you,� Eddie said, �you are perfectly safe in my company.�

�I�m sure I am,� Jake said, �but I don�t really have much of your money on me. Only a couple thousand pesos apart from what I have to pay the limo driver.�

�The drinks will be on me,� Eddie promised. �I insist upon it.�

�Oh ... well ... in that case...� he tried for a second to come up with another reason to refuse the invite, failed to do so, and then decided: What the hell? How often do you get a chance to have a drink with an alleged Colombian drug lord? And he�s going to buy! �I guess I will accept then.�

�Excellent,� Eddie said. He looked at the one of the members of his �security team� and gave a nod. The nod was returned, and the man began to speak quietly, his hand covering his mouth. �Let�s head to the door. My vehicle will be here momentarily.�

Jake told Jill and Travis where he was going. They gave him a few concerned looks but said nothing. He then accompanied Eddie to the hangar�s man-door, where they had entered. Sure enough, the black SUV was now sitting out there, the driver standing next to the open rear door.

�After you, Jake,� Eddie invited.

�Thank you,� Jake said politely.

Still thinking this was a bad idea, he got into the back of the SUV and settled in. The back seat was huge, equipped with a bar and entertainment center. Jake could not help but notice that in addition to this the window glass seemed considerably thicker than what he was accustomed to. And when the driver closed the door after Eddie and the two security guys found their seats, it seemed he had to use a significant amount of force to do so, and the door slammed with a much louder noise than what was normal. Jake realized that the SUV was not stock, but armored, designed to be resistant to small arms fire.

Jesus, he thought nervously. Is it too late to back out of this side-trip?

It was. The SUV pulled away a moment later and started heading for the airport�s exit. A minute after that, they were on the main highway, heading north through the lush hills.

�Do you enjoy a good smoke, Jake?� Eddie asked him.

�Smoke? Uh ... that depends on what you mean by that.�

�Cigars, of course,� Eddie said. �I have some fine Cubans here if you would like to partake.� With that, he opened a compartment next to the bar, revealing it to be a small humidor. Inside were ten or so tightly wrapped stogies.

�I do enjoy a good cigar when the occasion is right,� Jake allowed.

�Does this seem like such an occasion?� Eddie asked.

�You know ... it really kind of does.�

�Excellent,� Eddie said, pulling two of the cigars out and then closing the humidor. He handed one to Jake. It was a Don Arturo Especial, which Jake knew sold for about six thousand dollars a box.

They prepped their cigars and lit up, blowing the smoke out into the back of the vehicle, where most of it was sucked up by a ventilation system that was also a few notches above stock. It was perhaps the finest cigar that Jake had ever smoked, smooth, yet with a delicious bite on the exhale. If he was going to his doom, at least he was going in style.

But he was not going to his doom. Instead, they came out of the hills and into a small upscale suburban area that Eddie identified as Chia. There, just south of a college campus and just west of a row of high-class nightclubs and restaurants, they parked in front of an old, colonial style building. The sign out front read Conquistar el Dia. Jake knew enough Spanish to translate this one on his own.

�Conquer the Day?� he asked. �Is that the name of the place?�

�It is,� Eddie answered. �It is one of the oldest bars in Chia, dating back to well before the town became a mere suburb of Bogota.�

�I like the name,� Jake said.

�You will like the place as well,� Eddie assured him. �A simple working-class bar frequented by simple working-class Colombians. Come on. Let us go enjoy some beer.�

�Let�s do it,� Jake said.

The door opened. The two security guys got out first, looked up and down the street and then nodded to Eddie. He and Jake then exited the vehicle, smoldering cigars still in hand. The rain was still coming down, so they quickly moved under the awning that stood over the front door. One of the two security men then entered the establishment. Jake tried to follow but the second security man, who had stayed outside, held up his hand, motioning for him to hold up for now.

�They�re just making sure that ... you know ... we�ll be able to find a place to sit once we�re in there,� Eddie explained.

�Of course,� Jake said. He took another puff on his cigar and let the smoke drift off into the rain.

A minute went by and the security man, apparently having been given the okay on his earpiece, gave another nod. He opened the door to allow Eddie and Jake to enter. Do these guys ever talk? Jake wondered as he stepped through into the bar.

Conquistar el Dia was like pretty much every other working-class bar Jake had ever been in. There was music playing from the speakers. There was a long wooden bar that ran the length of one wall, and it had a large mirror behind it, racks and racks of booze bottles stacked in front of the mirror, a half dozen or so blue jeaned and pullover shirted men sitting at the bar with a few modestly dressed women. There were cocktail tables scattered about here and there with a few more men and women sitting at them. There was a tattered old billiards table in one corner and a few electronic dart boards in another. There were a few differences from American bars, however. The thick haze of cigarette smoke was one thing�smoking in bars had been outlawed in California a few years back. The fact that all of the conversation, all of the signs on the walls, the posters, the advertisements, even the music, were in Spanish was another.

That conversation seemed to fade out to nothingness once Eddie and Jake entered. Everyone seemed to be staring at them for a moment. And then, slowly, everyone turned their eyes away and went back to their own business, although at a lower volume than before. The security man who had entered first was standing at a corner of the bar, where several empty seats were available. He pointed to them.

�Let�s head over,� Eddie suggested.

�Let�s do it,� Jake said.

He followed Eddie over and they grabbed seats next to each other. Once they were seated, the two security men took up separate positions: one by the restroom door, the other by the main door. Jake looked from one to the other for a moment and then shrugged it off.

�So...� he said, turning to his host. �What�s good here?�

�Have you ever tried Club Colombia Brava?� Eddie asked.

�I never have,� Jake told him.

�It�s one of the better brews made by one of our national breweries,� he explained. �A flavorful pilsner with a healthy kick.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said.

One of the bartenders came over. He was a man in his late forties, his face weathered by time and likely alcoholism. He sported a mustache almost as thick and unruly as Eddie�s. His eyes appeared to be nervous as he looked at his two customers. He said something in rapid-fire Spanish. Jake was able to understand just enough to gleam that he was welcoming them to Conquistar el Dia and that he considered it an honor that they were patronizing the establishment.

�Gracias,� Eddie responded. He then fired back some Spanish of his own. Jake followed along enough to get that Eddie was telling him that his friend here was from America, was a famous musician, and that they would very much enjoy two Bravas from the tap.

�En sequida, Se�or, � the bartender said. He then quickly pulled two glasses down and went to the tap.

He returned less than a minute later, two frosty glasses of an amber colored beer in hand. He set them down before them on cocktail napkins.

�Gracias,� Eddie told him. He then pulled out a leather wallet. �Cuanto te debo?�

The bartender shook his head sternly and spit out another rapid-fire burst of Spanish; the gist of which Jake understood was that Se�or Gomez�s money was no good here.

Eddie smiled and nodded approvingly. �Gracias, Gracias,� he said, his eyes warm. He put his wallet away and then turned to Jake. �I make a lot of donations to local charities here in Chia,� he explained.

�I see,� Jake said with a nod. He picked up his beer and had a sniff. It smelled like beer.

�A toast,� Eddie said. �To unfettered business dealings.�

�I�ll drink to that,� Jake told him. And he did. The beer was actually quite good. Not as good as Lighthouse Ale, but it blew any mass-produced American beer right out of the water. And it did indeed pack quite a punch. After only one, Jake felt the definite beginnings of a strong buzz in his head.

�Do you play darts, Jake?� Eddie asked him.

�I have been known to throw a few,� Jake allowed.

Eddie smiled and nodded in the direction of the dart boards. �Perhaps you would accept a challenge from me?�

�Perhaps,� Jake said. �Is it the same game here as it is in the states?�

�Where do you think the dart boards come from?� Eddie asked. �We start at three hundred and one and work down to zero.�

�That�s how we play it all right,� Jake said. �Let�s do it.�

�Of course, the game is a bit more entertaining if a wager is involved,� Eddie said.

�True,� Jake agreed, �but I don�t have much Colombian money on me, as I mentioned.�

�I have enough of that,� Eddie said. �I propose a more lucrative wager.�

�Such as?� Jake asked.

�Three out of five,� Eddie said. �If you win, I take fifty thousand American dollars off the agreed-to price of the Avanti.�

Jake raised his eyebrows. �Interesting,� he said slowly. �And if I lose?�

�You add fifty thousand American to the price.�

Jake smiled a little. He was sure he could beat this guy. But then he had a second thought. Did he really want to be perceived as hustling a Colombian drug lord? �Uh ... well ... Eddie, before I agree to the wager, I think I should make a disclosure.�

�Yes?�

�I am very good at darts. Not only do I play it when I go out to a bar, I have one of these machines in the entertainment room of my house and practice quite frequently. My wife and I play almost every time we go out to a pub ... and we rarely lose.�

�I will consider myself advised,� Eddie said. �Is it a bet?�

Jake held out his hand. �It�s a bet.�

They shook on it. And then they went to play, carrying their beers and their cigars with them. Jake quickly found out that Eddie was quite good at the game as well. But he was not quite good enough. It took all five games to declare a winner, but Jake edged him out in the end, putting the last dart in the double 10 slot to bring his score down from 20 to exactly 0.

�Well then,� Eddie said, a smile still on his face. �I guess that�s it.�

�Yep,� Jake said, eyeing him a little nervously, but the man did not seem the least bit upset that he had just lost fifty thousand American dollars.

�How about we have one more and then hit the road?� Eddie asked.

�Sounds like a plan,� Jake said.

They returned to the bar and Eddie ordered up two more Bravas. As they sipped them, Eddie said, �It�s been quite enjoyable socializing with you, Jake. If you ever come back to Colombia, I hope we can do it again.�

�It�s been fun hanging out with you too, Eddie,� Jake told him, and, to his surprise, he found he was telling the truth. It had been a bit disconcerting, but it had been fun. �And if you�re ever in the states, I�d love to show you a few of my favorite places as well.�

�I will keep the invitation in mind,� he said. He took a large drink of his beer and then looked at Jake meaningfully. �There is one thing I would like to ask you.�

�What�s that?�

�Those stories one hears. The stories about you snorting yeyo out of that zunga�s butt crack?�

�Yeah,� Jake said slowly. �I�ve heard those stories.�

�As have I,� Eddie said. �Are they true?�

Jake looked at the man and smiled a little. �Before I answer that, Eddie, can I ask you something?�

�Anything, parcero,� he said. �Anything at all.�

�I�m told you�re in the import/export business, that that is how you made enough money to buy a business jet.�

�That is correct,� Eddie said with a nod. �I have been very successful.�

�Obviously,� Jake said. �My question is: what exactly do you import and export?�

Eddie stared at him for a moment, his eyes darkening momentarily. Jake began to think maybe he had had one too many Bravas while playing darts. But then the eyes softened, and Eddie chuckled.

�I export coffee,� he said at last. �You have heard we grow world famous coffee here in Colombia.�

�I�ve drank some of it,� Jake said. �It is quite good.�

�That is how I make my living,� Eddie said. �I export coffee and I import American and Asian consumer electronics. The business has been very kind to me.�

�Yes, it has,� Jake agreed.

�And of the yeyo and the zunga?� Eddie asked.

�It never happened,� Jake told him, shaking his head. �Nothing but media lies.�

�Oh ... I see,� Eddie said, visibly disappointed.

�Sometimes the truth is not nearly as interesting as the story, huh?�

�You speak correctly, Jake.�

When they returned to the hangar, they found that the two mechanics were the only people still physically working on something. They had the cowling off the number one engine and Travis was standing on a step ladder, peering inside with a flashlight while Samuel read numbers to him from a logbook. Nick, the accountant, was sitting by himself, reading through some notes and running some figures with a pocket calculator. Jill and Sebastian the pilot were sitting at one of the tables drinking coffee and having what appeared to be an animated conversation. Jake was surprised to see that Jill was smiling and giggling at whatever they were discussing. He had never known Jill to giggle before, would not have thought she was even capable of it had he not seen it with his own eyes.

As the two men came inside, Jill quickly excused herself from Sebastian and Nick quickly folded up the notes he was working on. They both came over to where Jake and Eddie stood and put their business faces back on.

�Well?� Eddie asked them. �What have you accomplished?�

�We�re sure we have a preliminary agreement worked out,� Nick said. �At least we do until the lawyers get their hands on it.�

�Yes, the vampiros,� Eddie spat, contempt clear in his voice. �They have to have their greasy little hands in everything.�

�Some things truly are universal,� Jake put in.

�Indeed,� Eddie said with a sigh. �That is for another day, however. Tell me what you came up with.�

�Well,� said Nick, �the sale will be conducted in United States dollars to be deposited by Jake�s lender into a Colombian escrow account in Bogota. The official inspection of the aircraft will be performed by American inspectors. Se�or Gomez, you will pay for the inspection itself, Jake, you will pay for the travel expenses, lodging, and transportation of the inspection team from the United States to Bogota. Assuming the inspection is satisfactory, we will enter a forty-five-day escrow, during which either party may withdraw from the deal without penalty. Se�or Gomez will continue to pay for maintenance and storage of the asset until the close of escrow and will continue to pay for storage after closing until one of Jake�s agents takes possession of the aircraft, as long as that does not take longer than sixty days from closing.�

Eddie nodded thoughtfully as he heard this. �Sounds reasonable enough to me,� he said.

�Me too,� Jake agreed.

�Of course,� said Jill, �this is just the very basics of the agreement. There are some other details involved�things like funding transfer procedures, use of the aircraft during the escrow period, unanticipated delays caused by weather or political upheaval. Should we discuss those things now?�

�Uh ... no,� Eddie said. �Not unless Jake wants to.�

Everyone looked at Jake. He looked at Jill. �Jill, is there anything in this agreement you and Nick have come up with that should concern me?�

�Other than the fact that you are spending a huge amount of money on a depreciating asset, no,� she said.

�Well, all right then,� Jake said. �I guess I�m happy.�

�We have a deal then?� Eddie asked.

�Assuming I get a good report from Travis, and assuming that the vampiros and the loan sharks and the international trade people keep their noses reasonably out of it, yes. We have a deal.�

They shook hands on it. Eddie then turned to Nick. �Oh, and by the way, I�ll need you to take fifty thousand dollars off of the agreed upon price.�

Nick looked at him sharply. �Fifty thousand dollars, jefe? For what reason?�

Eddie shrugged. �Jake and I made a wager playing darts. He won.�

Nick�s eyes widened almost comically. �You lost fifty thousand dollars playing darts, jefe? Darts?!�

�It�s only money,� Eddie said. �And he won fair and square.�

�You gambled fifty thousand dollars on a game of darts?� Jill asked Jake angrily as soon as their limousine pulled away from the airport services office.

�I won,� Jake said defensively.

�That�s not the point!� she said. �You might have lost!�

�I didn�t think so at the time I made the bet,� he replied. �I did get a little nervous when we got to game five though. It turned out he was a much better thrower than I gave him credit for. But I pulled it out at the end. Sank the final shot right in the double ten for the win.� He smiled a little, miming the act of throwing a dart. And then something occurred to him. �Hey, that rhymes.�

�Jake!� Jill said, quite exasperated now.

�All right, all right,� Jake said. �I promise I will not gamble with Colombian drug lords anymore. Are you happy?�

�Not really,� she said.

�Good,� he said, then turned to Travis. �Now then. What did you discover in your examination?�

�The maintenance records are perfect,� the mechanic said. �Every scheduled maintenance has been done on time and in the correct manner using the correct parts. There is, of course, the possibility that the records were faked�I have heard that such fraud happens in second and third world countries from time to time�but I did randomly check several of the replacement parts that were logged and had Samuel read off the part numbers from the logs. They matched in every case, which suggests that the records are accurate.�

�So ... the plane looks good then?�

�It looks very good,� he said. �Lovingly cared for, in fact. Of course, the official inspection that will be required by the bank before approval of your loan will be much more thorough than my preliminary look, but I�ve been working on these planes for three years now. I am confident it will check out.�

�That�s good to hear,� Jake said happily.

�Yes, just wonderful,� Jill said sourly.

�Come on, Jill,� Jake said, giving her a little shoulder shove. �Quit being such a downer. This is a happy moment for me. I�m buying a dream here and it looks like the deal is going to go down.�

�That�s why it�s such a downer. You still have to come up with the nine hundred thousand dollar down payment. Have you forgotten about that?�

�No, I haven�t forgotten about it,� he said. �I told you this already. I agreed to play at the Tsunami Sound Festival in September. They�re paying me a million-two for that gig. After taxes and Paulie�s cut are taken out, that will go a long way toward covering the down.�

�But the down payment will be due at the start of escrow,� Jill said. �That could potentially be in as little as thirty days from now. You won�t be getting the money from Music Alive until after you complete your performance obligations.�

�Uh ... well ... yeah,� Jake said. �I didn�t really think that part all the way through. I kind of assumed that Stillson would advance me the payment.�

�Pauline told me that he laughed when that was suggested to him,� Jill said.

�Yeah ... my bad on that one,� Jake offered.

Jill shook her head. �If you go through with this purchase, I am still going to have to cash out a number of your certificates of deposit to cover the down payment. You are still going to endure some significant early withdrawal penalties, not to mention the loss of interest earnings.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �Like I said: my bad.�

After dinner that night, Jake decided to take a shot at getting hold of Laura. He had last spoken to her the day before leaving for Dallas. She was aware that he was going to Bogota to look at an Avanti. She still did not know how much the Avanti was actually going to cost. At some point he was going to have to tell her�he did realize that�but he was kind of hoping that point would come after the deal was already in progress. After all, it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

He consulted a pocket calendar he habitually carried with him to see where she was on this day. On the page for April, he looked at the 15^th and saw that the Celia Valdez tour was currently in Bismarck, North Dakota, but there was no actual show tonight because it was an extended travel day. He then checked his time zone map. Bogota was three hours ahead of California. North Dakota was one hour ahead of California, which mean it was two hours behind Bogota. He checked his watch. It was 7:45 PM local time, which meant it was 5:45 PM in Bismarck. Which meant that Laura may or may not be at dinner, may or may not be in her room, where she may or may not have a lesbian groupie�s face between her legs. Well ... if he could not get hold of her, at least he could say he tried.

He picked up the hotel phone and went to work. First, he called the hotel operator, who transferred him to the international operator, who demanded credit card information from him before continuing any further. He read off the number to her, wondering dubiously if the number was going to be spread far and wide across Colombia by this time tomorrow, and then listened to a series of beeps and boops as she attempted to make the connection. Finally, in the earpiece, a phone began to ring.

There was a click and a faint female voice said: �Marriott Hotel, Bismarck. How can I direct your call?� The connection was scratchy and echoing, but he was able to understand her.

�Hi,� Jake said. �Can you ring Lynn Dolan�s room for me, please?�

�I�m sorry, who?� she said. �I couldn�t quite hear you. We have a bad connection.�

�Yeah, I�m calling from Colombia,� Jake said, speaking louder.

�South Carolina?� she asked.

�No, not South Carolina,� he said. �Lynn Dolan�s room, please.�

�Lynn Dolan?�

�That�s right,� he nearly shouted. �Lynn Dolan.�

Lynn Dolan was the name that Laura registered under when traveling on the tour. Using a fake name for hotel bookings was common practice among famous musicians, actors, and other high-profile people. It kept fans and haters and just plain weirdos from easily learning what room the celebrity was staying in and from calling them as Jake was now doing. The traditional way to come up with such a name�although not everyone held to the tradition�was to use your middle name for your first name and the name of the street you grew up on for your last name. Thus, Laura Lynn Best (now Kingsley) who had lived the first twelve years of her life on Dolan Street in the town of Pocatello, Idaho before her family (minus her oldest brother) had moved to Los Angeles, became Lynn Dolan. Jake�s name out on the road had been Glenn Sutter. Celia�s was Marie Vasquez.

The phone rang twice and then there was a click. �Hello?� said a female voice. One did not answer a hotel phone with one�s name�fake or real�while on tour. Though the connection was, if anything, even more scratchy now, Jake recognized his wife�s voice.

�Hey, hon,� he said. �It�s me.�

�Me who?� she asked, a little teasing in her tone. �I get lots of guys calling me out on the road. You need to be more specific.�

Jake chuckled. �The guy who is buying you an airplane with a bathroom in it,� he offered.

�Hmmm,� she said. �That narrows it down to five or six.�

He laughed again. �You�re funny,� he told her. �How are things in Bismarck?�

�Cold,� she said. �We flew in this afternoon and Suzie had to use the anti-ice boots on the wings. There is still snow on the ground and the high temperature was like forty-two degrees today.�

�You gotta love spring in North Dakota, huh?�

�Why would anyone build a city here? That�s what I�m wondering. The hotel is nice though.�

�That�s good. I never did a show there myself. It wasn�t economical back in my day.�

�Hey, their money is as good as anyone�s, right?�

�That�s the theory,� he agreed.

�Are you in Bogota?� she asked.

�Yeah, in the hotel right now. Just finished dinner a little bit ago.�

�How�s the weather there?�

�Cool and rainy,� he said. �Reminds me of Seattle.�

�That�s how it was when I was there too,� she said. �And it was hard to breathe. It was a chore getting through the show at that altitude.�

�I can imagine,� Jake said.

�You saw the plane?� she asked.

�I did,� he confirmed. �Travis�he�s the mechanic I told you about�checked it out and says it looks good. Jill has been talking to the accountant for the owner. It looks like maybe we�ll be able to make this deal happen.�

�That�s great!� she said. �You�ve settled on a price then?�

�Uh ... well ... we�re still talking about that,� he said. �Nothing is set in stone.�

�Oh ... I see,� she said. �But you think you�ll be able to close on it?�

�As long as the official inspection doesn�t find anything amiss,� he said. �Hopefully in the next month or so we�ll be able to start the escrow process.�

�I can�t wait to see it,� she said. �And to ride in it.�

�You�re going to love it,� he promised.

�I�m sure I will,� she said.

�How�s the tour going?� he asked to change the subject away from the price of the airplane.

�We�re doing good. Everyone is fully in the groove and the pap has pretty much stopped hounding Celia about the whole Mindy Snow thing.�

�That�s good,� he said. �And how about you? Made any new friends lately?�

She giggled a naughty giggle, knowing exactly what he was referring to. �Not yet on this leg,� she said. �Although the pressure is building. I was thinking of maybe putting in a request at tomorrow night�s show.�

�Are you sure they have lesbians in Bismarck?� he asked.

She giggled again. �I guess I�ll find out,� she said.

They spoke for a few more minutes, until the scratchiness and the echoes of the connection became bad enough they could hardly understand each other. They then bid each other a good night and told each other �I love you�. They did not promise to call tomorrow. They never did.

Jake hung up the phone and then went to the window and looked out into the rainy night. It was still early, and their flight did not leave until just before noon the next day. He picked up the phone again, this time dialing direct to room 1812.

�This is Travis,� a voice said.

�T, it�s Jake,� he said. �What are you doing?�

�Nothing,� Travis said. �There is nothing to do. I can�t even watch TV. It�s all in Spanish.�

�There is something to do,� Jake said. �Let�s go down to the bar and drink.�

�Well ... I guess I could do that if you want.�

�Way to show enthusiasm,� Jake told him. �I�ll meet you down there.�

He hung up the phone, picked up his wallet (which he had refilled with sixty thousand pesos on the way back from the airport) and his room key and headed out the door. Five minutes later, he was down in the bar on the second floor of the hotel. He grabbed two seats near the end.

The bartender did not speak English, but she did not have to. Jake had learned the proper phrasing the night before. �Dos guaro en las rocas,� he told her, holding up two fingers in case she did not know what Dos meant.

�Si,� she said with a brazen smile. �En seguida, Se�or.� It was obvious that she knew who he was. And Jake instinctively knew that if he were to suggest a little study session on international relations up in his hotel room, she would jump at the chance. And if this had happened five years ago, before he became involved with Laura, he might very well have suggested such a thing. She was quite attractive, with dark hair, a curvy body, full lips, and a healthy set of chichis. But alas, his international relations days were behind him now. A pity.

Travis arrived just as she was putting the drinks down. Jake gave her a wad of pesos from his wallet and let her figure out how much to take. It was possible that she could be ripping him off, but he did not really care. To him the Colombian money did not even seem real. It was like he was paying for his drinks with Monopoly money.

�Thanks for coming on this trip with me, T,� Jake told the mechanic as they hefted their first drinks.

�I�m glad I did,� he said, looking around the room at the crowd. �This has been a very remarkable experience.�

�For me too,� Jake said. �For one, I discovered a new kind of booze. For two, I�ll probably be getting a new airplane soon. Life is good.�

�You do seem to have an interesting life,� Travis allowed. �That man, Eddie ... the one you�re buying the plane from ... is he really ... you know ... a cocaine dealer?�

Jake shrugged. �He says he makes his money from exporting coffee and importing consumer electronics.�

�Enough money to buy a Cessna Citation?�

�Lots of people drink coffee,� Jake said.

�His security guards were packing guns,� Travis said. �And they had those earpiece thingies.�

�Yeah ... I noticed that.�

�Does that seem like the sort of thing a coffee exporter would require?�

�Well ... maybe not in the states, but here in Colombia? Who knows?�

�I suppose,� Travis said. �Anyway, it�s a beautiful country. Did you see all the mountains and the rivers and the lakes when we were flying in?�

�I saw them,� Jake said.

�Nice place to visit, but I don�t think I�d want to live here.�

�True,� Jake agreed. �But the drinks are cheap.� He turned to the bartender and got her attention. �Se�orita! Dos mas, por favor!�

They drank and munched on spicy peanuts from little bowls on the bar. They did not talk all that much. Once he was done talking about engines and compression ratios and torque, Travis did not have all the much to say. And he did not seem all that interested in hearing any of Jake�s anecdotes from his life as a traveling musician. Jake was just about ready to call it a night�he had a pretty respectable drunk going on by this point�when a familiar looking man entered the bar from the direction of the lobby elevator. It was Sebastian, Eddie Gomez�s pilot.

He walked right up to the bar next to where Jake and Travis were seated, not noticing their presence.

�Sebastian?� Jake said, startling him a bit. He looked over and then his face relaxed when he saw who was addressing him.

�Jake,� he said. �It�s you.�

�It�s me,� Jake confirmed. �Didn�t mean to scare you.�

�That�s okay,� the pilot said. �I thought it might be los tombos again.�

�Who?� Jake asked. He was unfamiliar with that expression.

�Never mind,� Sebastian said dismissively. �It�s nice to see you again, Jake.�

�Yeah ... it�s been hours, right? What are you doing here?�

�Uh ... well ... I was ... you know ... visiting someone here in the hotel. Thought I would stop in for a quick one before I headed back home.�

Jake suddenly understood what this was all about. �Holy shit,� he said in wonder. �Did you bone Jill?�

Sebastian�s face gave all the answer he needed. �Uh ... well ... the fact of the matter is...�

�You did,� Jake said, laughing. �Jesus fucking Christ. I didn�t know she did that sort of thing.�

�Ohhh ... well ... wow. This is kind of awkward.�

�It is?� Jake asked. �How come?�

�Well ... she is with you.�

�She�s my accountant,� Jake said. �I�ve never boned her. We don�t have that kind of a relationship.�

�You don�t?�

�No,� he said. �I mean, I used to have a crush on her back in fifth grade. Did she tell you we went to school together all the way from kindergarten to high school graduation?�

�Uh ... no, that never came up in conversation,� he said.

�Hmm,� Jake said, pondering. �What made you think that Jill and I were bumping uglies? You know I�m married, right?�

�Well, yes,� he said. �But in our culture, when a man travels with an attractive woman like Jill, it is generally just assumed that the two of them are ... you know?�

�I see,� Jake said, nodding. �You think she�s attractive then?�

�She is very exotic,� he said. �I have never had a Japanese woman before. She intrigued me.�

�She�s third generation American,� Jake pointed out.

�Oh ... I didn�t know that.�

�She doesn�t even speak Japanese.�

�I didn�t know that either.�

�Oh well ... to each their own.� He then gave a glare to the pilot. �But hold on a second. You thought that she and I were getting it on, but you came here and did her anyway?�

�Uh ... well ... again, in our culture, when a woman is not the official partner of a man, she is considered fair game for other men to pursue.�

�Really?� Jake asked.

�Si,� Sebastian said.

�You�re making this shit up as you go along, aren�t you?� Jake asked.

Reluctantly, Sebastian nodded. �Si,� he said.

Jake chuckled and patted the pilot on the shoulder. �How about I buy you that drink?�

�Uh ... sure,� Sebastian said. He ordered a vodka and tonic.

�Tell me something,� Jake said as the bartender prepared his drink for him.

�What�s that?�

�How was she?�

Sebastian smiled. �She was very passionate. It was almost like she had never been thoroughly possessed by a man before.�

�That may very well be the case,� Jake said. �As far as I know, she�s only dated accountants before.�

Sebastian�s eyes widened. �Madres de Dios,� he exclaimed. �That explains a lot.�

American Airlines Flight 791 from Bogota to Dallas-Fort Worth took off on time into the misty rain the next morning. Travis, who had drunk almost eleven guaros on the rocks the night before, was asleep and snoring before they even reached cruising altitude. Jill was sitting next to Jake, in the window seat. She sat, staring out the window at the passing mountains and clouds, a pensive expression on her face.

�Are you doing okay, Jill?� Jake asked her. He was nursing a bit of a headache of his own, and not from the altitude of Bogota.

�Me?� she said softly.

�Yes,� he said. �You�re the only woman named Jill who is currently sitting next to me.�

�Oh ... right,� she said and then gave a little giggle again. �Yes, I�m fine. Perfectly fine.�

�I can see that,� he said. �Did you ... uh ... have a good time in Colombia?�

�You know,� she said, �I really did. A much better time than I was anticipating.�

�That�s ... uh ... good to hear,� he said. �So ... do you think you will be up for a return trip when the time comes to sign all the papers and make everything official.�

She nodded enthusiastically. �Of course,� she said. �Whenever you need me to travel to Bogota, you just say the word and I�m there.�

Jake smiled. �Cool,� he said. �It really is an interesting place, isn�t it?�

�Yes, it is,� she said with a smile. �Very interesting.�

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

April 18, 1996

Suzie Granderson was behind the controls of the King Air as it turned onto final approach toward General Mitchell International Airport�s Runway 01-L. She was starting to get a little bit nervous as she still could not see the runway she was about to land on, could not see anything at all outside of the windows except a thick gray cloud cover. The autopilot was currently locked onto the ILS localizer for their runway and was dropping them down at a rate of six hundred feet per minute. According to the instruments, which Suzie had long since learned to trust with, quite literally, her very life and the lives of her passengers, she was right on the glideslope, poised to touch down neatly on the centerline of the runway. But she still needed to visualize the runway in order to accomplish that.

�Flaps to approach,� she told Njord, who was supposed have been flying the approach and landing leg, but Suzie had pulled rank when she heard the conditions at the airport on the ATIS.

�Flaps to approach,� Njord replied automatically as he manipulated the lever.

�Airspeed to one-two-five indicated,� she said next.

�Airspeed one-two-five indicated ... set,� Njord said, spinning the dial on the auto throttle.

�Gear down,� she said next.

�Lowering gear,� Njord told her, pulling the handle and watching the indicator lights as the machinery whirred. Finally, he announced: �Three greens on the gear.�

�Three greens on the gear,� Suzie repeated. �Altitude?�

�One-one-two-five,� he told her.

�Okay,� she said, still alternating her eyes between the glideslope display and the gray nothingness outside. �The ceiling is supposed to be at one thousand. We should be coming out of it soon.�

�We should be,� Njord agreed.

The MKE approach controller told them they were clear for landing and that the winds were one-two knots from zero-zero-five. He then asked if they had the runway in sight.

�Not yet,� Njord replied. �We are still in zero visibility conditions.�

�Advise when runway in sight,� they were told.

They passed through eleven hundred feet and still there was nothing but gray fog and rain to be seen. And then a thousand. Suzie was starting to think that maybe they would have to abort the landing and divert somewhere else. They were rapidly approaching the decision altitude of two hundred feet above the ground. If they could not see the runway at that point, it would be unsafe to land. She was just about to verbalize this to Njord when finally, at just a smidge above nine hundred and fifty feet of altitude�only three hundred fifty above the runway elevation�they finally reached the ceiling of the cloud cover and broke into rainy but visible conditions. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw a subdivision of houses and acres and acres of soggy parkland below. And in front of them, just where she was expecting it, was the runway, its approach lights pulsing invitingly.

�There we go,� she said with a smile. �Report runway in sight. Flaps to full. Speed to one-one-zero.�

Njord reported the runway in sight and then repeated her other instructions back as he performed them. They continued to sink toward the runway.

�Check that auto-feather is set,� she said, reading off the final item on her landing checklist.

�Auto-feather is set,� Njord confirmed.

�All right then,� she said. �Let�s bring it down.�

She turned off the autopilot just as they cleared the perimeter fence of the airport. She throttled them back to ten percent and she pushed gently down on the yoke, adjusting their slope a bit. She used her feet on the rudder pedals to keep the nose pointed at the center line of the runway. They passed over the threshold and she pulled up on the yoke, flaring them for landing. A few seconds later, the rear wheels touched down gently on the wet pavement.

�Throttle to idle,� she said aloud as she eased the nose gear down. �No need for reverse thrust on this long of a runway.� They had already discussed this in the landing briefing, but it never hurt to reiterate things.

�Agreed,� Njord said. �Retracting the flaps.�

�Copy that,� Suzie said, steering them and using gentle braking motions to slow them down. The approach controller told them to exit the runway when able. They were able at the next exit. Suzie turned them to the left and they contacted the ground controller for directions to the general aviation terminal.

Ten minutes later, they were parked and going through the shutdown checklist. They powered down the engines and then the exterior lights and then the avionics before declaring that they were secure.

�Good flight,� Suzie told her copilot. �Sorry about taking that last leg from you, but I thought it best under the circumstances.�

�It�s your prerogative,� Njord told her grumpily, letting some of his true emotion show now that they were out of the sterile cockpit condition.

�Yes, it is,� she said simply. She did not like Njord one little bit�and the feeling was mutual, she had no doubt about that�but still, she had to work with him every day.

Njord looked like he wanted to say something else, but he did not. Instead, he turned and opened the cockpit door. On the other side were their seven passengers, all standing near the exit door, their bags in hand. All knew that they were forbidden from opening the door themselves unless the aircraft was actually on fire��and even then,� they had all been told, �if at all feasible, you�d still better fucking ask one of us first.�

�Welcome to Milwaukee, everyone,� Suzie told them. �As you no doubt noticed by now, the snow we had in Minneapolis has converted to rain here. It�s a perfectly dreary spring day here on Lake Michigan, with a temperature of forty-two degrees and a north wind�presumably one of those icy-ass winds the Midwest is famous for�is blowing at twelve knots.�

�Wonderful,� Celia said. �Nothing like nice spring weather.� At their last two stops�Duluth and Minneapolis�it had been snowing, heavily in the former, lightly in the latter, and very cold for late April. Unseasonably cold, the locals all told them, usually in an apologetic manner, as if they had been responsible for not setting up nicer weather for their visitors.

�How is the weather in Chicago?� asked Little Stevie. They would be flying there tomorrow to do three shows over four nights.

�More of the same for tomorrow,� Suzie told them. �It is, after all, on the same lake and is being hit with the same storm system. But the forecast says that Thursday and Friday it will clear up and return to more seasonable conditions.�

�Which means wind off the lake in Chicago,� said Celia.

�Most likely,� agreed Suzie with a shrug. �But at least we won�t have to fly above the clouds to see the sun.�

�At least there�s that,� she said. �Good landing, by the way. I was starting to get a little nervous when I couldn�t see the ground yet after the gear went down.�

�That�s why they make ILS systems,� Suzie said with a smile. �It was nothing. Routine.�

�Yeah,� Njord said bitterly. �It was so routine she took the leg from me.�

Suzie cast an irritated look at her copilot. He had a habit of blurting out crap like that�disagreements between the two of them, his thoughts on Suzie�s abilities as a team leader, the fact that she would not give him any supervised PIC time to help build up his hours for his logbook�and it needed to stop. It undermined the confidence her passengers were supposed to have in their flight crew and it undermined morale.

�Anyway,� she said, �I saw when we parked that your limo is here. You are free to deplane and if we don�t see you at the hotel, we�ll see you here tomorrow for the Chicago flight.�

Everyone began to filter out the door and down the steps to the tarmac before making the rush through the rain to the waiting limo. Celia was the last to go. Before she stepped out, she turned to Suzie.

�Think you can scrounge us up a few cigars for tonight?� she asked.

This question served to alleviate a little bit of Suzie�s irritation with Njord. She was definitely up for a little balcony therapy in Celia�s room tonight, even if it was raining and windy. It had been more than a week since they had last done this. �I think I can probably come up with something,� she said.

Celia smiled. �I�ll be looking forward to it,� she said.

With that, she walked down the steps and out into the rain. She did not say anything to Njord or even look at him. He said nothing to her (though he did take a good long look at her ass as she walked away). This was pretty much the status quo between Njord and all of the female passengers and most of the male ones. They disliked the man and spoke to him as little as possible. The only one who seemed to enjoy his company in any way was Coop. The two of them liked to go to the hotel bars together and tell pussy stories to each other while trying to pick up women. The difference was that most of Coop�s pussy stories were true and most of Njord�s were embellishments at the least, out and out fabrications at worst.

�All right,� Njord said as soon as Celia�s derriere disappeared from his view. �How about we fuel this thing now, so we don�t have to worry about it tomorrow?�

Suzie thought this over for perhaps two seconds and then shook her head. �No,� she said. �Let�s just get it secured for now and we�ll fuel in the morning. The weather might be better then.�

�Or it might be worse,� Njord said.

Suzie shook her head again. �If it�s much worse than this, we won�t be flying. We�ll do it tomorrow.�

He rolled his eyes. �You�re the boss,� he said, though with far from the amount of respect such a statement should contain.

She looked at him pointedly. �Yes,� she said. �I am the boss. And that means you support my decisions, whether you agree with them or not. And it also means that you do not make snide little comments about my decisions, or about your personal opinions on my leadership skills, in front of the passengers.�

�I was just joking,� he said defensively.

�You were not just joking,� she said sternly. �You were undermining my authority and making the passengers aware that there is strife and disagreement between us. That erodes their faith in us. It makes them nervous about stepping onto the aircraft with us.�

This did not impress Njord. �So?� he asked. �It�s not like they have anyone else to fly them around to their little music shows.�

�At this moment in time, no they don�t. But what about for the next tour? What about when Jake Kingsley or Brainwash needs someone to fly them around for their shows? Those acts are also on the KVA label and KVA Records is an extremely valuable contract for our employers, Njord. Do you really think the big bosses would be happy if KVA decided to contract with another carrier for their future needs because you are making an ass out of yourself and making their musicians uncomfortable?�

�I think you�re reading too much into all this,� he said. �Is it that time of the month or something?�

She started to see red. Her fists clenched. She really wanted to strike the asshole with them, was pretty sure she could take him in a fair fight, but, only by invoking the years of training and discipline that her profession demanded, she held back�at least from using her fists. She stepped forward toward him and glared directly into his eyes.

�Listen to me, you fuckin� weasel,� she told him, �if you ever say anything like that to me again, I go official and start filing reports with HR.�

�You�ve already done that,� he said, unimpressed. �Didn�t think I knew about your requests to have me reassigned to another aircraft? You�ve put in three of them since we started flying together.�

�Those were requests,� Suzie said. �Not official complaints. I called the bosses up and said that you and I have a personality conflict�which we do. I gave no details about the issue, just asked that you be sent somewhere else away from me. They turned down those requests because I would not answer their questions about my issues with you. You see, I�m not a narc. I would not report you to HR lightly. I have put up with a lot of shit from you in the name of the code we follow that what happens on the mission stays on the mission, but that shit ends today. If you ever utter a discouraging word about me in front of the passengers again, if you ever make a snide comment about my leadership abilities, and if you ever make some misogynistic fucking remark like you just made again, it is fucking on. Do you understand me? I go to HR and tell everything, and you�ll be lucky to get a job de-icing wings on DC-fucking-9s flying out of Asshole Fissure, North Dakota. You get what I�m saying, Njord?�

Njord, suddenly looking nervous, held up his hands in appeasement. �Whoa, whoa, hold up a second here,� he said. �I think that maybe you�re misunderstanding things a little.�

�No, I�m not,� she said. �You�re a male chauvinist piece of shit who doesn�t like working with a female PIC and thinks you�re better than me even though I have ten times the flight hours you do. Even though I used to fly C5s all around the world, but this King Air is the biggest thing you�ve ever sat in the copilot�s seat for. You want to believe that you�re a better pilot than me just because you�re a man, fine. I don�t give a shit. But you will obey my fucking commands, you will do what I say, when I say it, and you will do it with a smile, especially in front of the passengers. One more fucking remark, Njord, just one more, no matter how slight, and it is on. HR gets involved and I go for your fucking throat. Do I make myself clear?�

His face was red and his fists were now clenched, but he nodded. �Yes, Ma�am,� he said stiffly. �You make yourself clear.�

�Good,� she said lightly. �I�m glad we were able to clear that up. Now then, let�s get this aircraft secured so we can get to the hotel and check in.�

They got the aircraft secured. They then went to the hotel and got checked in. They did this with no unnecessary conversation.

They were staying in the Hotel Pfister in downtown Milwaukee, just five minutes away from Bradley Center, home of the Milwaukee Bucks (who were not in the NBA playoffs yet again) and the site of tonight�s Celia Valdez concert. Suzie and Njord were given standard rooms on the third floor, Suzie in 307, Njord in 309. Suzie�s room featured a queen-sized bed, a small couch, a refrigerator, and a bathroom. The window looked out onto the back parking lot of the hotel, the lot where the valets parked guest vehicles.

Suzie had lunch in the hotel�s caf� shortly after checking in. She then went back to her room and spent about an hour making arrangements for the King Air to undergo an A-level maintenance check at Midway Airport while they were in Chicago. After that, she took a little nap. After awakening, she made her way back downstairs and had a little chat with the concierge.

�I�d like to get my hands on some Cuban cigars and have them delivered to my room before ten o�clock tonight,� she told him.

�But, Ms. Granderson,� the mid-forties, fussy little man told her, �surely you are aware that Cuban cigars are illegal for importation into the United States and are therefore rather hard to come by.�

She pulled out a wad of twenty dollar bills that Celia kept her supplied with just for such occasions. She peeled off five of them and slapped them down on his desk. �This would be the finder�s fee,� she told him. �Assuming you are able to scrounge up a box for me.�

His eyes widened as he saw the money. �Well ... perhaps I might be able to get my hands on some.�

�I thought you might,� she said with a smile. �How much for a box of Montecristos?�

�That would run ... oh ... around four hundred dollars, I suppose, including the markup.�

She nodded and then peeled of another twenty of the twenties, putting them in a separate pile. �Now don�t even think of trying to fuck me and get me counterfeits,� she warned. �I know the difference; and I would take such an insult very personally, you know what I mean?�

�I would never do such a thing,� he said, clearly insulted by her suggestion. �I take my job very seriously.�

�Forgive me,� she said appeasingly. �I have every confidence in you.�

He picked up the money and made it disappear. �I will make sure that the item is delivered before ten o�clock,� he said.

�Thank you.�

�Is there ... uh ... anything else I can arrange for you? Some marijuana perhaps? Or some cocaine? Or even ... you know ... some companionship?�

�No,� Suzie said. �The cigars will do me for now.�

�As you wish,� he said.

She went back to her room and watched TV for a little bit. When she got bored with this, she opened the book she had been reading and worked her way through a few dozen pages. This made her feel sleepy, so she took another nap. She awoke just past 6:00 PM and headed downstairs again, where she ate dinner at a table by herself in the hotel restaurant. That brought her to 7:00 PM. At the arena, Celia and the band would now be dressed in their stage clothes and heading backstage to meet the locals. She had attended the show five times during the tour and was familiar with the routine.

She went back to her room and flipped on the television and channel surfed for a bit before finding that one of the cable stations was showing older episodes of Seinfeld one after the other. She smiled and settled in to watch. It was just as Jerry, Elaine, Kramer, and George were making their bet to see who could go the longest without masturbation, there was a knock at the door.

It was the concierge. He had a box in his hands. Suzie smiled, thanked him, and tipped him another twenty dollars for bringing them to her. Once the door was closed, she opened the box and inhaled the aroma. They were Montecristos all right. She set the box down on the writing desk and then sat back down to watch the rest of The Contest.

Seinfeld gave way to Cheers at 10:00 PM, right about the time that Celia and the band would be finishing their final encores. Next would come the showers and the food and the groupies, if there were going to be any. Charlie and Coop usually imbibed in this particular activity every night. Every once in a while, Laura would as well; always a female�a thought that Suzie found quite arousing. And last night, even Celia had made a request�her first one since her separation from Greg as far as Suzie knew�though she had yet to share any details about it. Suzie knew it had been a man, younger than Celia by a considerable margin, and that he had been good looking (if you were into that sort of thing, which she was not), but that was all she knew. She felt a little bit of dark jealousy at the thought of Celia sharing her body with such a creature, but that was Celia�s business, not hers.

It was just past 11:15 when the phone next to her bed started to ring. She smiled, feeling a little jolt of exhilaration surge through her. She quickly snatched it up. �This is Suzie,� she said.

�Hey, Fly Girl,� Celia�s voice said in her ear. �Still awake?�

�You know it,� she replied.

�Were you able to score?�

�Was there ever any doubt?� she returned.

Celia chuckled a little. �It�s still raining outside, but a good part of my balcony is covered. You up for a little smoke in the rain?�

�Sounds like fun,� Suzie said. �What room are you in?�

�Fourteen-oh-two,� she said. �Bring a sweater.�

�I�ll be there in a few. Should I bring a cigar for Teach?�

�No,� Celia said. �She has ... you know ... something else to occupy her time tonight.�

�Ohhhh, I see,� Suzie said with a smile. It was one of those nights for Jake Kingsley�s wife. It seemed like they were getting a little more frequent of late.

�I�m actually a little bit jealous of her,� Celia said. �She was pretty cute. Has braces.�

�Braces, huh?�

�Yeah,� Celia said dreamily. �Braces. Is it bad that I find that kind of hot?�

�Uh ... no,� Suzie said. �Not at all.�

�That�s good,� Celia�s voice said. �Now hurry up here and let�s get this thing started.�

�Right,� she said slowly. �Get it started.� Had there been perhaps of hint of something in Celia�s tone? Or was it wishful thinking?

She hung up the phone, thinking it was probably the latter. Though the two of them shared a flirtatious relationship, Celia had never made any attempt to advance that relationship any further. Well ... except for that one time, after the last flight of the last tour, when Celia had kissed her, and in more than a friendly manner.

�I just wanted to see what it could be like,� had been her explanation.

Suzie had hoped that maybe the beautiful singer would decide to try a little experimentation after her breakup with Greg, had been highly anticipating such a thing, in fact, but so far ... nothing. Just the normal flirtation and innuendo.

She pulled a sweater out of her travel bag and put it on. She then pulled two of the Montecristos out of the cigar box. She picked up her room key and walked out the door. The elevator was only a few steps away, just past the door to Njord�s room. She pushed the button. When the door opened, she stepped inside and pushed the number 14. Ninety seconds later, she was knocking on the door to Room 1402.

The door opened and there stood Celia. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a button-up burgundy sweater. Her hair was down and she had no makeup on. And she was absolutely beautiful, Suzie thought. It was apparent by the way her breasts jiggled when she moved that she was not wearing her bra currently. Interesting. And unusual for their get-togethers.

�Come in,� Celia said brightly, standing aside to let her enter.

Suzie came in. Celia�s suite was quite opulent. It had a large sitting room and a bar. The window looked out to the east, to the high rises of downtown and Lake Michigan beyond them, though they could not see the lake currently because of the darkness and the rain.

�What can I get you to drink?� Celia asked.

�Just a bottle of water,� she replied.

�I have some of that fancy French water with the bubbles in it.�

�That will work,� Suzie said.

Celia grabbed one of the green bottles and then pulled down a highball glass for herself. She quickly mixed herself a gin and tonic, squeezing a little lime juice into it.

�How was the show tonight?� Suzie asked.

�We nailed it, like always,� she said. �Left them wanting more.�

�And that�s the rule, right?�

�Right,� Celia said, carrying the drinks over. �Shall we retire to the smoking area?�

�We shall,� Suzie said, noticing that Celia was wearing some kind of perfume. It smelled like vanilla.

They walked out on the balcony and closed the sliding door behind them. As she had mentioned, the portion closest to the door had an awning over it, keeping out the rain. There was a table and a few chairs here and they sat down. The temperature was in the forties still, so it was a bit brisk, but the wind was still coming from the north and was not able to reach them. Suzie prepped the two cigars with her cutting tool and then handed one of them to Celia. She then flicked her Bic lighter and held the flame to Celia�s smoke.

�Mmm,� Celia said after the primary ignition sequence was complete. She blew out a stream of fragrant smoke into the night air. �Best thing I�ve had in my mouth in a while.�

�Is that a fact?� Suzie asked, lighting her own smoke.

�A cold, hard fact,� she said, taking another puff.

�Just so I�m clear,� Suzie said. �Are you making allusions to your companion from last night?�

�You could say that,� she said sourly.

�You did not enjoy the experience?�

She laughed, a strong tone of bitterness in it. �No,� she said. �I did not.�

�What happened?�

She leaned back in her chair a little and took a large sip from her drink. �Well ... we went up to my room after we got back to the hotel. We sat down on the couch. I asked him if he wanted to see my tits. He told me that he did. So ... I took my shirt off. And then I took off my bra. And he just stared at them like they were exhibits in an art museum or something. He couldn�t form a coherent sentence.�

�Wow,� she said. �You struck him dumb.�

�Yeah, apparently so. So, then I took his hands and placed them on my tits. He proceeded to squeeze and palpate them in a most unsatisfying manner. I did notice that the interaction was pleasurable to him, as he developed a prominent bulge in his pants. Since that bulge was what I was really after, I reached down and touched it. This struck him even dumber. I unbuttoned his pants and reached inside to see what he had.� She paused, taking another drink of her drink, another puff of her cigar.

�And then what happened?� Suzie asked.

Celia sighed. �As soon as I touched him, he came all over my fingers.�

�He didn�t!�

She nodded. �He did. After that, he became all apologetic, started telling me that nothing like that had ever happened to him before but that I was just so beautiful, and I was Celia Valdez and he just couldn�t help it. He told me to give him a few minutes and he would be ready to go again.�

�Did you give him a few minutes?� she asked.

�I gave him a few minutes to go clean himself up in the bathroom,� she said. �While he was doing that, I washed my hands and then put my shirt back on. When he came out, I showed him the door and told him the limo would take him back to the arena.�

�Wow,� she said again. �And he just went?�

�He seemed rather embarrassed about the whole thing. In truth, I�m kind of glad that nothing beyond that happened.�

�Why is that?�

�Because that�s not me,� she said. �It�s not who I am. I am not the kind of person who has meaningless sex with someone I just met.�

�Why did you put in the request then?� Suzie asked.

Celia sighed. �Because I was horny,� she said. �Why else? I haven�t had sex since the night Greg told me he knocked up Mindy Snow. That was back in February. It�s almost May now. That�s a long time to go without it when you�re used to getting it regularly. Paddling the pink canoe wasn�t doing it for me anymore, so I thought if I got some good-looking guy to dick me it would make everything better. But as soon as I felt him spurting on my fingers, I realized I was traveling down the wrong road.�

�I guess you had a bit of an epiphany,� Suzie suggested, inwardly ecstatic that Celia�s groupie date had fallen through.

�Maybe,� she said. �I just know that grabbing some random guy is not the answer to my problem.�

�What is then?� Suzie asked. �Teach�s solution?�

�Lesbian groupies?� Celia said. �I�ve thought about it.�

�It seems to work for Teach,� Suzie offered, feeling a little thrill at the idea of Celia letting a young female fan go to work on her.

�Her situation is kind of unique,� Celia said. �She has a husband and has found an interesting way to take care of her horniness out on the road�a way that her husband knows about and approves of. I no longer have a husband so I�m looking at a long stretch with no dick because I have the need to have some sort of relationship with a person I�m giving my body to. I think if I did the lesbian groupie thing it would be just as unsatisfying as my friend from last night, though probably not as messy.�

�An interesting point of view,� Suzie said.

�Not the word I would use,� she said. �However ... well ... I would like to make an experiment.�

�What do you mean?� Suzie asked.

�You and I have a meaningful relationship with each other, don�t we?�

Suzie stared at her, feeling that little jolt of excitement going through her again. �Uh ... yes, we do,� she said. �What are you suggesting?�

�I�m going to open my sweater,� Celia said softly. �I�m not wearing anything under it, as I�m sure you�ve already picked up on.�

�Uh ... well ... yeah,� she said, licking her lips a little.

�I want you to put your hands on my tits,� she said. �I want you to touch them, caress them, like a lover would.�

�Uh ... okay,� Suzie stammered, feeling wetness starting to surge below. Celia wanted her to touch her tits! Right here and right now!

�The experiment is to see if I feel pleasure and sexual excitement from your touch. I am attracted to you. I think I always have been. More important though, you are meaningful to me. I was attracted to my little boy toy last night, but I felt nothing when he touched me. If I feel something when you touch me, well ... my theory is validated, right?�

�Right!� Suzie agreed. �Totally validated!�

�Empirical evidence is what I�m after here. That�s what Nerdly would say.�

�He sounds like a very wise man,� Suzie said.

Celia giggled a little. �He is,� she said. �Are you ready to try this?�

�Yes,� she breathed. �I�m ready.�

Celia put her cigar in the ashtray on the table. She then took one more large drink of her gin and tonic. She set the glass down and then reached for the top button on her sweater. She unbuttoned it. She then did the button below that one; and then the one below that. She unbuttoned all the way down to the bottom but kept the sweater closed for the moment. �Come over here,� she told Suzie. �Stand in front of me.�

Suzie put her own cigar down and stood up. She walked two steps forward until she was standing directly in front of Celia�s chair, their knees nearly touching. Slowly, Celia pulled the sweater open, revealing a magnificent pair of mammaries, hands-down the finest pair that Suzie had ever had the privilege of casting her eyes on. The nipples were erect, standing up proudly, just begging to be touched and sucked.

�My God, Celia,� Suzie said. �They�re beautiful.�

�Thank you,� Celia said. �Now ... how about we proceed with the experiment?�

�Right,� she breathed. �The experiment.�

She reached forward and took one breast in each hand. She had to suppress a moan as she felt them. They were so soft, so sexy, so pliable. It was like shaking hands with God.

�Mmm,� Celia sighed at the touch. �That feels nice. You�ve already got my boy from last night beat. Now feel them. Caress them. Treat them the way they should be treated.�

Suzie needed no encouragement. She began to caress and squeeze them, feeling the nipples pushing into her palms, hefting the weight of them up and down, enjoying the silky feminine softness of the flesh.

�Mmmm, yessss,� Celia sighed, shifting back and forth in her chair a little. �I think we have empirical evidence in progress here.�

�That�s good to hear,� Suzie said, continuing her palpations.

�I am definitely enjoying this.�

�That�s the idea,� Suzie said.

�I think I would also enjoy it if you were to suck on them.�

�Should we make the experiment?� Suzie asked.

�Si, I think we should.�

Suzie dropped to her knees before Celia�s chair. Celia spread her legs apart to give her room to work. Suzie moved her hands from the breasts to Celia�s bare back. She pulled her body toward her and, at the same time, moved her face forward until the breasts were touching her face. She took Celia�s left nipple in her mouth and started to gently suckle it.

�Ohhhh, si,� Celia moaned. �That feels lovely.�

�Mmmm hmmm,� Suzie said, tonguing the nipple a bit and then switched to the right nipple. She felt Celia�s hand go to her hair and begin stroking it.

She sucked and suckled, caressed and kissed Celia�s breasts for the better part of five minutes; long enough for their cigars to go out. Neither of them noticed. Finally, Celia put her hands in Suzie�s armpits and pulled her up.

�Why don�t we go back inside?� Celia suggested. �I have some more experiments I would like to try.�

Suzie smiled at her. �Why don�t we?�

They went to the bedroom. Celia made sure all of the curtains and blinds were drawn and then sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the lights on.

�Show me what it�s like,� she told Suzie.

�What it�s like?� asked Suzie, who was still staring in awe at Celia�s bare breasts.

�To be loved by a woman,� she said.

Suzie smiled. �I can do that,� she said.

She showed her. The first lesson was that women made love with each other slowly, thoroughly, softly. They kissed for the better part of twenty minutes, long, tongue-swirling kisses, soft gentle pecks, occasional nibbles at the lips, the odd sucking of the tongue now and then. Suzie kept her hands confined to Celia�s arms and breasts during this portion of the experiment and Celia kept hers confined to Suzie�s back, which was still covered with her shirt.

Finally, Suzie pushed Celia back on the bed. She kissed her way downward, spending a few minutes at the belly button before continuing down to the waist of Celia�s jeans. She undid the snap and then lowered the zipper. She kissed the flesh that was revealed with this motion, making Celia moan. She then worked the pants down Celia�s legs, leaving her red panties in place. She kissed her way up each leg, starting at the ankle and spending a lot of time on the knees and the upper thighs before finally working her way to the junction between. There was a visible wet spot on the crotch of Celia�s panties and the odor of fresh, clean feminine arousal was quite prominent in the air here. Suzie hooked her fingers into the crotch of the panties and pulled them to one side, revealing a glistening wet vagina, the lips swollen, the flesh cleanly shaven. She licked slowly from the bottom to the top, tasting Celia for the first time, reveling in the bite of her juices.

�Ohhhhh, Madres de Dios,� Celia moaned, her fingers going back to Suzie�s hair.

Suzie pulled the panties off and went to work on her. She had first put her mouth on a vagina back in high school when she had gone down on one of her friends at a sleepover. Since then, she had done it hundreds more times. She called on all of that knowledge and experience now and gave Celia the ride of her life, pulling two orgasms out of her and then working her well toward a third before she finally pulled her face back up.

�Oh my God, that was intense,� Celia moaned. �Come up here and kiss me some more.�

Suzie did as requested, sliding up Celia�s now naked body and putting her tongue back in her mouth. They kissed and kissed, with Celia licking the essence of herself from Suzie�s face, sucking on her tongue some more.

�I want to suck your tits,� Celia said at last. �Can I do that?�

�Of course,� Suzie said, raising up in the bed. She whipped her shirt off and threw it across the room. She unsnapped her bra, revealing her medium-sized breasts to Celia�s eyes.

�Put them in my mouth,� Celia commanded.

Suzie did this and felt Celia�s wet, girly tongue slurping at her. She was not experienced at this, but she was enthusiastic, and it felt very good. She continued to caress Celia�s body with her hands as she was being suckled.

After ten or fifteen minutes of this�it was hard to judge time passage currently�Celia pulled her face free and looked up at her.

�I�m not quite ready to ... you know ... go down there yet,� she said apologetically.

�I understand,� Suzie said gently. Already she had done more than she had ever dreamed possible with the beautiful singer.

�But Teach told me about something that women do with each other. It�s called ... uh ... tribbing. Do you know how to do that?�

Suzie smiled. �I am familiar with the activity,� she said.

�I think I�d like to try it,� Celia said.

�Well, all right then,� Suzie said, standing and unbuttoning her jeans. �Let�s trib for a bit.�

Meanwhile, in Palm Springs, inside a large house owned by Greg Oldfellow, there was some pretty steamy lesbian action going on as well. Greg was watching it intently from the couch in his entertainment room. Only this action was not live and in the flesh. It was the latest release from Mary Ann Cummings Productions� most popular line of videos. It�s title was simple and to the point: Amateur Lesbians�Volume 5. Greg had ordered the video from Kim Kowalski�s company using his computer and the MACP website one week ago and it had arrived today, wrapped in a discrete, brown paper wrapper. The scene he was currently watching featured a beautiful young brunette with nipple piercings getting it on with an older (mid-thirties or so), slightly chubby (but not unattractive) blonde woman with a wedding ring and a hairy blonde bush on the bed of some anonymous bedroom. According to the brief interview at the beginning of the scene, neither woman had ever met before, neither had ever had sex with another woman before, but both had always been curious about it.

Greg had his pants and underwear down around his ankles, a bath towel under his naked ass, and a large bottle of unscented hand lotion on the end table next to him. He had himself well in hand as he watched the chubby blonde licking between the widely spread legs of the young brunette. This was the only sort of action that Greg had scored since that last night with Celia in El Paso, Texas months before.

It was not that he couldn�t get laid if he wanted to. On the contrary, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of women in southern California alone who would gladly jump into bed with him without the slightest hesitation. Many of them even sent him letters, many with enclosed Polaroids, offering to spread their legs for him if he would just give a little ring on the phone. Most of these women (but not all) were very attractive. Most promised that no strings would be attached. In addition, on the few occasions he had ventured out in public since the messiness of his divorce started to fade a little from daily entertainment press reports, he was always offered sex by some female he encountered, sometimes subtly, sometimes quite overtly.

He had taken none up on the offer. It was not that he did not want to have sex. On the contrary, he craved it very intensely, thus his current activity. It was that he was not ready to throw himself out into that scene, was not sure if he would ever be ready. Even before he had become involved with Celia�that seemed so long ago now�he had never been a fan of the one-night stand; of picking up some anonymous bimbo, using her, and then discarding her when he was finished. Like Celia herself, he needed to have some sort of connection with someone he was having sex with. It did not have to be love. He had not loved Cheryl the makeup girl and he most certainly had not loved Mindy Snow, but there had been a connection, a certain kind of chemistry with them. Even the two bimbos he was watching on the video screen now. He had to come up with a fantasy in his mind in order to enjoy the sight of the two of them, some sort of fantasy that would explain why they were having sex with each other and allowing him to watch it. It did not have to be a realistic fantasy (and it was not�in his mind the two women were support staff on a project who had confessed their bisexual curiosity to him separately and, grateful that he had introduced them to each other, invited him to watch and participate) but it had to meet the basic requirements of suspension of disbelief. Even when he had looked at the pictures in the edition of Smooth Operator where Mindy�s escapades had been documented, some form of fantasy was required for him to become aroused. It was just the way he was wired.

And he was not ready to go out and make that sort of required connection with a real woman just yet. It was still too soon after the breakup, for one thing. And if he were to meet such a woman, there was the small fact that he was a multi-millionaire and thus a prime target for a pregnancy scam�again. He would certainly never be able to trust any woman�no matter how trustworthy she seemed�if she told him she was on birth control pills. And even if he did not deplore using condoms�he did�they were far from a perfect method of contraception, especially when dealing with a possibly conniving female. Jake had told him horror stories of women would go so far as to dig a condom out of the trash after use just to impregnate themselves. And even if there was no conniving, accidents happened. Jake had told him the story of Celia�s drummer, Coop, who was now paying five-digit per month child support to a woman he had had a brief affair with because the condom he was using had come off in the middle of the act.

�Never let a chick suck your dick right before you put the rubber on,� Jake had advised sternly (and in all seriousness) during this discussion. �That�s just asking for a Coop incident.�

And so that was why the man who could have almost any woman he desired was sitting on his couch and whacking off to high quality lesbian porn. And why he had no serious prospect for changing the equation on the horizon.

When the two women on the screen switched into a sixty-nine position�blondie on the bottom, brunette on the top�and the camera focused on brunette�s rear end and blondie�s tongue licking at her swollen, wet, gaping vagina, Greg finally reached the point of no return. In his mind, this was when the two women invited him to get in on the action. This was where he would walk up and slip his member into the brunette�s body while the blonde licked and sucked his testicles. This is where the spasms started and he shot his load all over the towel that was arranged specifically to catch it.

When his breathing returned to normal, he took a few deep breaths and then wiped his right hand, which was sticky with semen and slippery with hand lotion, on a clean part of the towel. He then picked up the remote control, stopped the VCR and ejected the tape. He stood carefully, extricating the towel from beneath him and then bunching it up into a ball, dirty side inward. He pulled up his pants and buttoned them and then fastened his belt. He then carried the towel up to his bedroom and tossed it into the hamper. After this, he washed his hands in the bathroom sink, doing a thorough job of it. He sighed. After releasing his tension, he always felt a little ashamed of himself for indulging. But he was getting used to it now.

He went back downstairs and finished the job of covering his tracks. He pulled the cassette from the machine and placed it back in its cover. He used the remote to return the television to the Discovery Channel before turning it off. He picked up his glass, which still contained half of the third shot of rye whiskey he had poured, and the bottle of hand lotion, and went upstairs. He put the porno tape and the lotion in a drawer at the foot of the bed�a drawer that could be locked and that his housekeeper was forbidden to get into. In addition to twelve other pornographic video tapes (eight of which had been distributed by Mary Ann Cummings Productions) and three pornographic magazines (two Smooth Operators and a Penthouse), there was a bottle of Ambien that his doctor had prescribed for him about two weeks ago. He opened the bottle, took out one of the pills, replaced the bottle, and then closed and locked the drawer. He carried the pill over to the nightstand next to his bed and picked up his rye. He washed the pill down with the remainder of the whiskey.

Once that was done, the clock was ticking. He had learned very quickly that once the Ambien was in his stomach, he had about thirty minutes before he fell asleep, whether he wanted to or not and no matter where he was or what he was doing. When they said that Ambien make you sleep, they had not been kidding.

He quickly undressed down to his underwear and put all of his clothing into the laundry hamper on top of the bunched-up towel. He then pulled on his silk pajamas and got into bed. He turned off the lights and looked up at the dark ceiling.

It was now just past eleven o�clock. Right on schedule, sleep sucked him down forcefully at 11:33 PM.

Such ended another day in the post-breakup life of Greg Oldfellow.

Jake spent much of the latter half of April 1996 traveling with Bigg G and the boys as they pounded out the final eleven dates of the Livin� It tour. The final stop was Detroit, where they played three dates at the historic Cobo Arena. All three of those shows were recorded in digital audio and videotaped by multiple cameras in anticipation of a probable live album and video release later in the year.

G then threw an after-tour party for all of the band, roadies, techies, and everyone else involved in making the show what it was. It was a party that lasted for three days and nights and quickly became the stuff of mythology and legend. He rented out the entire Detroit Civic Center and Hotel for the occasion. Five open, unlimited bars were stocked and staffed throughout the facility, operating from seven in the morning until two the following morning each day of the party. Catering was available in the convention center auditorium twenty-four hours a day. Four separate DJs kept music playing in the auditorium for the entirety of the event by rotating every six hours. The Detroit Police Department was called to the event eight times during its run, resulting in fourteen arrests on a variety of charges. Two police officers and four party guests were injured and had to visit the hospital due to these encounters. The entire thing finally wound down after last call on the morning of April 27^th. When all the expenses were added up, the party ended up costing Gordon just a hair over a million dollars, not including bail money, which totaled another sixty thousand but was theoretically refundable.

�Yeah, it was an okay party, I guess,� G was quoted as saying afterward.

Jake flew back to Los Angeles on April 27^th, taking an early evening Delta Airlines flight and arriving wasted, fatigued, and about as hungover as he had ever been in recent times. He had slept for much of the flight and slept even more on the limo ride from LAX to the Granada Hills house. By the time he let himself inside, travel bag in hand, it was after eight o�clock and the sun was below the horizon.

He passed by the bar and grimaced as he saw the bottles of booze neatly in their places. He wondered if he would ever feel like drinking alcohol again. He went to the freezer and pulled one of the frozen dinners out�it was the chicken and rice one, about all he thought his stomach would be able to handle. He vented the lid and placed in in the microwave. He then opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of the quart bottles of Gatorade. He opened it and had a long drink, draining away nearly a third of the bottle.

He took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes for a moment to get the spinning sensation under control, and then walked back into the living room. He opened his travel bag and rummaged around for a minute until he found his calendar. He flipped it open to April and looked at the entry for the 27^th. Celia and the band had performed in Syracuse, New York tonight and were staying at the Sheraton Hotel there, assuming that had not changed in the months since the booking had been made. He checked his watch. It was 8:23 PM here in California, which meant it was 11:23 PM in Syracuse, the same time that Jake�s jet-lagged body felt it was. Unless Laura had a friend visiting her tonight, or unless she was having a smoke out on a balcony with Celia and Suzie the pilot, she would likely answer the phone in her room. He called information by using an area code map he kept in the back of the calendar and got the number for the hotel. He then placed his call, asking to be connected to Lynn Dolan�s room.

�Hey, sweetie!� Laura said brightly when she heard his voice. �It�s good to hear from you. Where are you?�

�Granada Hills,� he told her. �Just got back to LA tonight.�

�Wasn�t the last show on the 23^rd?� she asked.

�It was,� he confirmed. �G threw us all a little party after the last date.�

�That was nice of him,� she said. �But why did you stay another three days after the party?�

�I didn�t,� he said. �The party just ended this morning.�

�A three-day party?� she asked, incredulous.

�And three nights,� he added. �I am seriously considering giving up alcohol at this point.�

�Wow,� she said. �That�s some shindig.�

�Yeah, it wasn�t bad,� he said.

�I�m guessing you�re not going to fly back home tonight?�

�God no,� he said. �I�m going to choke down some food and then go directly to bed and stay there until the sun is high in the sky tomorrow.�

�Mmmm,� she said. �I wish I was there to get into bed with you.�

�Me too,� he said. And this was true. And not just for the sex. He truly missed having her around.

�Our tour break is coming up after the Bangor show,� she reminded him. �That�s only two weeks away.�

�It�s only a five-day break,� he said, choosing to look at that glass as half-empty in his current mood. �And you�re not coming home for it.�

�True,� she said, �but you can fly out to me, can�t you?� She gave a naughty little giggle. �I�ve never been banged in Bangor before.�

Jake could not make the same claim. He prudently did not mention this, however. �Well, yeah, I could do that,� he said. �I could catch a flight to Boston and then maybe rent a plane there and fly up to Bangor. We could explore the area a little.�

�Now that sounds like fun,� she said enthusiastically. �I hear it�s beautiful in Maine in the late spring.�

�They have lots of lakes, some mountains, some bitchin� coastline,� Jake said, warming more and more to the idea.

�And you don�t have anything else going on, right?� she asked.

�I�m going to need to start putting a band together for the TSF show in September since Coop and Charlie and you are committed to the European tour now.� That commitment had been made two weeks before. Aristocrat Records would finance an eleven-week tour of Europe starting with the first of four shows in London on July 10. From the British Isles they would work their way through dates in Spain, France, Belgium, Germany, and round it out in Poland. There was talk of a South American tour after that�Celia was extremely popular in South America for obvious reasons�but so far, the suits at Aristocrat had not agreed to fund such an endeavor.

�Can that wait until you come back from my tour break?� she asked.

�I think so,� he said. �I�ll talk to Paulie in the morning and have her start putting out some feelers for musicians. Maybe I can get the auditions going now and then start rehearsing after I come back from Maine.�

�You are not allowed to have a female saxophonist,� Laura said with mock sternness. �Look what happened the last time you had such a thing.�

He laughed. �I did end up nailing that little slut, didn�t I?�

�She was asking for it,� Laura said with a giggle.

�They all are,� he returned. �Anyway, I�m not going to bother recruiting a saxophonist. Blur is the only tune that needs one.�

�You�re not going to perform Blur?� she asked, clearly disappointed. South Island Blur, the song about Jake�s exile in New Zealand after the breakup of Intemperance and his breakup with Helen, was her favorite song that Jake had written. This was partly because it was the only song in which she performed with him, but mostly because it had been during the recording of the tune that they had fallen in love. And strangely enough, it was also one of Jake�s most popular commercial hits as well. People who did not like any other Jake Kingsley or Intemperance tune loved Blur and perceived it as a song about partying on a tropical island and not a dissertation about depression and alcoholism, which was how Jake had composed it.

�Well ... I didn�t say that,� he said.

�What are you going to do then?� she asked. �Try to play it without a sax? In a different key maybe?�

�That is one option,� he said. �There is another though.�

�What�s that?�

�Your last date in Europe is going to be September 25^th in Warsaw, correct?�

�I believe so,� she said. �I don�t have the schedule right in front of me.�

�Me either,� he said, �but I looked into it. The third and final Warsaw date is September 25^th. If you hop on a flight the morning of the 26^th, you can be back home that night. The first show of the TSF is on the 27^th.�

She suddenly understood what he was getting at. �You want me to play the sax for Blur?� she asked.

�I do,� he confirmed. �You�re the one who laid down the track for it on the recording.�

�Jake, there will be no rehearsal time,� she protested. �I haven�t played that piece since you came and joined us on the Bobby Z tour.�

�True,� he said, �but you�re intimately familiar with the piece. And we�ll be able to get in some rehearsal time during the sound check.�

�That�s not enough rehearsal time,� she said.

�It was enough for us when we worked it up that first night on the Z tour, wasn�t it?�

�Well ... yeah,� she said, �but we were not that far downstream from the recording sessions when we did that. I haven�t played the tune in almost three years.�

�But you still hear it on the radio on occasion, right?�

�Well ... yeah,� she admitted.

�And you still remember the notes, right?�

�Of course,� she said, �but...�

�How about this?� he interrupted. �I can get Nerdly to punch you out a copy of the tune without the sax track in it. You can take your soprano with you to Europe and practice your part in your spare time out on the road.�

�Hmmm,� she said thoughtfully. �That might work, assuming you�re going to be performing the tune in the same time signature and key as the recording.�

�That is absolutely what I plan to do,� he said. �In fact, now that I�m thinking about it, I�ll have Nerdly pound out a CD that only has the saxophone track on it as well. That way, when we�re rehearsing for the show, we can play it through the speakers for the other musicians.�

�Oh ... that is a good idea,� she said. �But still ... I�m not accustomed to stepping onto a stage without tons of rehearsal time.�

�The only other option is not to perform Blur,� he said. �And I�d hate to have to do that, and so would the audience.�

She sighed. �All right,� she said. �I�ll do it.�

�That�s my girl,� he said. �I knew you�d have my back.�

�I think you�re exploiting my love for you,� she accused lightly.

�What love?� he asked. �I thought you were just with me for my money,� he said.

�Oh yeah,� she said with a giggle. �I forgot about that.�

He chuckled a little and then asked, �So, how are things out on tour? Everything still running smoothly?�

�For the most part,� she said. �There�s some pretty palpable tension between Suzie and Njord.�

�Worse than normal?� he asked.

�Yeah. Something happened between them a few weeks ago. I don�t know what�no one does�but the tension started to ramp up at that point. They don�t talk to each other anymore at all unless it�s mission related.�

�I wouldn�t want to talk to that asshole either,� Jake opined.

�I�m not saying this is a bad thing,� Laura said. �It just makes things a little uncomfortable on the plane.�

�What about at night when you�re smoking cigars with her? Is she her normal self then?�

�It�s funny you should mention that,� Laura said.

�Cigars?�

�That�s right,� she said. �I haven�t been invited to a cigar session in a few weeks now.�

�Really? Why not? Is Celia or Suzie mad at you about something?�

�No,� she said. �It�s not that.�

�Then what is it?�

�If I tell you, this stays between us,� she said.

�Of course,� he said.

�I�m pretty sure that Celia and Suzie are still getting together in C�s room every night. And I don�t believe they�re smoking cigars in there.�

Jake was astounded by what she was suggesting. �You mean ... Celia and Suzie are ... are ... getting it on?�

�I believe they are,� she said. �I haven�t actually seen them doing it, of course.�

�Damn,� Jake said, imagining it. �That would be something to watch, wouldn�t it?�

�I know, right?� she said. �Anyway, Celia hasn�t said anything about it either. But when the two of them are in the same room ... well ... you know how it is when two people are involved with each other but aren�t telling anyone about it. There�s a certain way they look at each other, a certain way they talk to each other. They�re both giving off a lot of vibes. When you couple that with the lack of cigar time for me ... well ... it suggests something.�

�Does anyone else suspect anything?� Jake asked.

�I don�t know,� she said. �Nobody has verbalized anything anyway.�

�Well ... I guess this is Celia�s way of dealing with the divorce ... assuming that any of this is true.�

�I guess so,� Laura said. �I just hope she�s careful. If the entertainment press gets ahold of this rumor ... I can only imagine the response.�

�It would be a shitshow,� Jake agreed.

They talked a little more about inconsequential things and then said they loved each other. As always, Jake did not promise to call her tomorrow, though he probably would.

He went back to the kitchen and pulled his dinner out of the microwave. He ate it slowly, waiting after each bite to make sure his stomach was going to accept the offering. It did so on a trial basis.

After eating, he went to bed without bothering to clean up his mess. He sincerely and whole-heartedly hoped he would feel better in the morning.

As it turned out, he did feel better. He got up just past nine o�clock with only a mild headache, a bit of stomach queasiness, and a vague feeling of disconnect. He took a few antacid pills and some Tylenol, washing them down with the rest of the Gatorade from last night�s bottle. He then made himself a little breakfast, scrambling three eggs and adding some shredded cheese and some peppers to it. He felt even better after eating. Not quite all the way back to normal, but better.

He called Pauline�s personal number and she answered on the second ring.

�Hey, sis,� he said. �It�s me. I�m back in town.�

�Thank God,� she said, an audible tone of relief in her voice.

Jake raised his eyebrows. �Why do you say that?� he asked. �Did some shit hit the fan?�

�No, not that I know of,� she said, �but I was worried about you being at that party in Detroit.�

�How do you know about that?� he asked, surprised.

�The whole fucking world knows about that party,� she said. �It went out on the AP wire. Did they really have to send in a SWAT team?�

�Only that one time,� Jake said with a shrug. �It wasn�t really that big of a deal. A few people tried to crash it and things got a little out of hand, I guess. The SWAT team stayed outside.�

�They�re reporting that fourteen people were arrested,� she said.

�Not all at one time,� he said. �And it was mostly just marijuana charges ... oh, and a few resisting arrests. You know how it is.�

�No,� she said, �I really don�t. You were not one of the people arrested?�

�I was not,� he said. �I got a really vicious hangover though. I�m thinking about not drinking anymore.�

She laughed as if that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. �Anyway,� she said. �I�m glad you�re safely home.�

�Me too,� he said. �I�m gonna be flying home to Oceano in a little bit. Just wanted to check in with you and let you know I was back. Also, I wanted to talk to you about the TSF.�

�Oh?�

�Yeah,� he said. �I think it�s time to start looking for some musicians. I�m going to fly to Bangor when Laura is on her tour break and spend some time with her. After I get back, I want to hit the ground running if I can. My hope is that we can at least do some auditions and pin down the primary positions before I leave.�

�Interesting that you should bring that up,� she said.

�Is it?�

�Yes, because I wanted to talk to you about that very subject.�

�Oh ... okay. Let�s talk then.�

�Not over the phone,� she said. �I�m going to head to my office in the studio in about half an hour. Can you meet me there?�

�Sure,� he said. �No problem.�

�All right then,� she said. �I�ll see you there.�

He hung up the phone and then went into the master suite. There, he shaved four days worth of stubble off of his face, brushed his teeth, and then showered. He dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a simple pullover t-shirt. All of this made him feel almost human again.

He packed up his travel bag and made sure he had the keys to the Oceano house. He then went out to his truck and made the drive to Santa Clarita. When he arrived at KVA�s studio building, he saw that, in addition to Pauline�s Lexus, there were several other vehicles parked in front of the entrance. He puzzled over this for a moment and then remembered it was Sunday. Lighthouse, the band consisting of Ben Ping, Ted Duncan, Phil Genkins and Lenny Harris�the first three of whom had been instrumental in the recording of Jake and Celia�s first solo albums�were here for rehearsal of their material. They were represented by Pauline, who helped get them gigs all over southern California, and were allowed to use the studio when Jake or Celia or Brainwash were not using it because they had helped Jake and Celia work up the tunes for their second albums.

Jake opened the front door using the code box and stepped inside. The receptionist�s desk was empty as it was her day off. Faintly, from the direction of the soundproof studio, he could hear the rhythmic thumping of Ben Ping�s bass guitar but little else. He put it out of his mind and walked down the hallway to Pauline�s office. She was sitting behind her desk, her hair down, wearing a blouse and a pair of jeans.

�Hey, Paulie,� he greeted. �Where�s Tabby?�

�Obie�s in town for a few weeks,� she said. �She�s with him.�

�Oh, that�s cool.� He walked over to the chair in front of her desk.

�Before you sit down,� Pauline said, �and before we talk, I want you to do something for me.�

�What�s that?�

�Go over to the studio door and pop it open just a little, so the sound can get out, but the band doesn�t know you�re there.�

�Why would I do that?� he asked.

�I want you to listen to them play for a few minutes,� she said.

�Why?�

�I�ll tell you after you do it,� she said. �Give it at least five minutes or so.�

He looked at her quizzically but saw that he was going to get no further information until he did what she asked. So, he did what she asked. He walked back to the studio and punched in the code for the heavy door that guarded access. The lock clicked. Slowly, he turned the knob and pulled the door open a few inches.

The moment he did so, the volume of the music increased significantly, enough that he could hear each instrument playing, could hear the words that Phil was singing. It was a fast-paced tune, going at about one-thirty beats per minute or so. The guitar was lightly distorted and being played in a drop-E tuning. Phil was singing in good voice. Jake listened to the tune they were rehearsing. It had a good beat and a good hook line. After hearing two verses and two choruses, he realized that the song was about suicide. Phil seemed to be pleading with the person contemplating this act not to do it, that life could be handled despite its drawbacks. He found himself tapping his foot and nodding his head to the beat.

They�ve gotten better since I last heard them, he thought appreciatively. Not that they were terrible before, but if this was an example of their latest work, it was significantly improved.

When they finished up the tune and started discussing the ins and outs of what should come next, Jake gently closed the door again. He walked back to Pauline�s office and sat down at her desk.

�They�ve gotten a lot better,� he said. �Is that what you wanted me to hear?�

�Yes,� she said. �And you�re right. They�ve gotten much better over the past year. They are very popular in the region now, headlining in the clubs from San Diego to Oxnard to San Bernardino almost every weekend. They are pulling in anywhere from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred dollars a gig now, and I�ve got club managers calling me up almost every day trying to book them. They sell out every venue that they play in.�

�Good for them,� Jake said with a smile. He remembered his own club days fondly, especially the part when they had really started to become popular.

�I�ve also gotten enquiries from National and Capitol Records asking me to send them demo tapes of Lighthouse�s material.�

�No shit?� Jake asked.

�No shit,� she confirmed. �It seems that Lighthouse is now on the radar screen.�

�What did they say when you told them about the demos?�

�Nothing,� she said. �I haven�t told them about it yet.�

�You haven�t told them? Why not?�

�Because I wanted to talk to you first,� she said. �I�m not the music expert like you are. I�m not as good at evaluating music on the consumer level like you are. But I do know that when National and Capitol sends out unsolicited enquiries, it�s because they have a good feeling about a band.�

�What are you suggesting?� he asked.

�Maybe it�s time for KVA to sign another act,� she said.

�You want to sign Lighthouse to a contract?� he asked, just to make sure he was on the same page as her.

�I want you to go out to their next gig�it�s at the Zebra Club in San Pedro next Friday night�and give them a listen and make that determination for yourself. If you think they have what it takes, you�ll have me onboard with the plan.�

Jake was shaking his head. �It doesn�t matter how good they are,� he said. �We don�t have time to record another act right now. We have Brainwash coming here in late May to start working on their next album. I have the TSF that I have to hire musicians for and then rehearse up. It just isn�t a good time.�

�I know that,� she said. �I was not suggesting that we start this project right away. It would have to wait until after the TSF in September at the very least.�

�That�s almost six months from now,� he said. �I guess we could consider this then, but...�

�We won�t be able to record them now,� Pauline interrupted, �but we still should get them under contract as quickly as possible.�

�Why?� he asked.

�The primary reason is to keep National or one of the other bigs from getting their greasy little hands on them first. I am ethically and morally bound to tell them about the demo requests. I have no doubt that they would jump at the offer. And if one of the bigs offers to sign them, you know what that means.�

Jake saw what she was getting at and nodded slowly. �A first-time contract,� he said.

�Right,� she said. �They�ll get screwed, blued, and tattooed, just like you and the rest of Intemperance. I do not want that to happen to them. I do not want to be pulling in my percentage off the top and fattening my bank account while they end up hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. I cannot and I will not be a party to that.�

�I understand,� Jake said.

�I thought you might.�

�That�s the primary reason,� Pauline said. �There�s a secondary reason as well.�

�What�s that?�

�You need musicians for the TSF,� she said. �In that room over there are four musicians, all of whom have played with you before, all of whom are veterans of live performance. If we told them that we would sign them to our label with the stipulation that they assist you with your TSF obligation prior to the recording of their own album, do you think they would agree to that?�

Jake thought about that for a moment and then smiled. �You know, I think they might; especially if we pay them what we were paying them back when we worked up and recorded the first albums.�

�Then you think it�s a good idea?� she asked.

�I�ll have to give them a good listen first,� he said. �I�ll go to their next gig, and I�ll take Nerdly with me. If they�re as good as you think and if Nerdly is onboard, we�ll talk to Celia. If she�s onboard as well ... well, I guess we do some paperwork.�

�All right then,� Pauline said with a smile. �I�ll hold off on telling them about the demo offers until next week.�

�Even if this works out,� Jake said, �I�ll still need a pianist and a violinist and probably a female backing singer for the TSF.�

�I understand,� she said. �And I�m confident we will be able to find such creatures.�

Birmingham, United Kingdom

May 12, 1996

It was just past 11:00 PM in the Greenwich Mean Time Zone, which was defined by the planet Earth�s prime meridian. Just over an hour ago, the first of two Matt Tisdale concerts scheduled for Arena Birmingham had concluded. The band and Matt�s tour paramedic, Jim Ramos, had all had their post-performance food, their post-performance bonghits, and their post-performance blowjobs delivered by a gaggle of English groupies. They were now getting ready for some serious partying in Matt�s suite at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in the city center.

Nine groupies had accompanied them back to the hotel for the festivities, every last one of them hot, slutty, and dressed for easy access. Music was playing from the room�s sound system at a level that was undoubtedly disturbing other guests in the vicinity. Liquor was flowing freely from the room�s bar. Three joints were currently being passed around�Matt thought the English weed was pretty shitty compared to what he was used to�and two of the groupies were making out on the sitting room couch for the entertainment of all. Austin was getting a blowjob from the short-haired, punk looking groupie in the Metallica shirt. Matt himself was sitting between two of the groupies on the other couch, crunching up a healthy pile of cocaine on a mirror with his right hand while his left was feeling up the bare inner thigh of the groupie with the leather miniskirt.

The phone began to ring that shrill, rapid double ring that English phones were known for. Matt looked at the phone, which sat on the room�s writing desk, in annoyance. It was probably the manager wanting them to turn the music down. That happened quite frequently. Usually, if they called early enough in the festivities before Matt reached maximum belligerence, he would comply.

�Hey, Jimbo,� he barked at the medic, who was sitting in one of the chairs, his football on the floor next to him, watching the two groupies suck each other�s tongues. �Get that fuckin� thing, will you?�

�Uh ... yeah, sure,� Jim said, reluctantly dragging his eyes away. �What�s your hotel name again?�

�Norm Worthington,� he said, telling Jim the diminutive of his middle name and the name of the street he had grown up on.

�Right,� Jim said, getting to his feet.

�Tell him we�ll turn the tunes down if he promises not to call up here again,� Matt said.

�Right,� Jim said again, heading over to the writing desk. He picked up the phone. �Norm Worthington�s room.� He listened for a moment. �What? Who?� A pause. �Oh ... hi, how are you?� Another pause. �Yeah ... he�s here. Just a minute.� He turned back to Matt. �It�s Kim.�

�Kim?� Matt asked. �What the fuck does she want?� Kim had never called him while he was on the road before.

�She didn�t tell me,� he said, �but she says it�s very important.�

�All right,� he sighed, wondering what kind of shit was hitting the fan now. �Tell her to hang on a second.�

Jim told her this and put the phone down on the desk. Matt quickly finished crunching up the cocaine and then expertly separated it into six fat rails. He picked up the mirror and then pulled his sterling silver straw from his shirt pocket. He snorted up two of the lines, one for each nostril, and then handed the mirror to the leather mini-skirt groupie.

�Here you go, hon,� he told her. �Fire up.�

She took the mirror and the straw from him. He got up, grabbed his Jack and Coke, and walked over to the desk. He picked up the phone and put it to his ear. �Hey,� he said. �What�s up?�

�Hey, Mattie,� Kim�s voice said from five and a half thousand miles away. �It sounds like you�re having some fun there.�

�I�m trying to,� he said. �What�s the deal? Why did you call me?�

�I got a call from your accountant earlier today,� she said.

�Hopple?�

�That�s the one,� she said.

�What the fuck did he want?�

�He says he needs to talk to you right away,� she said. �That it�s very important.�

�Did he say what�s so important about it?�

�Not to me,� she said, �but he did make a point to stress that he really needs to talk to you today.�

�It�s not today anymore, it�s tonight.�

�Not here it isn�t,� she reminded him. �It�s just past three in the afternoon. He said he�ll be in his office until six tonight. He gave me the number in case you don�t have it with you.�

�I do not have it with me,� Matt sighed. �The last fucking thing I want to bring to Europe with me is that fucking asshole�s phone number.�

�You got a pen?� she asked.

�Yeah,� he said, picking one up and then pulling over the pad of courtesy hotel stationary. �Go ahead.�

She rattled off the number to him and he wrote it down. She made him repeat it, just to make sure he had written it correctly. He had.

�Okay, thanks,� he told Kim. �I guess I�d better see what dicknose wants.�

�I guess you�d better,� she said. �Talk to you later, Mattie.�

�Yep,� he said and then hung up. He looked at the number on the paper for a moment and picked up the phone. Just as he was about to dial, a loud cheer of enthusiasm erupted throughout the room. He looked and saw that the two groupies on the couch had progressed a bit in the action. The short-haired one had pulled off the long-haired one�s pants and was now licking away at her slit.

�Yeah!� cheered Corban. �Suck that fuckin� snatch!�

�Make her come!� yelled one of the other groupies.

�And don�t try to fake no orgasm!� Jim yelled. �We know the difference.�

�If she keeps doing that, I won�t need to fake it,� the groupie said dreamily.

In a rare moment of discretion, Matt decided he should maybe make his phone call from the bedroom phone. He got up, taking the piece of paper with him. He walked by the two groupies he had staked his claim on and told them he would be back.

�Make it quick,� the leather mini-skirted one said, �or we might get started without you.�

�That works for me,� Matt said.

He picked up his pack of cigarettes and his lighter and went into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, dampening down, but by no means eliminating, the whoops and cheers and shouts of those watching the two women going at it. He listened to the sounds of them with envy. Just as the party was getting good, he has to call his fucking accountant.

�I�m calling that motherfucker collect,� he said. And that was just what he did.

He went through the hotel operator to the international operator and gave her the number. The phone rang on the other end. A woman answered.

�Hopple and Hopple,� she said brightly. �How may I direct your call?�

�This is the international operator. I have a collect call from Mr. Tisdale to Mr. Hopple. Will you accept the charge from the United Kingdom?�

�Excuse me?� the secretary asked.

�This is a person to person call from Mr. Tisdale to Mr. Hopple,� she repeated in a nasally voice. �Will you accept the charge from the United Kingdom.�

�Whoa,� Matt said. �This is some serious Pink Floyd shit here.�

�I beg your pardon,� the secretary said, confused and upset.

�It�s Matt Tisdale calling,� Matt said impatiently. �Hopple needs to talk to me. Now accept the charges and put me through.�

�Uh ... well ... he did say he was expecting a call from you, but...�

�Then accept the fucking charges,� Matt barked. �Come on. I�ve got a couple of chicks dyking out in the other room and I�m not watching it because Hopple seems to think there is something more important than that. Now accept the goddamn charges, please.�

�Okay,� she said meekly. �I�ll accept the charges.�

�Thank you,� the operator said, seemingly unfazed by the conversation. With that, she clicked off the line.

�I�ll put you through, Mr. Tisdale,� the secretary said. There was brief pause and then, �Do you really have two women ... you know ... doing that in the other room?�

�Yes,� he said simply. �And I�m going to miss the finale if you don�t get dicknose on the line for me.�

�Right,� she said. �Putting you through.�

There was a brief period of on-hold music�the Muzak version of Motley Crue�s Home Sweet Home�and then the phone clicked. �Matt?� said Hopple�s voice. �Is that you?�

�It�s me, Hopple,� Matt said. �Kim said you have some shit you need to talk to me about?�

�Yes, yes I do,� he said. �Where are you at tonight?�

�In fucking England,� Matt said. �Birmingham, as a matter of fact. It�s eleven-fucking-thirty at night here, we just got back from the show, and I got a couple of English groupies munching each other�s muff on the couch of my suite. Now please tell me what is more important than that.�

�English groupies?� Hopple asked, his voice envious. �What do they look like?�

�Like fucking groupies!� Matt barked. �Why do you need to talk to me, Hopple? What kind of shit is hitting the fan back there?�

�Oh ... well ... it�s not really a big deal, actually, and I don�t want you to worry too much about this, but ... well ... uh...� He faded out.

�What?� Mat shouted, loud enough to drown out the sounds of the partying. �Spit it out, dude! Tell me what you don�t want me to fucking worry about!�

�Well ... it�s just that I got a notice that your taxes from 1995 are being audited.�

�Audited?� Matt asked, suddenly forgetting about the groupies outside. That was a terrifying word.

�Yeah, audited,� Hopple said, �but don�t worry. First of all, it�s not the IRS who is auditing you, it�s just the California Franchise Tax Board.�

�And that�s supposed to make me feel better?� he asked. �An audit is an audit, right?�

�Well ... kind of,� Hopple said. �But this shouldn�t be bad at all. They�ve already told me what the issue is.�

�What is the issue?�

�It�s the one-hundred- and eighteen-thousand-dollar medical deduction you took for that heart surgery you had back in December. You remember? The one you paid out of pocket for?�

�Yes, Hopple,� Matt said, shaking his head. �I do seem to remember them burning away parts of my fucking heart and me paying a hundred and eighteen big for it. What is the issue? You said that out-of-pocket medical expenses are deductible.�

�They are,� Hopple said. �That�s why I don�t want you to worry about this. There is no question whatsoever that your heart surgery was a legitimate medical expense that was uncompensated by your medical insurance carrier.�

�Then why are they questioning it?�

�The amount you paid triggered an alarm,� Hopple said. �You see, paying that much out of pocket in medical expenses is far above the normal amount that the average taxpayer pays�even taxpayers at your income level. They just want to see documentation of the procedure, the financial transaction, and why the insurance company did not reimburse you. It�ll be nothing. Like I said, there is nothing the least bit questionable about the legitimacy of this deduction.�

�Are you sure about this?� Matt asked.

�Absolutely sure,� Hopple assured him. �I just need you to fax me a written authorization to represent you at the audit. Under the assumption that you did not want to fly all the way back home to appear in person for this minor matter, I�ve already taken the liberty of scheduling it for May 25^th at the Los Angeles branch office.�

�Uh ... well ... yeah, I guess I don�t want to come all the way back to LA for this shit. We�ll be in France then, I think. Do I just write this up on a piece of paper?�

�That�s right,� Hopple said. �A handwritten authorization is fine. Just say that you authorize the firm of Hopple and Hopple to represent you before the California Franchise Tax Board, date it, and then sign it. Let me give you our fax number.� He rattled the number off and Matt wrote it down.

�Does this shit have to be done tonight?� Matt asked.

�No, just do it in the next twenty-four hours,� Hopple said.

�All right,� Matt said. �I�ll do it in the morning, before we go out to do the meet and greets.�

�That will work,� Hopple said. �And, like I told you, don�t worry too much about this. It should be nothing.�

�Yeah,� Matt said bitterly. �A nothing tax audit. That happens all the time, right?�

�Actually, you�d be surprised,� the accountant reassured him.

�Uh huh,� Matt said. �I�m gonna go back to my groupies now.�

�Any chance you could snap some pictures?� Hopple asked.

�I already have,� Matt told him, �but you�re sure as shit not going to see any of them.�

�That�s too bad,� Hopple said, genuine regret in his tone. �Oh ... and one more thing before you go. I just wanted to say how happy I am about you and Jake Kingsley.�

Matt wrinkled his face in confusion. �What about me and Jake Kingsley?� he asked.

�It�s all over the entertainment news here in LA,� Hopple said. �About this Tsunami Sound Festival and about how you and Jake are going to share the stage for it.�

�What?!� Matt barked.

�You and Jake,� Hopple said, a little confusion in his tone now. �He�s going to be the act before yours on both nights of the festival. Didn�t you know that?�

�No, I did not fucking know that!� Matt nearly screamed. �Are you sure about this shit?�

�Very sure,� Hopple said. �Music Alive released their press release two days ago about the TSF. It listed the bands that will be playing on each night. Jake is there right before you on both of them. You can see it on their website if you have internet access there.�

�And the entertainment media are talking about this?� Matt asked next.

�They�re making a big deal out of it,� Hopple said. �They�re calling it the �first step toward a possible Intemperance reunion�. Is that true, Matt? Do you really think this might lead to that?�

�No, it�s not true,� Matt said through gritted teeth. �There is not going to be an Intemperance reunion�never! In fact, there�s not even going to be a �this�, as you put it. I will not share a stage with Jake fucking Kingsley. Either he is going to go, or I am.�

�Oh,� Hopple said slowly. �That�s too bad as well. I was kind of looking forward to it.�

�I gotta go, Hopple,� Matt told him. �You�ll have that fax tomorrow. For now, I got a few more phone calls to make.�

He hung up the phone without waiting for Hopple�s reply. He then got the hotel operator and then the international operator back. He had her ring the main line for his home in San Juan Capistrano, where he assumed Kim would be staying (she rarely went to her own house, even when Matt was away). It was an assumption that proved to be correct. She picked it up on the second ring and agreed to accept the international charge from the United Kingdom.

�Hey, Mattie,� she greeted once the operator clicked off the line. �Did you talk to Hopple?�

�I did,� he said. �It turns out I�m being audited by the state.�

�Oh,� she said, worry in her voice. �That could be bad.�

�He says it�s nothing,� he told her dismissively. �They just want documentation on my heart surgery and why I deducted it.�

�That should be okay then,� she said. �As long as that�s the only issue they look at.�

�I didn�t call about the audit,� he told her. �I called about the TSF.�

�The festival in September?� she asked. �What about it?�

�Have you heard anything about the lineup?� he asked. �Hopple told me the entertainment fucks are all talking about it.�

�I haven�t heard a thing,� she said, �but I don�t watch those entertainment shows. You know that.�

�Yeah, I do,� he said. �Are you at your desk right now?�

�I am,� she said. �I was just going through some emails.�

�Get on the internet and bring up Music Alive�s site. Hopple says that the press release is there.�

�Okay,� she said. �Hang on a minute. Let me close out the email and bring up Yahoo.� He heard the sound of her tapping on the keyboard and clicking the mouse. �It�s coming up now. I really love this DSL modem you had them put in. It�s so much faster than the dial-up.�

�It had to be,� Matt said. �It took forever to download a fucking porn video with the dial-up. Even the pictures took like fifteen minutes apiece. You can�t jack off at that pace.�

�I suppose that�s as good a reason as any,� she said. �Okay, here we go. Music Alive ... Music Alive ... where are you? I wish the damn search engine would give me the relevant fucking sites I�m looking for and not a bunch of articles about past concerts and speculation about whether or not music is still alive.�

�Yeah, that is a bitch, isn�t it?� Matt said. �Especially when you�re looking for porn.� Which was the only reason Matt ever used the search engine, or indeed the computer. �I was looking for some once and put in �great tits� and do you know what it came up with at the top of the list? Pictures of fucking birds!�

�Birds?� she asked.

�Yeah. Apparently, there is some bird somewhere that is called a great tit. As if that is what anyone typing in �great tits� is looking for.�

�Huh,� Kim said. �A bird called a great tit. Who would�ve thought? Well, hopefully, somebody somewhere is working on a better search engine. They�ll be able to dominate the market if they can come up with one. Here we are ... Music Alive Incorporated. Clicking the link now.� A pause. �Okay, here�s a link for the Tsunami Sound Festival. Loading ... Loading ... ahh, there it is. The lineup for both nights. Hopple was right. You�re listed as the headliner on both nights. Jake Kingsley is listed as the second-to-last act on both nights.�

�Motherfucker,� Matt said angrily.

�There�s even a teaser line here saying that this will be the first time that Matt Tisdale and Jake Kingsley have appeared together since the breakup of Intemperance.�

�Fuck me!� he barked. �Even if I would allow myself to step onto the same stage where Kingsley just fucking played�which I will not�we weren�t going to be playing together. Those fucking record people and their goddamn lies.�

�I�m sure they prefer to call it innuendo,� Kim offered.

�I�m sure they do,� he said. �Get in my rolodex and get me that fuckhead Stillson�s phone number. I need to give his ass a call.�

�All right, hang on.�

A minute later, the number was written down and Matt was making yet another international phone call. This time Jerry Stillson�s secretary tried to refuse to accept the international charge on the grounds that Mr. Stillson was unavailable to speak to Mr. Tisdale currently.

�You�d better make his ass available and do it now,� Matt cut in. �If he�s not talking to me on this phone in the next thirty seconds, he can take his fuckin� Tsunami Sound Festival and shove it up his ass!�

�Uh ... well ... in that case ... uh ... let me see what I can do,� she stammered.

�Then you will accept the charge from the United Kingdom?� the operator enquired again, her voice still monotone and bored.

�Yes,� the secretary said. �I will accept the charge.�

�Thank you,� the operator said. She then promptly clicked off the line.

�I�m going to put you on hold, Mr. Tisdale and see if I can track down Mr. Stillson.�

�Thirty seconds,� Matt warned. �That�s all you got.�

�I will try,� she promised.

The phone clicked and the on-hold music began. It was classical music. Mozart�s Serenade No. 13 in G-major. Matt did not know that was the name of it, but he recognized it instantly because one of his favorite porno flicks had an awesome lesbian shower scene that was set to the piece.

Twenty-seven seconds later, the phone clicked in his ear, cutting off the Mozart. It was Stillson on the line. �Matt!� he said, his voice glad-handed and smooth. �Gloria came and got me out of a meeting. She said you had something of importance to discuss?�

�That�s right, Stillson,� Matt told him. �I just found out that you got fucking Kingsley set to open for me on both nights of the TSF.�

�Uh ... well ... yes, that is correct,� Stillson said.

�Why the fuck didn�t you tell me you were going after Kingsley before?� he demanded.

�Well ... the fact of the matter is, we just signed Mr. Kingsley a week or so ago. Until then, we weren�t sure he was going to be performing.�

�But you�ve been talking to him about this shit since long before then, haven�t you?�

�Well ... yes, we did approach Jake several months ago about the possibility of performing.�

�So, in other words, you didn�t tell me about that then because you knew it would fucking piss me off. And you didn�t tell me about it when he signed because you thought maybe I wouldn�t hear about it over here in Europe, right?�

�Matt,� Stillson said soothingly, �I think you�re reading too much into this. There was no conspiracy to withhold the truth from anyone.�

�Did Kingsley know I was going to be the headliner when he agreed to play?�

�Not at first,� Stillson admitted. �Of course, when we offered the gig to him initially, we had not even approached you yet.�

�But he knows about it now?�

�It did come to his attention,� Stillson said.

�And he still agreed to play?� Matt asked angrily. �Knowing that he would be opening for me?�

�I will admit that when he first found out that you were to be the headliner, he initially withdrew his verbal commitment to play. But then, a few days later, Pauline Kingsley called us up to tell us that he had changed his mind.�

�Really?� Matt asked. �Why the fuck would he do that?�

�He did not explain himself to us,� Stillson said. �Nor did we ask for an explanation.�

�Well, I�m going to explain myself to you,� Matt told him. �I will not play on the same stage as Jake Kingsley. Drop him from the lineup or drop me. The choice is yours.�

�We cannot drop Jake from the lineup at this point,� Stillson said. �We have signed a contract with him.�

�Then I guess you�re going to have to drop me. Good luck finding another headliner.�

�Matt, we have signed a contract with you as well,� Stillson reminded him.

�I don�t give a fuck about that contract,� Matt said. �You can shove it up your fuckin� ass! Keep your million-four! I don�t fucking need it!�

�Matt, you need to be reasonable on this,� Stillson said. �And you need to consider the ramifications.�

�What ramifications?�

�We�ve already laid down a significant amount of money to National Records to obtain the performance rights for your music. That money is nonrefundable. That is the first thing.�

�Sue me then,� Matt challenged.

�Don�t you understand, Matt,� Stillson said, �that is exactly what you will be forcing us to do if you back out of this contract at this point in time. We have already publicly announced that you are the headliner for both nights of the TSF. People are already buying tickets for the event based on that information. We have already invested money and time into the event. If you back out without just cause�and the fact that you do not wish to have Jake Kingsley open for you is not just cause�you will be liable for all expenses related to your withdrawal and may be subject to punitive damages on top of that.�

�Do your fuckin� worst,� Matt told him. �I�m giving you an ultimatum. Kingsley goes or I do. Make your choice.�

�We cannot ask Mr. Kingsley to stand down at this point.�

�Then I guess we don�t have anything else to talk about, do we?� Matt asked.

�Matt...�

�I�m hanging up the phone now so I can go tear me off some English gash,� he said. �I�ll give you thirty days to think this shit over and do the right thing. Call me if you decide to tell Kingsley to take a fuckin� hike. Do not call me for any other reason.�

�Matt ... you can�t just...�

�Bye now,� Matt said.

With that, he hung up the phone. After that, he went and tore himself off some English gash.

Meanwhile, just across the pond in Boston, Massachusetts, it was 6:30 PM and Njord Miller was in his fourth-floor room of the Boston Sheraton Hotel scoring himself a little American gash (the only kind of gash he had ever scored, unless you counted, as a category of gash other than American, that one time he managed to get some Eskimo gash up in Alaska). Her name was Jessica something or other, and he had met her down in the bar about two hours ago. She was a cute brunette in her mid-thirties, big titties with huge nipples, and she had been impressed as hell to be meeting Celia Valdez�s personal pilot, which was how Njord had introduced himself to her.

�Yes! Yes! I�m coming!� Jessica cried out four minutes and eighteen seconds after Njord inserted his condom-capped member into her body in the missionary position and started thrusting away.

�Yeah, baby!� Njord said, picking up the pace a little. �You dig my cock, don�t you?�

Her answer was inarticulate, just a series of guttural moans. She scratched at his back with her fingernails. She thrust her pelvis erratically back at him. Njord had no doubt that this was the real deal here. In fact, the thought that she (or any woman he had ever fucked) might be faking an orgasm never even entered his mind. Which was probably for the best, since the orgasm Jessica was experiencing was indeed as artificial as NutraSweet, as phony as an email from a Nigerian prince in exile.

When she wrapped up her performance, Jessica began encouraging Njord to produce a real orgasm. It did not take long. She simply used a few aeronautical themed euphemisms, scratched at his back a little more, told him he was the best fuck she�d ever had, and his circuit breaker fell smoking to the ground. He spasmed and exploded, filling the little reservoir tip at the end of the condom with his offering.

He rolled off of her, onto his back, panting and sweaty. When he caught his breath, he pulled the condom off and dropped it into the little garbage can next to the bed. He looked over at his companion, seeing she was looking up at the ceiling, a contented expression on her face. He felt rather proud of himself for putting that expression there.

�You were great, baby,� he told her, reaching out to stroke her breast.

She cooed a little. �So were you,� she assured him. �I hope you don�t think I�m some kind of slut or anything.�

�Of course not,� he said, although he thought exactly that, but that was okay because he had absolutely nothing against sluts. In fact, he relied upon them for the majority of his sexual encounters.

�It just that ... you know ... there was such a chemistry between us, such a connection. I never jump into bed with a man two hours after meeting him, but with you ... I just couldn�t help myself. I knew five minutes after meeting you in the bar that I wanted you and I wanted you today.�

�And you got me,� Njord said slyly, quite enjoying the stroke to his ego she was giving him. She was a little different than the average slut he fucked. She was more intelligent, more articulate. He actually enjoyed talking to her. Usually, by this point in an encounter, he was trying to figure out a way to get them out of his room so he could take a nap.

�Yes, I did,� she said with a little giggle. She patted him high on his naked thigh affectionately. �And I�m glad I did. That was probably the best sex I�ve ever had. I don�t come very easily from fucking, but you pulled one right out of me. You�re a wonderful lover, Njord.�

�I�m just me,� he said modestly, though inside he was high-fiving himself, feeling very worthy of the name his parents had saddled him with.

�Just you,� she said with another giggle. �A man who gets to fly Celia Valdez and her band around all over the country. What a cool job! Where are you going next?�

�They have one more show to do in Boston tomorrow night and then we�ll be heading up to Portland the next morning. There will be two shows in Portland. From there, it�s up to Bangor to close out this leg. After that, we�re on break for five days and then we�re going to Quebec and then three dates in Montreal.�

�Up to Canada, huh?�

�That�s right,� he said. �The final leg of the tour is the Canadian cities. We�ll finish up in Victoria near the end of September.�

�That is just so cool,� she said. �What�s she like?�

�Who? Celia?�

�Yeah,� she said. �She�s so beautiful, so talented. Is she a nice person? Do you like working for her?�

�I don�t work for her,� he said stiffly. �She just flies on my aircraft. She does what the hell I tell her when she�s aboard.�

�Ohhh, I see,� Jessica said. �So ... you�re actually the boss then?�

�Goddamn right I�m the boss,� Njord said. �I don�t put up with no shit from no Hollywood rich bitch like her.�

�It sounds like you don�t like her much?�

�I can�t stand the bitch,� he said. �She�s a stuck-up, overrated lesbo.�

Jessica�s eyebrows went up. �Lesbo?� she asked. �Do you mean that in the literal sense?�

�I wouldn�t have said it otherwise,� he said. �She�s getting it on with my lesbian copilot. They�ve been rubbing their clams together for the past month or so now.�

�Really?� she said, obviously intrigued by this revelation. �Have you actually seen them doing it?�

�Well ... no,� he said. �It�s not like they invite me to their room to watch them, you know.� Although he would jump at the opportunity if they did. Bitch or not, Valdez was smoking hot, and Suzie wasn�t all that bad either, just a little masculine looking because of her haircut.

�Then how do you know they�re getting it on?� she enquired.

�It�s common knowledge among those of us on the tour,� he said. �They spend every night together in Celia�s hotel room. They used to just meet up there a couple times a week to smoke cigars and bullshit, but for the past month or so, Suzie stays every night with her, all night long. She hasn�t slept in her own room once.�

�That is rather suggestive,� Jessica had to agree. �Do they talk about their relationship?�

�They don�t,� he said. �I think maybe they�re under the impression that nobody knows they�re doing it. But we�re a small group of people who travel together and stay in the same hotels day after day. You can�t hide shit like that under those circumstances. And even if we didn�t know about the hotel rooms, you can tell just by watching them when they�re together. They share their flirty little looks with each other, they make allusions that they think are sly. Coop�he�s the drummer for the band and about the only one who isn�t a stuck-up asshole�told me that everyone is talking about it when they�re not around and everyone knows they�re doing the nasty with each other.�

�Very interesting,� Jessica said. �I never would have taken Celia Valdez for a lesbian.�

�Coop says she�s not a full-on lesbo,� Njord said. �He thinks she�s just trying the other team for a while since she got fucked so bad by Greg Oldfellow. Suzie, on the other hand, is a hard-core lesbo. She is probably in love with Celia, probably thinks she�s found Ms. Right.� He shook his head and chuckled. �I�m thinking that dyke bitch has got a whole lot of disappointment coming her way when Valdez decides to go back to the other side of the plate to bat.�

�I guess that makes sense,� she said, nodding a little.

�And do you know who else likes to munch muff in that band?� he asked her, getting into the pleasure of spreading gossip. He knew he was not supposed to be talking about his high-revenue passengers like this, but he couldn�t stand any of them except for Coop and it was pleasurable to spread their dirty laundry about. Besides, this traveling slut he had just boned (she had told him she worked for an insurance company in Hartford and often came to Boston on business) would not be able to spread his tales very far. His gossip was unverifiable, and it was very unlikely that anyone she told would even believe her.

�Who?� Jessica asked.

�Jake Kingsley�s wife,� he said slyly.

�Laura Kingsley?� she said, very surprised.

�That�s right,� Njord said. �She�s the sax player. It seems as if she likes to munch clam better than she likes blowing the horn though.�

�How do you know this?� she asked.

�The same way I know about Celia,� he said. �It�s a small group and everyone knows everyone else�s business. Laura�they call her Teach for some reason�brings female groupies back to the hotel with her on a regular basis. They stay for a few hours and then the limo takes them back to the arena with the other groupies that Coop and Charlie always have.�

�Female groupies, huh?� she said, quite intrigued by this piece of gossip. �And she does this openly? Right in front of the other band members?�

�Yep,� Njord confirmed. �I�ve actually seen her with a few of them myself�not in the bedroom, mind you, but in the hotel, heading up to her room. She likes the younger chicks, in their twenties, the sluttier the better.�

�Wow,� she whispered. �Does Jake Kingsley know about this?�

Njord shrugged. �I don�t know for sure,� he said, �but I think there�s a good chance he does. Coop told me that Kingsley and Valdez are pretty tight with each other; and that Laura and Celia are pretty close too. They have a saying that what happens on the road stays on the road, but that doesn�t generally apply to people who hang out together and do business together. I wouldn�t think, anyway.�

�What about Laura Kingsley and Celia?� she asked. �Or Laura and Suzie? Are they getting it on?�

�Not that I�ve heard,� Njord said. �Laura and Suzie do have this flirtatious relationship with each other, but it doesn�t seem ... you know ... real. She used to join Valdez and Suzie up in their room when they were smoking cigars up there�on the nights she didn�t have a lesbian groupie eating her out anyway�but I don�t think she�s been up there even once since the two of them started sleeping together every night.�

�Is she feeling a little left out, I wonder?�

Another shrug. �Maybe. The frequency of her bringing lesbo groupies back to the hotel with her has certainly increased since Valdez and Suzie started getting it on.�

They talked a little bit more, shifting away from tour gossip and back onto Njord�s favorite subject: his tales of being a daring, adventurous bush pilot in Alaska (even though he had never actually soloed there, had less than twenty flight hours logged in the Cessna Caravan, and all of the tales were either stories told to him by others or things he had simply made up). Jessica listened attentively, with seeming fascination and awe.

Finally, however, she declared that she really needed to get back to her hotel room and finish up her notes on the presentation she was going to be giving tomorrow. She got up and put her clothes back on while he continued to lay naked on the bed, watching her.

�Look me up the next time you�re in Boston,� she told him. �I�m in the book.�

�I�ll do that,� he said, and he was even semi-sincere about the promise. She had been pretty good in the old sack and she was enjoyable to talk to.

She picked up her purse from the nightstand next to the bed and, after one last smile, one last farewell, stepped out the hotel room door.

As soon as she was gone, Njord pulled the covers over himself and turned out the lights. He would take a little nap and then get up and have dinner. Later tonight, he would head down to the bar to check out the night action. If he were lucky, he might just score himself another piece to tear off.

Jessica Barstow did not go back to her hotel room to work on her presentation. She did not have a room in the hotel and she had no presentation to work on�at least not a presentation that had anything to do with insurance sales. Instead, she left the building and walked out to the parking lot where her 1994 Toyota Camry was parked.

She got inside and fired up the little engine to get the heat going as it was a bit of a chilly night. She then opened her purse and pulled out the battery powered cassette recorder that was inside. The tape was now rewound since she had pushed the button that did this shortly after stepping out of the pilot�s hotel room. She ejected it from the machine and put it into the Camry�s cassette player. It began to play. She fast forwarded it in spurts, skipping over all the parts where she had ridden upstairs in the elevator with Njord, where they had had a few minutes of risqu� conversation after entering the room, and the five minutes or so of them having sex (what a crappy fucking lay that was, she thought sourly). Obviously, she would skip past that part entirely when she duplicated the tape later tonight.

As she drove to her modest home in Lowell, just northwest of the city, she listened to the conversation she and Njord had just had. She was still astounded by the allegations Njord had thrown out about Celia Valdez and Laura Kingsley.

Gold! she thought happily as she confirmed that the machine had captured the discussion in its entirety and with a decent amount of audio clarity. Absolute fucking gold!

She had time to listen to the tape twice on the drive. Once she got home to her three-bedroom cottage within walking distance of the Merrimack River, she put the original tape into her stereo system and ran it past the sex scene (it had really been fucking boring anyway). She placed a blank cassette in the second cassette slot, pushed play on the first one and then record on the second one. She then kicked her two cats off the couch so she could sit down, opened up a notebook, and listened to the conversation a third time, this time jotting down notes.

Once the recording was complete, she ejected the original and carried it over to her safe. She labeled it and placed in inside. She then took the second tape out of the machine, placed it into its case, and labeled that as well. Only then did she sit back down and pick up the phone. She dialed the number for the editor-in-chief of the regional weekly gossip magazine known as New England Reports. This was a publication that primarily concerned itself with the sex lives and financial malfeasance of political and business figures throughout the Boston metropolitan statistical region. However, they were certainly not above reporting on celebrities that came into their radar range.

Jessica Barstow was a graduate of the University of Massachusetts Lowell, where she had majored in Journalism. She was also a borderline sex addict, an affliction stemming from being molested on a semi-regular basis by her uncle from the ages of twelve to sixteen; incidents that, to this day, she had never spoken of with anyone. Unable to get a job as a journalist at any of the respectable publications in the region due to her young age (she was only twenty-six currently) and lack of experience, she had accepted the position at NER a year after her graduation and had been there ever since. It was not the most glamorous job she had hoped to get, but it did allow her to use her propensity for seducing men (and the occasional woman) professionally.

Her official title was �Investigative Reporter�. But to the targets she slept with for the purpose of opening their mouths and spilling information, she was known by a different title: Troll.

Ken Darby answered the phone on the third ring.

�Hey, Chief,� she greeted. �I just hit the motherload tonight.�

�Oh yeah?� he asked. It had been he who had assigned her to go to the hotel in Boston and see what she could dig up on Celia Valdez. A shot in the dark, true, but it seemed it had been an accurate shot. �What do you got?�

She told him.

�You�re fucking kidding me,� he declared.

�I wouldn�t kid about something like this, Chief,� she assured him.

�Will we be able to run it in the next edition?�

�I�ll start going full blast on it tomorrow morning,� she told him. �I�ll do a little more digging, verify what I can verify, and then call Kingsley�s agent, Celia�s agent, and Kingsley�s wife�s agent if she has one. They will undoubtedly deny everything, but we will have fulfilled our obligation to run the accusations by them.�

�All right,� he said happily. �Good job. Get it all written up and on my desk by Thursday night, if possible. I�ll get someone working on some file photos of everyone involved.�

�You got it, Chief,� she promised.

Since KVA Records had some business to discuss with the members of Brainwash�the negotiation and signing of the contract for their next album�and since the members of Brainwash lived and worked in Providence, which was pretty much next door to Boston, Pauline accompanied Jake on his flight to join Laura on her tour break. They figured they could knock out two birds with one stone.

Their flight touched down at Logan International at 5:37 PM, eastern daylight time. They rented a 1996 Lexus sedan and made the one-hour drive to the Hilton Hotel in Providence, where Jake had reserved two suites. After check-in, they both showered and put on business casual clothes for the upcoming dinner meeting. They met their one and only signed act in the restaurant on the top floor of the building.

Jake and Pauline had not kept in touch with Jim, Marcie, Jeremy, Steph, and Rick as much as they probably should have since the release of their debut album eighteen months before. Jake himself signed all of their royalty checks and occasionally updated them by phone on his promotional plans. Pauline called them once in a while on sales and income figures. That equation had changed of late, however. Both had been calling the bandmembers frequently to discuss the upcoming recording sessions for their next album, which would be put together over the summer. Neither of the siblings had actually been in the same room with any of the Brainwash members since they had left Coos Bay and gone home back in early September of 1994.

They did not look all that different, Jake noted as they all shook hands and/or hugged one another after meeting up. Jim had put on a little bit more pudge around his middle. Marcie had taken to dying her head a shade of auburn to cover her increasing supply of gray hairs. Steph had added a few tattoos to her upper arms. Jeremy still looked like a stereotypical teacher. Rick was still bald and shaving his head, though he had used some of his Brainwash money to have laser surgery on his eyeballs and no longer wore glasses.

�So, how has success been treating everyone?� Jake asked once they finished the greetings and sat down to enjoy their wine. �Is everyone still teaching?�

�We�re all still working full-time at the profession,� Jim said. �We pulled in some pretty good money from the album, but not quite enough that any of us are comfortable quitting our primary gigs.�

Jake nodded thoughtfully at this. Since he signed the checks, he knew exactly how much all of them had made (and were still making) in royalty money. Their album had just breached the triple platinum mark in the last quarter�more than three million copies sold in the United States. Each member of Brainwash had earned just a hair over five hundred and fifty thousand dollars in royalties since the debut. A tremendous amount to the group of lower middle-class teachers, and certainly very helpful to their cause, but nowhere near enough to comfortably retire on; especially when you considered that a sizable proportion of that $550K had gone to pay taxes to Uncle Sam and Aunt Rhode Island.

�It is nice to not be living paycheck to paycheck anymore,� Marcie put in. �To be able to put big chunks of money into savings each month. And we�ve splurged a little. We paid off all of our credit cards and don�t use them anymore. We�ve bought new cars�a Toyota Camry for me and a Beemer for Jim�and we�ve gone on several trips with the kids to Disney World and stayed in first-class rooms.�

�That�s good,� Jake said with a smile. �You should splurge with your money. Enjoy life.�

�I bought a Corvette,� Jeremy said. �And Jenny and I went on a cruise over last spring break; had a suite and everything.�

�We paid off our house,� said Rick. �It is so nice not having a mortgage payment every month.�

�I bought a new house,� said Steph. �A nice big two-story over in Blackstone.�

�That�s the hoity-toity neighborhood over on the east side,� Jim said. �Where all the doctors and dentists and lawyers and real estate developers live.�

�That�s right,� Steph said with a smile. �And you should see them look down their snobby fuckin� noses at the lesbian schoolteacher musician that invaded their turf. There ain�t been this much uproar on my street since that black doctor moved in ten years ago.�

Jake chuckled. �I am familiar with the experience,� he told her, thinking of everything that had happened when he first moved into the Nottingham Drive home back when he first started making some real money. �Hopefully, they�re not throwing bowling balls through your window or cementing crosses into your front lawn.�

�Or putting acid in your hot tub,� added Pauline.

Steph was actually shocked by this suggestion. �No, nothing like that,� she said. �It�s more like ignoring me at the mailbox and giving me dirty looks in the grocery store. Oh ... and a couple times they called the cops on me when I had a girlfriend over.�

�Called the cops on you for that?� Pauline asked.

�Apparently, they are under the impression that me entertaining a sister lesbian is illegal under Rhode Island state law.�

Jake and Pauline shook their heads. �The more I get to know people, the more I dislike them,� Jake said.

�I�ll drink to that,� Steph said, picking up her wine glass and doing just that.

�What about the school district people and the PTA?� asked Pauline. �Are they still riding your asses?�

�They have permanent seats on our asses,� Jim assured her. �They have made it their mission to get rid of us by any means possible. They have tried appealing to our sense of professionalism by asking us to resign to protect the children from our influence. The PTA has tried to put pressure on the school board to dismiss us for cause because we are creating a distraction to the learning environment. The school board actually gave that a shot, by the way. They were shot down the first time the grievances we filed got in front of an arbitration board.�

�All of us have been written up for petty or even nonexistent offenses multiple times,� Marcie put in. �None of those writeups survived the arbitration process either, but they still keep trying.�

�My personal favorite,� Steph said, �was when they tried to promote me to management to get rid of me.�

�Promote you to get rid of you?� Jake asked. �How does that work?�

�Out of the blue one day, they offered to promote me to head of the physical education department,� she said. �That way, they explained, I would be out of the classroom and no longer a distraction to the children, and I would be able to shape the curriculum to my heart�s content.�

�An interesting offer,� Pauline said.

�Yeah,� said Steph with a grunt of disgust. �And it also would have made me part of management and therefore no longer protected by our collective bargaining agreement. Therefore, if I accepted the position, I automatically would have become an at-will employee. How long do you think I would have been head of the physical education department before they decided I wasn�t working out and fired me?�

�Not very long, I�m guessing,� Jake said.

�I told them where they could stick their offer,� Steph said with a smile.

�I wish I could have been there to see it,� Pauline replied.

They spent a few minutes looking at their menus and then put in their orders. Jake went with the prime rib, medium rare, and a fully loaded baked potato. Marcie, Jim, Steph, and Jeremy all followed his lead. Rick elected to go with the filet mignon. Pauline ordered the grilled swordfish with rice pilaf and steamed vegetables. Jake ordered two seventy-dollar bottles of Merlot to go with the meals. Pauline elected to join them in the wine even though she was eating white meat.

While waiting for their meals to arrive, they decided to go ahead and talk some business.

�I notice you did not bring your lawyer to the meeting,� Pauline pointed out. At her suggestion, they had hired a New York attorney who specialized in entertainment contracts to look over their last contract with KVA.

�We did not,� Jim said. �He charges five hundred and seventy-five dollars an hour for his services, with a minimum eight hours of billing, paid in advance.�

�That�s pretty steep,� Jake had to agree.

�And it was pretty big waste of money as well,� Jim said. �It only took him about thirty minutes to go over the contract with us and declare that it was extraordinarily generous and equitable for a first-time recording deal and that it contained no hidden loopholes or bear traps. He told us we would be fools not to accept it as is, and then went and cashed our check for four thousand, six hundred dollars.�

�And that was just what he charged for us to go to his office in New York,� Steph said. �If we were to employ him for his services at this meeting, he would have charged us another hundred an hour for travel fees and we would have had to pay for his first-class round trip air travel and put him up in a five-star hotel.�

Pauline nodded knowingly. That was pretty much standard pricing for such a service. �You can at least afford that now,� she pointed out.

�True,� Jim agreed. �But ... well ... I think we have learned to trust you two. We�ll hear what you have to say and we�ll read over any contract with the idea that you are not out to screw us.�

�We are not out to screw you,� Jake promised. �That is not how we operate.�

�We know that,� Steph said. �That�s why we voted�unanimously, I might add�to just negotiate the new contract with you the way we did the last one.�

�We appreciate that,� Pauline said. �Now ... how about we put our cards down on the table? Let�s start with the biggest issue first: royalties. We paid you fifteen percent for the last album. It was very successful and continues to get frequent national airplay and sell an average of ten to twenty thousand CDs each month. That puts you in a position of significantly increased strength for this negotiation. We are assuming you would like an increase in that royalty rate?�

�Well ... yes,� Jim said. �Naturally, we think we should get a little bigger piece of the pie now that we have established ourselves.�

�Give us a number,� Pauline said.

The five band members looked at each other, passing silent communication back and forth. It was obvious they had talked about this prior to the meeting and come up with a plan. But it seemed it was a plan they were not entirely comfortable with. The looks built in intensity and then mellowed as a consensus was seemingly reached. Nods were given. And then Jim looked at Pauline. �We think that twenty percent would be fair,� he said, his tone almost, but not quite, phrasing it as a question.

Pauline smiled. So did Jake.

�You�re right,� Jake said. �Twenty percent is perfectly fair. We agree.�

They all looked confused at his words. �You ... you agree?� Jim asked. �You mean ... like... agree agree? To twenty percent?�

�That is correct,� Pauline told him. �Twenty percent is not unreasonable in the least and we accept that offer.�

�Oh ... I see,� Jim said, obviously taken aback.

�Just out of curiosity,� Jake said, �what rate would you have accepted as your hard floor?�

�Uh ... well ... we agreed to offer twenty percent on the assumption that you would not take the first offer. We would have accepted nothing less than seventeen percent.�

�You sell yourselves a little short,� Jake suggested with a chuckle.

�What about you two?� Steph asked. �You said yes to twenty immediately. What was your hard ceiling?�

�Twenty percent,� Jake said.

�How�s that?� Steph asked.

�We agreed that we would pay you twenty percent royalties before we even got on the plane in Los Angeles,� Jake explained. �That�s at least five percent more than you could get from any of the big four; and, of course, we don�t tack on any recoupable expenses other than the advance money.�

�So...� Steph asked, �if we had offered seventeen percent right off the bat�and we had some discussion about doing just that�what would you have done?�

�We would have countered with twenty percent,� Pauline said. �The amount was not negotiable in either direction. Twenty percent is what we decided to offer and that is all we will accept.�

�Then why did you have us name a number?� Jim asked. �Why not just offer the twenty percent?�

�Because then you might have tried for twenty-five percent,� Pauline said. �And that might have led to hard feelings and mistrust when we turned you down.�

�Besides,� Jake added, �we were curious about where you would start your negotiations.�

They all had a little laugh about that.

�All right then,� Pauline said. �Twenty percent royalties is settled. Next subject: Advance money. We gave you fifty thousand dollars to live on during the recording process last time. That�s just your bill paying money and your money for incidentals while we�re down in LA for workups and then up in Oregon for the actual recording process. We pay for your housing, transportation, food, and household booze out of our own pockets. Does fifty thousand work for you this time around, or do you want a little more?�

They looked at each other for a moment and shrugged. �Fifty thousand is fine with us,� Jim replied. �In truth, we probably don�t even need an advance at all. We all have money in the bank now. We just need to remember to actually sit down and pay the bills while we�re away.�

�Yeah, and to have them forwarded to wherever we�re staying,� Steph said. �That is a pain in the ass that bit all of us in the butt a little the last time around.�

�Nerdly pays most of his bills online now,� Jake said.

�Online?� Steph asked. �How does that work?�

�His bank has a website,� Jake said. �He is able to log in and tell his bank who he owes money to, what the account numbers are, and how much to pay. Once he does that, the bank either mails or electronically sends the money to them. And then they save the account information for the next time so he doesn�t have to type it all in every month.�

�No shit?� Steph asked.

�No shit,� Jake confirmed. �I�ve seen him do it. He can even set it up so the bills that are the same amount every month get paid automatically.�

�Wow,� Jim said. �That�s pretty high-tech.�

�I�ll have him show you how to do it once you get up to Oregon,� Jake promised. �He just arranged for the latest, greatest computer technology up there, complete with a DSL line.�

�I�ll be looking forward to it,� Steph said. �That would make it so much easier if my mortgage and my car payment just paid itself.�

�So ... anyway,� Pauline said. �Fifty K advance money works?�

�It works,� Jim said.

�That�s settled then,� she said. �Let�s move on to the next item.�

They moved on. And they agreed immediately on the clauses for how the royalties would be disbursed and distributed: just like they had been the last time, quarterly and individually. They then moved on to the next item, and then the next. And every time, there was no disagreement. In all but the signing, the entity known as KVA Records and the musical act known as Brainwash came to terms on a one CD contract and all of its provisions before their dinner was even served. This left them free to thoroughly enjoy their cuisine when it was put before them.

It was over desert and cognac that Jake brought up the actual itinerary for the summer months.

�You�ve been working up some tunes for us, right?�

�That�s right,� Jim said. �We still get together almost every weekend and jam. We didn�t tour at all last summer, so we didn�t want to get rusty.�

�No touring?� Jake asked. �Why not? I would�ve thought you would have been able to pull in pretty good money for agreeing to play in pretty much any club.�

�That�s what we thought as well,� Steph said. �And it was true. The one time we tried was at the Haymaker Club here in Providence; a place we�ve played dozens of times over the years. They offered us three grand for a Friday night show at the beginning of last summer. And they upped their cover charge to ten dollars for the event.�

�What happened?� Pauline asked.

�It was utter chaos,� Jim said. �Far too much demand and not enough supply. The venue only holds four hundred people, max. People started showing up on Wednesday night to get in line. They set up tents and had camp stoves and were going over to the Starbucks to pee and poop. By Friday morning it was insane. The police estimated there were more than two thousand people in the line. Fights were breaking out. People were getting cited for public urination. The cops and the fire department were forced to break up the line and cancel our permit as a danger to public safety.�

�Wow,� Jake said. �That�s insane.�

�After that, we didn�t even try anymore,� Steph said.

�I guess I can understand why,� Jake said. �Anyway, you�ve got at least sixteen tunes to present?�

�Closer to twenty, truth be told,� Jim said.

Jake nodded. �And you�re out of school on May 31?�

�That is our last day,� Steph confirmed.

�Will you be ready to travel on June 2? That�s the Sunday following the last day of school.�

�We�ll be ready,� Jim assured him.

�All right then,� Jake said. �Here�s the plan. You get your equipment all packed up and ready for shipping on your next weekend. Just the drums and the guitars and the piano, like last time. We�ll have the shipping company pick it all up next Monday. That way it will be in our studio in Santa Clarita well before you all arrive. We�ll charter a Gulfstream to fly you and the wives and kids to LA on June 2. We�ll put you all up in the hotel and get you some rental cars like before. Is Jenny up for being the nanny again?�

�She is,� Jeremy confirmed.

�We�ll get her the minivan again,� Jake said. �Once you�re all settled in, we�ll hit the studio and start going over the tunes. I will be involved in this process, like before, but once we make the move up to Oregon, I will be staying behind.�

�You will?� Steph asked.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �I�ve signed on to perform at the Tsunami Sound Festival down in the Vegas area in late September. And the band that I used to record my last two albums with is currently getting ready to go out on a tour of Europe. I�ll need to break in a new band and rehearse up for the show. That is what is going to be occupying most of my summer.�

Jim and Steph both seemed taken aback by this revelation. �But ... but ... we need you in the studio, Jake,� Jim protested. �You�re the one who shapes our tunes for the recording. The one who suggests when to put in slow intros, or to work up a bridge a little more, or to add those little fills here and there that enhance the tunes.�

�I�ll try to do as much of that as I can during the workup phase,� Jake promised. �But you are all professional musicians with tons of experience at putting complex tunes together. You should be able to do all of that yourselves.�

�You�re also the one who tells the Nerdlys when enough is enough,� Steph added. �The one who gets them to move on from the sound checks, when to stop making us repeat takes, when we�ve done enough overdubs.�

�You�re just going to have to learn to be a little more assertive with the Nerdlys,� Jake said. �And, besides, I�ll try my damndest to get up there a few times during the overdub portion. And I will also insist upon being a part of the mixing and mastering process. Hopefully, by the time we get there, my new band and I will be clicking together and not have to work eight hours a day, six days a week.�

�It�ll be weird not having you there, Jake,� Jeremy said.

�Yeah,� said Jim. �The Nerdlys are great at what they do, but they�re more like engineers, not architects. You know what I�m saying?�

Jake nodded. �I know what you�re saying,� he said. �But I have my own commitment I have to fulfill. The show must go on, right?�

They all agreed that the show must go on. That was sacred.

Pauline stayed in Providence to formally draft the Brainwash contract and get it signed. Jake moved on. The next morning, he checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to North Central State Airport, just north of the city of Providence. Here, there was an aircraft rental and flight school available for his use and enjoyment. He had already reserved a 1989 Mooney Bravo M20 TLS. This aircraft had a single turbocharged six-cylinder piston engine that could drive it at two hundred knots indicated airspeed. Jake had never piloted a Mooney Bravo before. Though he was not required by the FAA to be type-certified in it because it was not a turboprop or a jet aircraft, he was not a reckless fool. He hired one of the flight instructors to check him out on the aircraft. They spent two hours together, flying around the Providence and Boston area, getting Jake familiar with the controls, the stall speed, the flap settings, the takeoff speed, the fuel calculations, and a dozen other things that were unique to each individual aircraft type.

After completing a series of turns and banks, touch and goes, and two full stop landings and takeoffs, Jake felt enough confidence to solo. He thanked the instructor for his time, made the entries in his logbook, and then paid the school with his bottomless credit card. It was now time to go see his wife.

He lifted off from North Central just past noon on a beautiful spring day and made the ninety-minute flight to Bar Harbor Airport, about thirty-five miles southeast of Bangor. It was a nice flight, fast, very scenic, and very soothing to Jake�s soul. He touched down neatly and taxied over to the general aviation area where he was able to tie down the plane and rent an Audi convertible for his stay. He loaded his bag into the trunk and then drove forty-five minutes to downtown Bangor, where he drove around until he happened across Bangor Memorial Auditorium, the eight thousand seat venue where the final American show of the 1996 Celia Valdez tour would be performed on this night.

He pulled around to the back and parked amid the tractor-trailers and the roadie buses. He then walked up to the freight loading door, which was standing open. Inside, the roadies were hard at work. The stage had already been built and they were now working on raising the scaffolding for the lights up to attachment points where the climbing roadies known as �monkeys� would attach them. Dan Baldovino, head of tour security, was standing post himself, his all-access pass around his neck, his portable radio in his back pocket. He smiled when he saw Jake approaching him.

�Jake!� he greeted. �How the hell are you? Laura told me you would be showing up here today.�

�I�m doing good, Dan,� Jake said, shaking hands with him. �Just flew in from Providence and drove here from Bar Harbor.�

�A nice day for flying,� Dan observed.

�It was,� Jake agreed. �The scenery was incredible.�

�I bet,� he said. �Are you and Laura going to stay in Bar Harbor for the break?�

�Not at first,� Jake said. �We�re going to stay in the hotel tonight and then drive back to Bar Harbor after we get up. From there we�re going to do some exploring. We haven�t even picked a destination yet.�

�That sounds like fun,� Dan said. �The band is still out doing the meet and greet thing. They usually get to the venue around four o�clock or so.�

�Sounds about right,� Jake said. �Is it cool if I kick it in the dressing room until they get here?�

�Absolutely,� he said. �Let me just have someone bring an all-access down here for you.� He pulled his walkie-talkie from his pocket and began to speak into it.

The pass arrived a few minutes later and Jake put it around his neck. He was then led through the bowels of the arena to the dressing area. He felt a lot of nostalgia for the old days as they made the trip. This was the same arena he and Matt and Coop and Darren and Nerdly had performed their first tour date in after the release of their debut album thirteen years before. New Year�s Day of 1983, that had been. And they had had no idea of what they had gotten themselves into. He went through the same tunnel and to the same dressing room as that day. It really did not look or smell any different.

He sat down in one of the easy chairs that was arrayed here and took a little nap while he waited. He was awakened sometime later by a familiar female voice saying, �Well, look what el gato dragged in here.�

�It�s a fuckin� hairball,� said another familiar voice, this one male.

He opened his eyes and looked up to see Celia and Coop standing there, looking down at him. He was about to make a witty reply�though he had not actually thought of one yet�when another familiar female came in just behind them. It was Laura, looking ragged and worn, dressed in pair of tattered jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt, with bags under her eyes and her hair in disarray. And she was absolutely beautiful.

He stood and they embraced warmly, exchanging a few kisses, one of which involved a brief touching of their tongues.

�It is soooo good to see you,� she told him.

�Yes, it is,� he replied, deadpan.

He hung out with the band for the entire evening. He watched the soundcheck and watched Laura change into her stage clothes (managing to slip in a couple of feels of her intimate parts as she did so, but nothing else). He watched the hairdresser put her hair into a tightly woven braid and blast it with hairspray. He even went backstage with them when it was time to meet the locals, though he stayed in the shadows to keep any of said locals from seeing him.

He watched the show from beginning to end, singing along with most of the tunes, taking several moments to appreciate the sheer talent that was out on that stage. Celia was breathtakingly beautiful, and her voice was absolutely stunning on every level. Laura could blow a saxophone and make you feel in your very soul the emotion that she was trying to convey. Coop and Charlie were masters of laying down the rhythm, could shift tempo so smoothly that one was left with a sense of awe. Eric the violinist was not only impeccable with his instrument, he was also an excellent stage performer, all of the shyness, anxiety, and self-doubt he was saddled with gone the instant he stepped onto the stage in front of an audience. Little Stevie, though not able to come up with his own original compositions, was a master of the guitar nonetheless, able to perfectly imitate any tune he had taken the time to learn and practice. And Liz the pianist was also in the groove, able to wrench emotion out of the audience and perfectly accompany or set a primary melody with equal skill. And then there were the sound techs and the roadies. They were firmly in the rhythm as well, able to do their jobs with precision and skill, able to improvise when they had to and adjust to any situation on the fly. He felt proud to be associated with such an act, proud that, although he was not out here night after night playing with them, he had had a part in setting the whole thing into motion.

The show ended and the house lights came up. Jake and the band returned to the dressing area, where the beer and the wine and the catered food had been set up. Everyone sat down and had a few bottles of Gatorade, followed by wine or beer or something a little harder. Coop and Laura and Little Stevie passed a joint around, smoking it until it was gone. Jake abstained for the time being. After getting their therapeutic high, everyone went to the catering table, Jake included.

They munched on barbequed ribs and potato salad and coleslaw (except for Charlie, who had been given a tofu stir fry dish) and then leaned back to let the food start to digest. Laura called first dibs on the shower.

�Why don�t I join you?� Jake offered, imagining her naked, soapy body and his hands all over it.

�No way,� Celia said. �If you go in there with her it�ll be an hour before you come back out.�

�Not an hour,� Laura protested. �Probably only thirty minutes or so.�

�Uh huh,� Celia said. �Save it for the hotel.�

�All right,� Laura pouted, heading dejectedly off to the locker room.

She came back out fifteen minutes later, smelling sexy and clean and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt.

�You know, something occurred to me while I was showering,� she told him.

�What�s that?�

�You have a car here. There is no need to wait for the limo and the groupies and all that.�

�Unless you put in a request for this evening,� he said with a smile.

�I did not,� she said. �I know the name of the person who will have their face between my legs tonight.�

�All right then,� Jake said. �Let�s go.�

They went.

It was well past ten o�clock when they awoke, both of them naked, cuddled against each other, reeking of each other�s sex secretions. It had been a good night and they had become very well reacquainted with each other�s bodies. Jake disentangled himself from his wife and then padded into the bathroom to relieve his straining bladder. When he returned, Laura was sitting up in the bed, her naked breasts on display, while she perused the room service menu.

�What looks good?� he asked.

�I�m thinking the eggs benedict and the fruit cup for me,� she said.

�That�s what you always get when we have breakfast,� he said.

�I like eggs benedict,� she said.

�There are other things you might like too,� he suggested.

She gave him a naughty smile. �Oh, there are,� she said. �And I�ll tell you about some of them later.�

He chuckled and picked up the menu. No sooner had he gotten started in his examination of it than the telephone on the nightstand began to ring. They both looked at it.

�Who in the hell can that be?� Laura asked. �I specifically told them no wakeup call this morning.�

Jake shrugged. �Only one way to find out.� He walked over and picked up the handset. �Lynn Dolan�s room. How can I help you?�

�It�s me, Jake,� said a female voice.

�Pauline? What�s up?�

�I�m downstairs in the lobby,� she said.

�Of this hotel?� he asked.

�Yes,� she said. �I drove up here in the rental car. Took me five fucking hours. I had to leave at five this morning.�

�You drove here from Providence?� he asked, incredulous. �Why the hell would you do that?�

�Because there were no flights until two o�clock this afternoon,� she said.

�I mean why are you here at all?� he said. �You were going to fly back to LA tomorrow.�

�Change of plans,� she said. �Like I told you, we need to talk some serious shit. Get Laura on the line. I�m going to give the phone to the registration girl. She needs to tell her it�s okay for me to come up to your room.�

�What is this about?� Jake asked.

�I�ll tell you when I get up there,� she said. �And call Celia and have her come meet us. Suzie too.�

�What?�

�If my information is correct, they�re in the same room anyway. Just do it.�

�All right,� he said with a sigh. There was a feeling of dread and disaster starting to creep into the fibers of his being. He did not enjoy the sensation. He handed the handset to Laura. �Tell the registration girl that Pauline can come up here.�

�What�s going on?� Laura asked.

�I guess we�ll find out shortly, whether we want to or not.�

Moosehead Lake, Maine

May 16, 1996

Jake and Laura wanted to be alone with each other during the seven days of her tour break and they accomplished that quite literally. They awoke on this morning in the master stateroom of a large houseboat Jake had rented in Greenville, Maine, on the southern tip of Moosehead Lake in the isolated north-central region of the most northeasterly state in the contiguous United States. From Greenville, they had motored the boat twenty miles north, anchoring it in a moderate-sized cove fifty yards offshore of a seven-hundred-foot-tall slab of ancient volcanic rock known as Mount Kineo, which rose from a large peninsula that jutted out into the lake. The peninsula itself was a state park but it was a state park that was only accessible by watercraft or helicopter. There were no roads to drive to it and there was no airport to land at. There were occasional boats that came in to explore the cove during the day, but they tended to keep their distance. There was no cellular phone coverage and the only communication device they had access to was the marine radio in the cockpit of the vessel, which they kept turned off. For all intents and purposes, Jake and Laura were utterly, wondrously, and intimately alone in one of the most isolated places in the continental United States.

They had been here for three days and three nights now and were thoroughly enjoying themselves. The days were pleasant and sunny, and the nights were chilly and quiet, with only the sound of the gentle waves lapping on the boat. The water itself was far too cold to swim in, but Jake had rented them a pair of jet skis and dry suits and they spent a good portion of each afternoon tooling around and exploring. At night, Jake would make dinner for them and they would share a bottle or two of wine and then spend some time in the hot tub up on the upper deck, looking at the stars and talking. It was therapeutic for both of them. They had agreed not to discuss the impending article in the New England Reports in which Laura would be outed for dallying with female groupies. Laura, working through Pauline, had already denied the accusations, calling them ridiculous storytelling. Jake had refused to comment at all, other than to say that the accusations were not even worthy of a response from him. There was nothing that talking about the issue, or even thinking about it, could accomplish at this point, so they didn�t.

�Good morning,� Laura said now as she sat up in the queen-sized bed they shared in the master stateroom. She was naked, as was Jake, and smelled of sex, as did Jake, but the bedding was relatively unruffled since they had done their pre-retirement fucking the night before on the foldout hide-a-bed in the entertainment room. Their goal was to fuck in each of the eleven beds on the vessel before they returned it. So far, they had used six of them, plus the hot tub.

�Good morning,� Jake returned with a stretch and a yawn. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the side of her jaw. �How�d you sleep?�

�Like a baby,� she said contentedly. �This was a great idea.�

�It was, wasn�t it? I think we should make a habit of doing something like this at least twice a year from here on out. Find some out of the way place and isolate ourselves for a few days there. Get away from everyone and everything and just be.�

�I�ll vote for that,� she said, pushing the covers off of herself and standing up. She stretched a little and then headed for the tiny bathroom attached to the stateroom. �It should be pretty easy to find places like that once we get the new plane, right?�

�Uh ... right,� Jake said, careful to keep any inflection out of his voice. He did not want to talk about the plane right now.

But Laura did. She sat down on the toilet, leaving the door open, and began to pee. �Didn�t you say it�s going to be entering escrow soon?� she asked.

�Yes,� Jake said. �Uhhh ... escrow starts today, as a matter of fact. Jill was supposed to fly down to Bogota yesterday with that property lawyer Paulie set me up with.�

Laura giggled a little. �And to hook up with that Colombian pilot, no doubt.� Jake had told her the story of Jill getting herself laid.

�No doubt,� Jake said, giving a little chuckle in return. �She was very enthusiastic about the trip. Told me it was no problem at all, that whenever I needed her to go to Bogota for something, she was on it.�

�Wow,� Laura said. �That from the woman who grumbles when you ask her to fly down to Los Angeles for a meeting.�

�I guess that pilot knows his way around her cockpit.�

She looked at him in confusion. �How�s that?�

�Cockpit,� Jake explained. �As in, a pit for him to place his cock. It�s kind of a pun, you see.�

She shook her head and gave him a little eyeroll. �I don�t think puns are your thing, sweetie,� she said dryly.

�I thought it was funny.�

�I�m sure you did,� she said, finishing her business and standing up. She wiped and then pushed the flush button on the toilet. It gave a noisy whoosh like an airplane toilet and then silenced. �Anyway, since the plane is going into escrow today, I�m assuming you finally nailed down the final price?�

Fuck! Jake thought miserably. I thought the cockpit joke might steer her away from this. �Uh ... yeah,� he said softly, trying to find a way out of sharing the information and failing. �We did.�

�How much was it?� she asked, turning on the sink to wash her hands.

�Well ... uh ... it was a little more expensive than I thought when I first started looking into this whole thing.�

�How much more?� she asked, soaping up her hands. �You said you could probably get one for around half a million, right?�

�Yeah,� he said slowly. �That�s what I thought at first. It turns out I underestimated the value to some degree.�

�That�s a bummer,� she said, now rinsing. �How much more? Like eight hundred thousand or so?�

�Uh ... well ... I sent Jill with an authorization to wire nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars into the escrow account.�

�Nine hundred and fifty?� she asked, surprised. �That is quite a bit more than half a million.�

�Yeah,� Jake said miserably.

�But still, I guess it�s not that bad. I mean, you really love the plane, right?�

�I do,� he admitted.

�And it does have a bathroom, like I asked.�

�Yes, it certainly does,� Jake agreed.

�And it�s not like we can�t afford nine hundred and fifty.� She turned off the sink and reached for the towel hanging on the rack.

Jake sighed. �Actually, babe, there is one thing I really think I need to confess right now.�

�What�s that?� she asked.

�Well ... the fact of the matter is that ... uh ... you know ... that that nine hundred and fifty thousand is really only ... uh ... the down payment.�

Her hands stopped the motion of drying. She slowly turned and looked at her husband. �The down payment?� she asked.

�Yeah,� he said, fighting to keep his eyes on hers. �It�s uh ... twenty percent of the agreed upon price.�

Her eyes widened and then bored into him. �Nine hundred and fifty thousand is only twenty percent of what the plane costs?� she asked him, a little steel in her tone. �Is that what you�re telling me?�

He nodded. �Yeah,� he admitted. �That�s what I�m telling you.�

�Then the actual price of the plane is ... is...� She could not do the math in her head. �How much is it, Jake?�

�Uh ... four million, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars,� he said.

�Four million, seven hundred and fifty thousand?� she nearly screamed. �Please tell me you�re kidding, Jake! Please tell me this is a fucking joke!�

�Well, it was originally priced at four million, eight hundred thousand,� he said, �but I won a bet with the owner playing darts and got fifty thousand off.�

This time she did scream. �Darts! You gambled fifty thousand dollars playing darts?!�

�I won,� he said defensively.

She shook her head rapidly. �Forget the darts,� she said. �That doesn�t matter. What does matter is that you agreed to pay almost five million dollars for an airplane you told me would cost around half a million and you didn�t talk to me about it! How long have you known it was going to cost that much?�

�Well ... uh ... pretty much since I heard about the plane from Jill in the first place,� he admitted.

�That was months ago!� she said. �Months! And you never mentioned it to me a single time!�

�You were on tour for most of...�

�We talked on the phone all the time, Jake!� she yelled. �At least three times a week! And I did ask you about it multiple times if you�ll recall! And every time I did, you said the price wasn�t decided yet and changed the subject. What the fuck, Jake?�

�I�m sorry, hon,� he told her, �it�s just that ... well ... you know?�

�I do not know,� she said. �You lied to me! You knew the whole time it was going to cost almost five million and you lied when I asked you about it!�

�Uh ... yeah,� he said miserably. �I guess I did.�

�Why, Jake?� she asked. �I know you are the one who makes the money around here. I know that! The only money I make is what KVA pays me for touring and recording and royalties and KVA is owned by you, so even my money originally comes from you, but we are married! Aren�t married people supposed to talk about things like five-million-dollar purchases before they happen?�

�Yes,� he said softly. �They are.�

�Then why didn�t you?�

�Well ... truthfully, because I thought you might try to talk me out of buying it.�

Her eyes continued to glare into him for a few moments and then softened a bit. �You decided it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission?�

He nodded. �That�s as good a way as any to put it,� he agreed.

She shook her head again, this time seemingly in bewilderment instead of anger. �I probably would have tried to talk you out of it,� she said. �Five million is a lot of money.�

�Four point eight million,� he corrected.

�That�s still a lot of money.�

�True,� he had to agree.

�But if you had just told me that it was something you really wanted, Jake, and if you had just showed me that we could really afford this thing�we can afford this, right?�

�We can,� he said. �The monthly payments will be around twenty-seven thousand. Insurance will be another eight hundred a month. California use tax�which is sales tax essentially�will be three hundred and eighty thousand, but that won�t be due until next year and it�s a one-time deal. And then there�s the one percent per year personal property tax that California will charge. That�ll run around forty-eight grand a year, gradually going down as the plane depreciates in value. A lot of money I will agree, but yes, we can afford it. As of the last quarterly meeting, I ... uh ... I mean we are pulling in more than nine million dollars a quarter in income when you add up the KVA disbursements, instrument endorsements, and Intemperance royalties. And that�s even before the next Brainwash album is factored in.�

Her eyes softened a little more. �That�s good to know,� she said softly. �Anyway, my point is that if you would have impressed upon me that you really wanted the plane and that we really could afford it, I would have said yes. You really didn�t need to go through all of this deception.�

�Well... now you tell me,� he said.

She sighed. �Jesus fucking Christ,� she said. �What am I going to do with you?�

He smiled, sensing the argument was now over and feeling a large weight of stress falling off his shoulders. �I think a good punishment would be to make me watch you have lesbian sex again.�

�That sounds like a good idea,� she agreed. �Only this time, you don�t get to touch me, or even jack off.�

�Well ... I can live with that, I suppose.�

�Until the next day,� she added.

�Okay, now that�s just cruel and unusual.�

She smiled then, and now he really knew the argument was over. And he had learned something fundamental and profound from it. It really was better to ask for forgiveness than permission�just a little more painful in the immediate confession period.

�I�m going to take a shower,� she said.

�All right,� he replied. �I�ll get breakfast going.�

While Laura headed naked to the main bathroom just off the entertainment room, Jake went and relieved his own bladder and had his morning BM. After washing up from these activities, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and walked into the kitchen, shirtless. He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around for a minute. Their supplies were getting low, but he had what he needed to make them a couple of Denver omelets and some buttered toast. He got the coffee going and then began his construction project. Laura emerged from the bathroom, naked and fresh smelling, and walked back through the kitchen on her way back to the stateroom to get dressed. She returned five minutes later wearing a pair of denim shorts and a plain t-shirt over a bikini top (she still would not wear the bikini by itself anyplace she might be seen by someone other than Jake, but would wear it beneath a shirt).

�Looks good,� she said as Jake put their breakfast plates on the table.

�Naturally,� Jake replied as he poured each of them a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain.

They sat down and dug into their meal.

�Anything on the agenda for today?� Laura asked. �You know ... besides spending five million dollars on a bathroom?�

�Four point seven five,� he corrected. �And we�re starting to get low on supplies. I don�t have anything to make for dinner tonight, we�re all out of eggs, almost out of cheese, and we�re down to one bottle of wine.�

�That will simply not do,� Laura said. �Where can we get these things?�

�That little town where we gas up the jet skis,� he said. �Rockwood. It�s just a two-mile ride and they have that little grocery store there just a block or two up from the docks.�

�Won�t things be hideously expensive there?� she asked. �You know? Like the four dollar a gallon gas?�

�Undoubtedly,� he agreed. �But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?�

�I guess you�re right,� she said. �And besides, if we�re going to spend four point seven five million dollars on a plane, why scoff at thirty dollars for a bottle of ten-dollar chardonnay?�

�How long are you going to keep making backhanded references to the four point seven five-million-dollar plane?� he asked. �Just out of curiosity.�

�Pretty much for the rest of your natural life,� she replied.

�That�s kind of what I thought,� he said with a sigh.

They ate and then, while Laura did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, Jake went and took his own shower. After toweling off, he pulled on a pair of baggy swimming trunks and a t-shirt he had bought in Bar Harbor. He then picked up the backpack he used when traveling�it was currently empty�and threw his wallet into it. Inside of his wallet was more than six hundred dollars in cash he had also picked up in Bar Harbor. Using your ATM card to make purchases had not quite made it to most of the state of Maine outside of Bangor or Portland yet. And it certainly had not made it to Rockwood, Maine.

Their dry suits were hanging on a rack on the lower deck on the aft side of the boat. This was where the two Kawasaki JS750 jet skis were secured. It took them about five minutes to completely gear up for the trip to town. They pulled on the dry suits, put water shoes on their feet, donned their life vests, and then Jake put the backpack on and tightened the straps as much as he could. He then locked up the door that allowed entry into the boat and put the key in a little pocket on the dry suit that was designed just for that purpose.

�You ready?� he asked Laura.

�Let�s do it,� she said with a smile of pleasant anticipation. The jet ski had scared her at first but now she had fallen in love with riding it. And she had gotten quite good at it as well.

The so-called �keys� for the jet skis were actually just plastic pieces that plugged into a slot and allowed the ignition circuit to complete and the engine to run. These keys were attached to lanyards that they secured to their wrists. In the event of a fall�and they had both fallen a lot when they were learning to ride�the lanyard would yank the key out of the slot and kill the engine instantly, thus preventing the watercraft from continuing on its merry way without its rider. You then just had to swim after the machine and remount it.

Jake untied the skis and they climbed aboard, settling in on their knees and then pushing away from the boat. They plugged in their keys and fired up the two-stroke engines, which sent clouds of fragrant exhaust into the air.

�Lead the way!� Laura told him. She had a terrible sense of navigation outside of cities or towns (and it was not that great inside of them either). She could probably find her way out of the cove�since there was only one way to escape and it was plainly visible�but after that, she did not even know which way they should turn to get to town.

�Try to keep up!� Jake returned playfully. He did have a superb sense of direction and navigation, even in unfamiliar places, and always effortlessly led them back to the cove without the use of a map of any kind, or even a compass, no matter where they went out on the large lake. Of course, he was greatly assisted in this impressive feat by the fact that Mount Kineo, where they were anchored, was visible from anywhere in the range of the jet skis.

Jake pulled on the throttle just enough to get moving and steered around in a circle until he was facing the exit to the cove. He then throttled up, putting on some speed. As the jet ski moved faster and became more stable in the water, he slowly stood up until he was standing tall on his own two feet. He glanced over his left shoulder and saw that Laura was keeping station with him, just behind and to the left, where his wake would not catch her. She too had assumed the standing position.

The water was mostly calm as they exited the cove and turned to the right, with no wind-driven waves at all and only a few wakes churned up by the sparse boat traffic that was motoring about here and there. The Yamahas could easily go forty-five miles per hour, maybe even fifty, but Jake did not go balls to the wall. He kept the throttle at around eighty percent or so and they cruised at around thirty-five to forty miles per hour. They cut through the water smoothly, feeling the wind in their faces, occasionally getting splashed a bit when they hit one of the rolling boat wakes. The trip took only five minutes to complete and neither of them fell off. They pulled up to the Rockwood Town Landing boat ramp, maneuvering over to the fuel dock and then shutting down.

They stepped from the jet skis onto the dock�Laura almost falling into the water but catching herself at the last second�and tied up. Jake turned his back to her and told her to get into the backpack and pull out his wallet. She did so.

He peeled off a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her. �You fuel us up,� he said. �I�ll hike in and grab the groceries.�

�Sounds good,� she said.

The proprietor of the fueling station was heading toward them from the direction of the little snack shack where he had been sitting in a wooden chair out in front of it. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties or early sixties. He was balding, missing a few teeth, and constantly smoked cigarettes, even when he was fueling someone up. He was the same man who had fueled them on their previous trips to the dock and he was a man of few words, speaking no more than was necessary to complete the transaction. Jake did not even know his name, as he had never offered it and he wore no form of name tag or badge.

He walked up to them now, his lit, half-smoked cigarette sticking out of his mouth. He was looking at them intently as they approached, much more intently than he had ever looked at them on previous visits.

�Good morning,� Jake greeted when he reached their position.

�Ayuh, it is,� he agreed, still staring at the two of them, as if he were trying to memorize their features. �Shapin� up to be a real pisser of a day, ain�t it?�

�Yes,� Jake agreed. �It looks like it.� Pisser, he had learned from his time spent in Maine, was not a bad thing, but a good thing. As in, �that was a real pisser of a blowjob you gave me last night, hon�.

�We�d like to fill both tanks up,� Laura told him.

�No problem,� he said. �That�s what I do here.�

�Is it okay if we keep the skis tied up to the dock here long enough for me to walk up to the store and pick up a few things?� Jake asked him.

�Ayuh,� he said. �I�m not exactly drove right up at the moment. No problem at all as long as you book it.�

�Book it?� Jake asked.

�Do it fast,� he clarified.

�Oh ... right. I�ll certainly book it as much as I can.�

�Fair enough,� he said. He still had not taken his eyes off of them, and he made no move to get to work putting fuel in their tanks.

�Uh ... is everything okay?� Jake asked.

�Ayuh,� he said. �Everything is just fine with me. Was just lookin� to see if you two really are who I think you are.�

Ahhh, so that�s what this is about, Jake thought. We�ve been recognized. �Who is it that you think we are?� he asked.

�I don�t just think, I know,� the proprietor said. �Now that I�ve had a chance to get a good look at you both.� He turned to Jake. �You�re that rock and roll musician that they say is up to devil worshiping and sniffing dope out of butt-cracks.� He then turned to Laura. �And you�re the woman who travels around with that Mexican singer they play on the radio sometimes. You just had a show down Bangor way, didn�t you?�

�We did,� she said. �But Celia Valdez is Venezuelan, not Mexican.�

The proprietor shrugged, as if to say, what�s the difference? �They say you two are married.�

�They�re not making that up,� Laura said, showing him her wedding ring, which she had felt more comfortable wearing on the jet ski than leaving unattended on the houseboat.

�Girl, that�s a wicked rock you have there,� he said. He looked back at Jake. �You�re quite the rig, aintcha?�

�The rig?� Jake asked.

�Flashy, flamboyant,� the proprietor clarified. �Someone who would buy a diamond ring for his wife that probably costs more than I earn in ten years runnin� this place.�

Jake wanted to be insulted, but he could not quite rise to it. The man was not trying to get under his skin, he was just stating what he believed to be a fact in a no-nonsense way. �I see,� he said simply. �Rig. A good word for it. Short and to the point.�

�Ayuh,� he said. �We like to speak plainly up here in the willy-wags.�

�A good custom,� Jake said with a nod. �So ... anyway, I�ll just...�

But the proprietor was no longer listening to Jake. He had turned back to Laura. �When I saw your picture in that tabloid rag up to the store this morning, I thought you looked familiar,� he said.

�Tabloid rag?� Laura asked.

�The New England whatchamacallit,� he clarified. �You and that Mexican singer are both on the front page of it.�

Jake and Laura looked at each other incredulously. They had known that the issue was hitting the newsstands today, of course, but they had not dreamed that anyone in this part of the state would have access to it. �You sell the New England Report here? At that grocery store?�

�I don�t sell nothin� at that grocery store,� he said, �but Maudie does. She�s been runnin� the place since 1978. That�s when that old timer Tim Jenkins finally up and sold it.�

�And there is a demand for that rag here?� Laura asked. �In this little town?�

�Ayuh,� he said, nodding. �Not by the townspeople, of course, but we get lots of flatlanders from down Boston way up here in the spring and summer. And it seems like they like to keep up on all the gossip from home.�

Jake looked at his wife and sighed. �Well,� he said to her, �it looks like our little break from reality is now over.�

�It looks like it,� she agreed with a sigh of her own.

�I hear that rag is claiming you and the Mexican woman like to lie down with your own kind,� the proprietor said. �That�s a pretty wicked accusation.�

Jake blinked. �I�m sorry, is wicked a good thing or a bad thing?�

�It could mean either,� he said, �but in this case, it�s a bad thing, don�t you think?�

�Yeah, I suppose you�re right,� Jake said.

�Not that it�s any of my business,� the proprietor qualified. �I�ll still sell you gas and Maudie will still sell you groceries. Even if you do like to play for both teams, your money is just as good as any flatlander�s.�

�That�s good to know,� Laura said. She turned back to Jake. �Maybe you oughtta pick up a copy of that rag while you�re there.�

�Yeah,� he said. �I guess I�d better.�

Back in Bangor, Celia Valdez and Suzie Granderson were in Celia�s suite at the Sheraton hotel near the airport. It was just past 11:00 AM and they were still in bed, naked and cuddled against each other, Celia resting her head on Suzie�s chest while Suzie�s arms were locked around her. They had been up late last night, first drinking two bottles of white wine (the King Air was currently at Bangor Airport undergoing a B-level check, therefore Suzie�s moratorium on drinking alcohol was temporarily on hold) and then engaging in a lengthy, two-hour long session of lesbian lovemaking that had finally wrapped up around 3:00 AM. Now, both of them were awake, but too comfortable to get out of bed just yet. Both had headaches and sour stomachs but were quite satiated sexually.

They no longer bothered trying to hide their relationship from the other members of the band. In truth, it had been an exercise in futility to even try, as was evidenced by the �anonymous source close to the band� who had spilled the beans to the New England Reports journalist who had called asking for commentary on the allegation. They still had no idea who that anonymous source was, but he or she had provided enough details of the day-to-day operations and engagement of the band members�particularly Suzie, Celia, and Laura�that they knew they had a mole among them. Was it a member of the road crew? One of the techies? One of the bus drivers? One of the limo drivers? One of the band members? Of all the possibilities, that was the one that bothered Celia the most. The seven of them were very close to each other, had been living and sleeping and traveling and playing music together for months. The thought that one of them might have betrayed her was too much to handle.

�The issue should be at the news stands and supermarket checkouts now,� Suzie said softly, bringing her hand up to play with Celia�s silky hair.

�That�s true,� Celia said with a sigh, snuggling a little tighter into her lover. �From this point on, the media circus will begin. You�ve never been through anything like this before, have you?�

�No,� Suzie said. �I mean, I saw what happened when you and Greg were divorcing and the whole Mindy Snow pregnancy thing hit the public, but I�ve never been personally involved in anything like this.�

�Maybe you won�t be,� Celia suggested. �Paulie said that when the reporter called her, all she knew was that your name was Suzie and that you were a pilot who flew us around. She did not provide them with your last name, the name of your company, or even confirm that there was a female pilot on our plane. This is a sleazy gossip rag. There�s a good chance they were not able to identify you.�

�Really?� Suzie asked.

Celia shrugged. �It�s certainly possible,� she said. �No reporter ever called you to ask for your version of the story, did they?�

�No.�

�You�d think that if they knew who you were, they would have done that, right?�

�I don�t know,� she said. �It that how it usually works?�

�Well ... with legitimate journalism it is,� she said. �I don�t know if this New England rag follows the standards of journalistic ethics, but even if they don�t, their story would be juicier if they were able to get a quote from you, or a picture, or anything at all. The fact that they did not even try is suggestive.�

�Maybe,� Suzie said, leaning down and kissing the top of Celia�s head. She hesitated for a few seconds, continuing to stroke Celia�s hair, and then said, �Can I ask you something?�

�Anything,� Celia said. �You know that.�

�Did you ever think ... uh ... even for a minute ... that maybe the best course of action would have been to ... just ... you know ... admit that we are together?�

The question caught Celia off guard. She raised her head up and looked into Suzie�s eyes. �Admit we are together? You�re not serious, are you?�

�Well ... we are together,� Suzie said. �We�ve been living and sleeping together as a couple for the past month now. How long do we need to keep this in the closet?�

Madres de Dios, Celia thought desperately. How do I answer this one? �Suzie ... uh ... I am not a lesbian.�

�Oh really?� Suzie said, bitterness in her tone. �You�re not a lesbian? I seem to recall you sticking that pretty face of yours between my legs last night and licking my slit until I came all over it.�

�Well ... yes, but...�

�And was I hallucinating the part where you climbed up on top of me naked and rubbed your clit against mine while tongue kissing me?�

�You were not hallucinating,� Celia said with a sigh. �I did those things and I enjoyed them immensely. And I will undoubtedly do them again tonight as long as you�re not too pissed off to let me, but none of that makes me a lesbian. Bisexual, yes. I will freely admit that. I enjoy having sex with you. I enjoy being close to you. But I can never be with you in the way that you are suggesting.�

�So, I�m just someone for you to fuck?� she asked angrily. �Is that all I am to you?�

�You know better than that, Suzie,� she said sternly. �If you don�t, you�re not the person I thought you were.�

Suzie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly, she let it out and opened her eyes again. �Okay,� she said. �I shouldn�t have said that. I�m sorry.�

�Apology accepted,� Celia told her. �And I�m sorry if I misled you into thinking that what we have here and now is more than what it is. I needed somebody to be intimate with and you were there. I love you, Fly Girl, and I always will, and I will always be grateful to you for being here for me when I needed you most, but ... I�m primarily heterosexual. I cannot change that any more than you can change the fact that you�re a lesbian. A long-term, committed relationship between the two of us simply cannot work. Please tell me that you understand that.�

Suzie was now fighting not to cry, but she nodded her head. �Yes,� she said softly. �I understand that.�

�Again, I�m sorry,� Celia said. �I never wanted to hurt you.�

�I know,� she said.

Celia put her head back down on Suzie�s chest. Suzie�s arms went back around her, caressing the naked skin of her back.

�How long do we have then?� Suzie asked.

�What do you mean?�

�You just told me that what we have can�t last. How long do we have?�

�There is no expiration date on this thing,� Celia told her. �We have as long as we have. And when this phase is over, that doesn�t mean it�s over for good. There will be other tours. There will be visits when we�re not on tour. Who knows what will happen then? There are too many variables to factor in to come up with an answer to a question like that. Maybe I�ll meet the next man of my dreams tomorrow and it ends then. Maybe I never meet the next man of my dreams and you and I carry on a torrid affair with each other for the rest of our lives. We just don�t know what the future will bring, so we might as well live in the now.�

Suzie thought that over for a few moments and then nodded. �You�re a very wise woman, Band Geek,� she told her.

�You have to be wise to write songs,� she said. �It�s a requirement.�

�Will you write a song about me?� Suzie asked. �About us? About our time together?�

�Yes,� Celia said without hesitation. �I most certainly will.�

The phone on the nightstand began to ring. Both women looked at it, knowing who was likely to be on the other end. Celia sighed and rose up from the snuggle. She rolled over and picked up the handset. She put it to her ear.

�Marie Vasquez�s room,� she said softly, giving her hotel name.

�Hey, C,� came Pauline�s voice. �It�s me.�

�The New England Report has been released?� she asked.

�It has, and it�s causing quite the sensation. I just got off the phone with Darlene back in LA. She says the office phone is ringing off the hook with reporters trying to get information out of me about the tale. The proverbial shit has officially hit the proverbial fan.�

�Wonderful,� Celia said. �You�ve seen the article?�

�Got a copy of it about an hour ago,� she confirmed. �I think you need to see it. Suzie too.�

�I suppose we�ll have to,� she said. �How bad is it?�

�It�s much more detailed than I was expecting,� Pauline said. �We most definitely have a mole in your inner circle.�

�That�s what we figured from the start.�

�True, but now that we have the article to refer to, it seems our mole is not that bright. He gave himself away.�

�He did? What do you mean? Who is it?�

�I�ll fill you in after you read the article. You�ll probably come to the same conclusion without me telling you. Can I come up?�

�Uh...� she looked over at Suzie and then down at herself. They were both naked and smelled strongly of female sexual musk. Sure, everyone knew they were doing it with each other, but that did not mean they needed to have evidence thrown in their face, or up their nose. �I think maybe you�d better give us about thirty minutes or so.�

�I understand,� Pauline said. �Thirty minutes.�

SAPPHIC LOVEFEST ON THE CELIA VALDEZ TOUR?? screamed the headline of the New England Reports tabloid. Below the headline were three pictures. The first was a publicity shot of Celia up on stage, her microphone in hand. The next was another publicity shot, this one of Laura Kingsley in her green dress playing her saxophone up on stage. The other was an official looking photograph of Suzie�not the most flattering likeness of her�and she was identified by her full name and her profession in the caption.

�That�s my driver�s license picture!� she yelled, outraged. �God, I hate that fucking picture!�

The story, the smaller print promised, started on page 4. Celia, now dressed in her jeans and a peasant blouse, set the tabloid down on the suite�s dining table. She then planted her butt in the dining chair and flipped to page 4.

There were a few more pictures on page 4 and page 5. One was of Celia and Greg at last year�s Grammy Awards. One was a shot of Mindy Snow with her swelling belly. Mindy had pretty much been in seclusion since the Condom-gate episode and the disclosures by Smooth Operator of her slutty ways, but a member of the pap had managed to snap a shot of her on her property about three weeks before. Another shot featured Jake and Laura at their wedding reception, though it was not one of the official wedding pictures taken by the People magazine photographers, but an unauthorized shot that had been taken by Paul Peterson from out on the beach four hundred yards away. Each shot had a brief caption beneath, explaining the subjects� role in the lesbian love scandal.

Celia shook her head in disgust at the innuendo contained in the captions and then began to read the main story. As Pauline had said, the story was very detailed and contained information that only someone who was a part of their immediate circle would know. The supplier of these details was identified as promised: �An anonymous source close to the band�. This source reported that Celia had gone into a funk after filing for divorce and the breaking of the Mindy Snow pregnancy by Greg Oldfellow story. She remained in that funk for quite some time but pulled out of it quickly once the copilot of their plane began spending the night in her hotel room with her. She stopped as she read this part.

�Copilot?� she asked Pauline. �What the hell are they talking about? Are they suggesting I�ve slept with Njord too?�

�Ewww,� Suzie said, disgusted. �Njord? That�s just gross!�

�They are not suggesting that,� Pauline said.

�But...�

�Just read on,� Pauline told her.

She read on. In the next paragraph, the copilot of which they spoke was identified as Susan Granderson of Peterson Aviation Services. Thirty-four years old. Formerly a captain in the United States Air Force with service in the Persian Gulf War. Discharged after the war under allegedly questionable circumstances. It was strongly implied, though not directly stated, that her discharge had been because she was a lesbian. They knew a lot about her, including how many flight hours she had accumulated and in what kind of aircraft, information obviously pulled from public records. But they did not know that she was the pilot-in-command of her current assignment and not the copilot.

�Why are they saying Suzie is the copilot?� Celia asked.

�Copilot?� Suzie barked, outraged. �They�re saying I�m fucking subordinate to Njord?�

�That�s what they�re saying,� Celia confirmed. She turned to Pauline. �Is it sexism? Are they assuming that just because she is a woman that she has to be the copilot?�

�No,� Pauline said. �I don�t believe that to be the case at all.�

�What do you mean?� Suzie asked.

�Who do we know,� asked Pauline, �who has reason to dislike most of the bandmembers in Celia�s band, with a particular personal dislike of Laura and Celia, and who has reason to be antagonistic toward you, Suzie?�

�Njord!� she said. �That motherfucker! Are you saying he is the mole?�

�I believe he is,� Pauline said. �First of all, you have described Njord to me as a pathological liar who likes to run his mouth.�

�That�s right,� Suzie said.

�After I read the article for the first time, I became suspicious of Njord immediately. And so, I called Coop to come have a little chat with me. I remember Laura telling me that Coop was the only one who could stand to be around Njord.�

�That�s right,� Celia said. �They like to sit in the bar at night and try to pick up women.�

�Yes, that�s what Coop told me as well,� Pauline said. �He also told me that Njord is in the habit of introducing himself to his prospects as �Celia Valdez�s personal pilot�. And he has also heard the man dissing on Suzie and calling her �my lesbo copilot�.�

�Fuck me,� Suzie said, shaking her head in anger. �He is the mole. I�ll kill his ass!�

�That�s what Coop said when we put it all together,� Pauline said. �He was quite outraged, pissed even. I don�t think the two of them will be drinking together anymore after this.�

�I don�t want him flying me around anymore,� Celia said. �I don�t ever want to see his face again, as a matter of fact! Can you believe this shit? He actually told a reporter private things about what happens on the road! Who does something like that?�

�Apparently Njord does,� Suzie said. �And I will see to it that he never sets foot in that aircraft again. I will call up the home office and tell them what he did.� She looked at Celia. �It would be very helpful to our cause if you were to call them up too and express how fucking pissed off you are that a member of your aircrew blabbed his big mouth to the entertainment media about your personal life.�

�What about you?� Celia asked. �Won�t you get in trouble for sleeping with me?�

�Sleeping with you?� Suzie said with a smile. �I�m not sleeping with you. Never have. That was all speculative lies made up by our mole. Remember? You denied everything. I certainly will do the same when HR asks me about it. Yes, you and I like to hang out together on occasion after you get back from your shows, but I have no idea where he came up with the idea that we were getting naked and stinky together.�

Celia smiled back at her. �Of course,� she said. �I didn�t think of that. Should I make my phone call first?�

Suzie shook her head. �I should make mine first and prep them for what is coming. And when you make your call, I would suggest you make it very clear to them that legal action against the company will occur if this situation is not made right and made right immediately.�

�Understood,� Celia said.

�We should probably get Jake and Laura in on this outrage too,� Pauline suggested. �As soon as they reappear in the world anyway.�

�Oh yeah,� Celia said. �I haven�t even gotten to the part about Laura yet.�

�Then read on, Macduff,� Pauline said. �Read on.�

She read on. The writer�her byline identified her as Jessica Barstow�rehashed the Jake and Laura story, explaining that they had met back during the recording of Celia�s debut solo album in 1991 and had gotten married in 1994. She made sure to mention the allegations of domestic violence and drug use made against Jake, including the infamous cocaine from the butt-crack incident, and then she rehashed the allegations that Laura had been a terrible teacher who had been asked to resign when she started dating Jake. She put in a few quotes from Laura�s mother from the American Watcher stories when Mrs. Best speculated about how Jake must be abusing her since she was isolating herself from her devoted Mormon family.

From there, she got into the meat of things. Citing the same �anonymous source close to the band� she described how Laura enjoyed the company of young female groupies (�the sluttier the better� the source was quoted as saying) and would often have one accompany her back to the hotel after the show. She did this openly and all of the other band members and the road crew knew about it. She even suggested that Jake knew about this habit as well. �I don�t see how he could not know,� the source allegedly said. �Jake and Celia are pretty tight with each other. And the saying that what happens on the road stays on the road wouldn�t apply in this situation.�

She then wrapped it up by writing that Pauline Kingsley, spokeswoman and manager of Laura Kingsley as well as Celia herself, stated that Laura, like Celia, emphatically denies the allegations and is outraged that such a thing was even being suggested. After this, Jessica Barstow invited any readers who might have knowledge or stories that could corroborate the allegations against Celia, or Suzie, or Laura, please give her a call at her office or send her an email. Her office number and her email address were printed below her byline.

�Madres de Dios,� Celia said when she was finished reading. �Njord and his big fucking mouth.�

�Let me read that thing,� Suzie said. �I�ll need to have my ammo ready for when I make my call.�

Celia slid the tabloid across the table to her.

�I�m a little worried about that last line in the story,� Pauline said. �The one about how people should call or email her if they can corroborate. As it stands now, it�s our word against Njord�s. We have put up a wall of denial and we are reasonably secure behind it. But if a member of the road crew or the security staff or one of the many hotel workers who must have witnessed you two staying in your room together every night, or ordering dinner for two from room service, decides to talk ... that wall starts to crumble.�

�I don�t think any of the road crew or the security staff would blab,� Celia said. �We�ve worked closely with them for two tours now and they�re a great crew. They�re very supportive of me and of everyone else in the band.�

�Are you sure about that?� Pauline asked. �Are you certain that there isn�t some low-level flunky getting paid minimum wage to endure endless bus rides and then haul your trusses and heft your amps day after day who might be resentful that you and the band get to sleep until ten every morning in fucking hotel suites and then just fly to the next date?�

�I am certain,� Celia said confidently. �Although it might be helpful to describe the phenomenon of the troll to them and warn them against falling into that trap.�

Pauline nodded. �I�ll take you at your word for that,� she said. �Mostly because it�s all I can do. What about the hotel employees?�

�Again, they have nothing but speculation to go on,� Celia said. �None of them have ever seen us in an intimate moment with each other. And, while they might have seen some of Teach�s groupies coming and going, I don�t think they would talk to the press about it. Hotel privacy is a big thing these days and it was actually Jake and Helen and Greg that were instrumental in making that happen. Remember? After the manager at that hotel in Omaha outed Jake and Helen, he got fired and blackballed and the entire chain got boycotted by musicians and the SAG forever. And even if someone did talk, it would also be mere speculation, easily denied. Laura just likes to hang out with fans. Every once in a while, she invites one back to the hotel for a drink or two because she�s lonely out on the road. There is no sexual activity involved.�

�Good points,� Pauline said. �But what if one of Laura�s groupies decides to talk? What then?�

�The same deal,� Celia said. �Deny, deny, deny. It�s some puta�s word against Laura�s. And the puta would have a hard time establishing that she even came back to Laura�s room with her, let alone what happened in there. It�s not like records are kept about this sort of thing.�

Pauline thought this over for a moment and then nodded. �Okay,� she said. �I guess that makes sense as well.�

�His fucking copilot!� Suzie suddenly shouted out, apparently having reached that part of the article. �I swear to God, that motherfucker is going down.�

She did not know how accurate that statement really was, or that she should be using the past tense instead of the future tense. But she was about to find out.

At the moment, the phone began to ring.

�Madres de Dios, what now?� Celia asked as she stood up. She walked over to the extension that sat on the bar and picked it up. �Marie Vasquez�s room.�

�Uh ... Ms. Valdez?� said an unfamiliar voice.

�This is Marie Vasquez�s room,� Celia said, emphasizing the name. �To whom am I speaking?�

�My name is Brian Comp, Ms. uh ... Vasquez. I�m the day manager here at the hotel.�

�Oh ... I see,� she said. �I guess you can call me Ms. Valdez then. What can I do for you?�

�Well ... there�s sort of a situation here that I think you need to be aware of.�

�What kind of situation?� she asked. �Are there reporters and paparazzi outside?�

�Yes, there are,� he confirmed, �but that is not why I called. You see ... well ... an emergency medical response was initiated to Room 403. The occupant of that room is one of your pilots. The fire department and the ambulance came and took him to the hospital.�

�Njord?� she asked. �What kind of emergency did he have?�

�It seems that he was assaulted and beaten quite badly. His face was kind of a mess when they wheeled him by my desk.�

�Assaulted?� she asked incredulously. �By whom?�

�I don�t know that facts of the matter, Ms. Valdez, but ... well ... the police are here too. And they are talking right now to Mr. Cooper in the lobby. And Mr. Cooper is currently in handcuffs and is bleeding from both of his hands.�

Celia looked up at the ceiling. �Madres de Dios,� she said, shaking her head.

Njord and Coop were both taken to the Eastern Maine Medical Center emergency room. Njord arrived there by ambulance. Coop arrived there by police car, in custody for assault with great bodily harm, a class C felony in the state of Maine. Njord suffered a broken jaw, two broken teeth, a split lip, two black eyes, and a concussion. Coop suffered a fracture to the fifth metacarpal of his right hand�commonly known as a boxer�s fracture�and lacerations to the knuckles of both hands caused by impacting Njord�s teeth. Two of the lacerations required suturing to close. He also had to be placed on prophylactic antibiotics and get a tetanus shot. Njord was kept overnight for observation. Coop was there for two hours and then was taken to the Penobscot County jail for booking. He was not there long enough to even change into jail clothes or eat real jail food. Pauline posted bail for him by writing a check for the full amount.

�Why, Coop?� Pauline asked him once they made it through the gauntlet of reporters, photographers, and just plain curious who had staked out the entrances to the Sheraton of Bangor in response to the New England Report article. �Why did you beat his ass like that?�

�He fuckin� deserved it,� Coop said simply. �The motherfucker blabbed his fuckin� mouth to some reporter and spread Celia�s and Teach�s dirty laundry all over the place. I�m glad I did it. I�d do the same thing again.�

�What did you do?� she asked as they rode the elevator up. �Did you just knock on his door and start beating on him?�

�Naw, I gave him a chance to explain himself first.�

�What did he say?� she asked.

�He kept saying he didn�t do it, that he had no idea what I was talking about. So I asked him why the bitch who wrote the article thought Suzie was the copilot. He said he didn�t know why she would think that. Then I reminded him that I heard him introduce himself as Celia Valdez�s personal pilot a hundred times, and that I have even heard him call Suzie his lesbo copilot, and then mentioned that that exact phrase had been quoted in the story. He still said he didn�t know what I was talking about, but I could tell he was lying about it.�

�How could you tell?�

He shrugged. �I just knew. Can�t you tell when someone is lying to you?�

�Yeah,� she said. �A lot of the time I can. When you deal with record company suits and their lawyers, you get kind of good at lie detection.�

�Exactly,� he said. �I just knew he was lying. And I told him that.�

�And then what happened?�

�He told me one more time he didn�t have anything to do with that story. By that time, I was done listening to him. I started punching.� He shook his head in disgust. �That fuckin� pussy seriously does not know how to fight. He never even managed to hit me once. He was only able to block like two of my punches.�

Pauline was not quite sure what to say to that, so she said nothing. The elevator reached the top floor, where their suites were. The doors slid open and they stepped out.

�How much trouble am I in for this shit, Pauline?� Coop asked her. �One of them cops that arrested me told me they�re charging me with a felony, that I could get ten years for this shit. Am I going to end up in that fucked up prison that Stephen King is always writing about?�

�That�s not going to happen, Coop,� she assured him.

�It�s not?�

�It�s not. First of all, that prison is fictional.�

�Fictional? What does that mean?�

�It means it is fiction,� Pauline explained. �As in, it does not really exist.�

�No shit?� Coop asked. He seemed a little disillusioned by this revelation.

�No shit,� she confirmed. �And, second of all, I�ve already talked to Aristocrat. They have hired the best criminal defense lawyer in Maine�who happens to practice right here in Bangor�and he�s going to meet with you in your suite tomorrow. He�ll get this reduced down to a simple assault charge and get you clearance to leave the state and the country so you can finish the tour.�

�Really?�

�Really,� she said. �Justice for money. It�s the American way, right?�

�Yeah,� Coop said, �that is the way the fuckin� world works.�

And, of course, Pauline was right. After conferring with Arthur Bradford III, attorney at law, who charged Aristocrat Records eleven hundred dollars an hour, with a minimum of twelve hours of billing, plus court appearance fees in the amount of another six thousand, the Penobscot County DA himself decided to reduce the charge to a simple misdemeanor assault on the grounds that an ordinary old broken jaw, broken teeth, and concussion did not rise to the level of �great bodily harm� that was required to prove a class C felony. The next day, at the preliminary hearing, the Honorable Jefferey T. Smith agreed (over the stern objection of the deputy DA assigned to prosecute) to release Mr. Cooper on his own recognizance and allow him to leave the jurisdiction and even the country to finish out his contractually obligated touring duties. Mr. Cooper would return to Bangor on June 25, 1996, during the hiatus between the end of the North American tour and the beginning of the European tour, to face trial in the matter. Arthur Bradford III let Coop know that there was a better than even chance that the DA would decide to simply drop the charges before then.

By this point, Jake and Laura had returned to Bangor and been briefed in on the situation. Jake�s concerns with the matter were more practical.

�Can you still play the drums, Coop?� he asked. �With your hand all fucked up like that?�

It was a legitimate concern. They were supposed to appear in Quebec City in less than forty-eight hours. The trucks and buses with the roadies and equipment were already on their way.

�I can play,� he assured Jake. �I got this wrist brace thing they gave me at the hospital, and I�ll keep the fingers buddy taped together.�

�What about the stitches?�

�I�ll wrap �em up real tight,� he said. �I�ll get by. The fuckin� show must go on.�

�I�ll take your word for it,� Jake told him. He looked at the drummer meaningfully. �Was it worth it?�

�Fuck yeah, it was worth it,� Coop replied. �What that asshole did was not cool. It ain�t the way the world is supposed to work. What happens on the road stays on the road. Everybody knows that. It�s fuckin� sacred, man! That motherfucker violated that shit. That cannot go unanswered, especially not when he�s spreading shit about Celia and Teach and Suzie.�

Jake smiled and patted him on the back. �You really do say some profound shit sometimes, Coop.�

�Do I?� he asked.

Suzie called the home office and told them everything about Njord. She told them about the insubordination, the lack of crew cohesion, the misogynistic remarks he had made, and about how they had good information that he had spread vicious rumors about their passengers to the media�rumors that weren�t even true, not that that really made any difference. She told them that her passengers were demanding that he be removed from the assignment immediately�not that he would be cleared for resuming normal duties for at least a month thanks to Coop.

Pauline called the home office as well. She told them that she and her clients were absolutely outraged by the slanderous lies Suzie�s copilot had spread to the entertainment media for whatever twisted reason he had. She also told them that her clients had reported to her a string of sexual harassment and misogynistic statements they had heard Njord make in the course of his tenure with them. She cited her evidence that Njord was the culprit�highly circumstantial though it was�ticking off point by point, naming names, and repeating quotes. She told them that KVA Records would never agree to a contract with them again and would likely file lawsuits against them if this situation was not made right immediately.

Jake and Laura even got in on this action. Laura called first, telling them how her reputation was now in question because of the lies that Njord had spread. She told of how Njord had come onto her back in the beginning of his assignment and how, after she had shot him down, he had continued to come onto her until she had been forced to become firm with him. From that point on, he had seemed to have some sort of vendetta against her.

Jake simply echoed Pauline�s statement, though in more straightforward terms. One of their pilots had slandered his wife to the entertainment media. This was a gross violation of the trust they were supposed to enjoy in their air transport contractor. If this was not made right, not only would KVA never do business with Peterson Aviation again, not only would lawsuits be filed, but KVA would go out of their way to spread the information far and wide that Peterson Aviation could not be trusted to remain discrete, making sure that all potential future clients heard about it.

And so, Njord was summarily fired from his job at Peterson Aviation. They did not bother investigating the matter. Though he vehemently insisted (through his wired-shut jaw) to Jack Benton, the CEO of the company, when Jack called to sever the relationship, that he had not spoken to any reporters, that he had nothing to do with the leak, Jack did not listen. Peterson Aviation was not a union shop. Though Njord had a contract with the company, that contract specifically stated that it was subject to cancellation by either party for any or no reason and Benton was therefore invoking that clause on the grounds that he had strong reason to believe that Njord had violated the company policies related to sexual harassment, subordination to the chain of command, and, most significant, keeping his fucking mouth shut about the personal lives of the wealthy passengers they transported from place to place in their aircraft. Njord was free to file a complaint with the California Department of Fair Labor and Housing if he thought this was an unlawful termination, but he was advised quite sternly that Peterson�s lawyers would fight such a complaint with everything they had, would not settle under any circumstance, and would make sure that all of the claims made against Njord by Suzie, Laura and Celia would be aired and made public record for any potential future employers to peruse.

Njord, in a rare display of wisdom, decided to just accept the termination. He booked a flight back to Los Angeles at his own expense and tried to come up with a plausible story to tell his wife about how he had ended up unemployed with a broken jaw.

Peterson Aviation, meanwhile, dispatched a new hire copilot who had just cleared his training period on the King Air to Bangor to take over Njord�s duties. His name was Scott Fator. He was twenty-six years old and this was his first assignment after receiving his ATP-r certification after working for a small cargo carrier company for the past three years. He was completely awed by the fact that he would be flying Celia Valdez and her band around Canada as his first gig.

�Do you know why you were given this assignment?� Suzie asked him within five minutes of meeting him for the first time at Bangor International.

�They said it was because your previous copilot was released from his contract and I was the only one that they had available to fill in on short notice,� was his reply.

�That�s true,� Suzie agreed, �but not the whole story. He was not released from his contract. He was fired. And do you know why he was fired?�

�Why?� Scott asked nervously.

�Partly because he was an asshole,� she said, �but mostly because he couldn�t keep his mouth shut. He talked to a reporter and gave her details about our very famous passengers.�

Scott�s eyes widened. �You mean ... all that about how Celia and you ... about Jake Kingsley�s wife and those women... he is the one who talked?�

�He is the one who talked,� she confirmed. �And because he did that, our passengers and me are now in the midst of a whole lot of unwanted attention. My question to you, my new copilot, is what can you learn from Njord�s mistake?�

�Uh ... not to talk to reporters about what happens on the mission?� he asked hesitantly.

�Wrong,� she said. �Not to talk to anyone about what happens on the mission. That means no one, ever�even long after you are done with this mission. You don�t talk to your future PICs or copilots about what happens on the mission. You don�t talk to your wife or your girlfriend or your gay lover about what happens on the mission. You don�t talk to your fucking priest or your fucking rabbi or your fucking bishop or your fucking imam about what happens on the mission. After you die, when you finally get to meet whatever god you worship and believe in, if you want to discuss it then, that�s cool. But until that moment, your mouth stays shut. Are you following me?�

�Yes, absolutely,� he said. �What happens on the mission stays on the mission. Everyone knows that.�

�Apparently everyone does not,� Suzie said. �Now, let�s get this aircraft out of this hangar and preflighted. Our passengers will be here for the ride to Quebec in less than two hours. And this is an international hop, so we�ll have to deal with customs and all that shit.�

�Right,� Scott said. �Let�s do it.�

They did it. And two hours and thirty-eight minutes later, they were lifting off from Bangor International for the one hour and ten-minute flight across the United States border.

Rotterdam, Netherlands

May 30, 1996

The flight from Brussels to Rotterdam had only taken about twenty minutes from wheels up to touchdown. Though the flight was international�from Belgium to Netherlands�it was within the European Union and therefore no border check or customs clearance was required. As such, Matt and his band were checking into the Hilton of Rotterdam Hotel only fifty-eight minutes after stepping onto the plane at Brussels International. It took them even less time to find the nearest hash bar.

It was only a block from the hotel, an easy three-minute walk. The establishment was brightly lit, with a large counter where the cannabis products (as well as some underwhelming coffee, since the purported business of the establishment was selling coffee) were sold. The counter was staffed by two young Dutch men and one reasonably attractive Dutch woman. The customers were a mixture of European and American men and women with the notable exception being that none of them were Dutch. These customers sat at tables or played on the dozen or so pinball machines while listening to psychedelic music that played from the business�s sound system. The haze of marijuana smoke was heavy in the air.

Matt, Corban, Austin and Steve were recognized the moment they entered the establishment. They were mobbed by the crowd, fielding requests for autographs and concert tickets. They signed a few pieces of paper and two breasts, told everyone politely that they had no concert tickets to offer, turned down several offers to come smoke out and several more for blowjobs, before they were finally able to go to the counter and order up some quasi-legal smoke.

Overall, Matt found the experience a little disappointing. True, it was quite a novelty to walk into a licensed business and buy weed like he was buying beer in a 7-11, and then to sit down at a table and fire it up like he was in a local bar drinking a Jack and Coke, but, in truth, the ganja was not any better than the illicit European bud they had been smoking (which was nowhere near as good as the California-grown shit they smoked at home) and it was not all that interesting to just sit there and listen to trippy music and watch people playing pinball. And they also did not serve alcohol, just fruit drinks, sodas, and the mediocre coffee.

�Come on,� he said to his band after only thirty minutes in the shop. �Let�s blow this scene.�

�Works for me,� said Austin. �I�m gonna go hit the red-light district and give the legal hookers a try.�

�Hell yeah!� agreed Corban. �I�ve been looking forward to that. You down with some government approved prostitution, Matt?�

�Fuck that shit,� Matt scoffed. �I don�t pay for it, even if it is legal. I�ll score me some Dutch gash back at the hotel�Dutch gash that�s fuckin� free, and where the bitch is slurping my schlong because she wants to slurp my schlong, not because I opened my wallet.�

�You don�t even want to try it?� asked Austin. �Just to say you�ve done it?�

�I don�t pay for it,� Matt repeated. �It�s a matter of principle.�

�I guess a man has to make a stand about some things,� Austin said with a smile.

�Goddamn right,� Matt said, standing up.

�Think we should buy some of this weed to keep us supplied while we�re in Holland?� Steve asked. �We�re each allowed to buy five grams to take with us.�

�Yeah, I guess we might as well,� Matt said. �I don�t think that grinning Mormon freak has any connections in Rotterdam so he would probably just get our smoke from here anyway.�

�Probably,� Steve agreed.

They walked up to the female behind the counter. Her name, she told them, was Anna and she was a big Intemperance fan. She was quite awed to be serving them. She put four five-gram bags of Sativa on the table and Matt paid for it with a wad full of guilders he had scored back in Belgium.

�Will there be anything else?� she asked saucily after putting the purchases in a plain brown paper bag.

Matt looked her up and down again, noting that she had a pretty good set of titties on her and a body that had curves in all the right places. Her accent was pretty cool too. �What would you suggest?� he asked her.

�Have you ever tried edibles?� she asked.

�You mean like eating pussy?� Matt asked. �Yeah, I do that shit all the time, but never with groupies.�

�Uh ... no, that�s not what I�m talking about,� Anna said. �I�m talking about hash edibles.�

�Oh, you mean like pot brownies?� Matt said. �Yeah, I�ve tried that shit before. Didn�t do much for me.�

�You probably had improperly prepared product,� Anna suggested. �You can�t just dump some marijuana into a brownie mix and expect results. THC is fat soluble. If you are going to ingest it instead of smoking it, you have to bind the psychoactive ingredient into an oil.�

�No shit?� Matt said, finding this very interesting. The one time he had tried pot brownies, way back in high school, they had been homemade, and they had home made them by simply grinding up some pot and mixing it into the batter. This had made the end product gritty, with an odd taste, and completely ineffective at getting he and his friends high.

�No shit,� she confirmed. �Our edibles are made by extracting the THC from the leaves and stems of the plant by boiling them in butter. That binds the ingredient with the fat and allows it to be utilized for the psychoactive effect when ingested. We use the THC butter to make brownies and cakes.�

�And they get you high?� Steve asked.

�They do,� she confirmed. �And the high lasts a lot longer when you ingest the THC instead of smoking it. Takes a little longer to kick in, of course, but it�ll last you all night.�

�All right,� Matt said, pulling out his wad of guilders again. �I�ve got to check this shit out. Bust out some of those brownies.�

She sold him ten pot brownies for the American equivalent of five dollars apiece, packaging them neatly up in a little cardboard box with a lid. �Now, you�ve got to be careful with these,� she warned. �They can pack quite a punch. Eat half of one and then wait for at least two hours to see what kind of effect you get. If you�re not quite high enough, eat the other half, and so on and so forth.�

This seemed like an overly lengthy process to Matt. �How much do you eat when you munch on these things?� he asked.

�Well, the potency varies from batch to batch,� she said, �but I�ve found that one brownie will generally provide a therapeutic dose for me.�

�All right then,� Matt said. �Thanks for the suggestion.� He gave her a lascivious look. �What time you off work?�

�I�m off at five o�clock,� she said.

�Maybe you�d like to come down to the Hilton and indulge a little with me?� he asked. �I can leave your name at the front desk.�

She gave him a smile. �I�m flattered, Matt, I really am,� she said, �but I don�t think my boyfriend would be very happy if I were to do that.�

Matt simply shrugged. �I�m not gonna tell him.�

�Sorry,� she said, apologetically but firmly. �I�m going to have to take a pass.�

Matt shrugged again. �Your loss,� he said, unoffended. He would just have to find his Dutch gash somewhere else.

They left the shop. Austin, Steve, and Corban hailed one of the cruising taxies and climbed in. �Red light district!� Austin told the driver. �The classy part of it!� The driver simply nodded and drove away.

Matt watched them go, shaking his head. Imagine, paying for your pussy, he thought, when there�s so much of it available for free. He just didn�t understand some people. He turned and started walking back toward the hotel. On the way, he opened up the cardboard box and pulled out one of the brownies. He ate the entire thing, going on the theory that the little Dutch girl was considerably smaller than him and undoubtedly did not use the ganja as much as him, and that starting with a half a brownie was unnecessary caution. The treat was actually pretty tasty. It was a rich, dark chocolate with a pleasing texture and just a hint of underlying marijuana taste. And there was no grit at all.

He carried his purchases up to his suite and set them on one of the tables. He then headed downstairs to the bar to check out the local gash. He parked himself at the bar and drank two Jack and cokes, just enough to start a buzz going. Though there were a moderate number of females in the bar, he didn�t see any that met his minimum standards of what he wanted to rail. A bummer. Maybe the pickings would be a little better after dinner. They did not have a show tonight�their first of two Rotterdam dates was tomorrow night�and he really wanted to score some Dutch gash so he could compare it to the Belgian gash he�d had the night before.

He went back up to his room and turned on the television set. He flipped through the channels a bit, finding that many of the broadcasts were in Dutch or French, but a few were in English. He finally settled on a rerun of Cheers that was dubbed in French and subtitled in Dutch. He figured that it might be kind of trippy when the brownie he ate finally kicked in.

And speaking of that. He looked at the clock on the wall and figured that it had been well over an hour now since he had eaten that brownie and he still did not feel anything but the fading remnants of the high he had acquired by smoking in the hash bar. Did that bitch rip me off? he wondered. Sold me some regular brownie that didn�t have any good shit in it?

He got up and opened the cardboard box again. He pulled out another of the brownies and quickly ate it. There. Let�s see what that does. And if it doesn�t do anything, I�m going back to that hash bar tomorrow and having a word with that bitch.

He went to the bar and mixed himself another Jack and coke. He then sat down and started watching the foreign broadcast of Cheers again. It was the one where Carla bought a house that was reputed to be haunted and Cliff stayed the night with her.

When the brownie finally kicked in ninety-three minutes after he had eaten the first one, it did not do so gradually. It hit like a freight train: hard, fast, overwhelming. One moment he was feeling nothing but a mild alcohol buzz, and the next he was completely and thoroughly obliterated, about as stoned as he had ever been in his life (which was remarkable considering the fact that he had literally smoked well over twenty pounds of the stuff since he had taken his first toke at the age of thirteen). It was an intense head high, bordering on uncomfortable. His limbs felt like they were numb and buzzing. Time seemed to slow down to the point where he could mark and measure each passing nanosecond.

�Whooaaa,� he said slowly, thickly. �This is some heavy-duty shit!�

He settled in and tried to get his mind to enjoy the experience. For the most part, he succeeded. It had been many years since he had tried something new on the drug use horizon and that, in and of itself, was pleasurable to him. And his suspicion that the French spoken, Dutch captioned episode of Cheers would be enjoyable turned out to be correct. It seemed like the episode took forever and he thoroughly got into it. Even the commercials were fascinating.

This shit is all right, he thought with a big smile on his face. Very heavy. Don�t think I would want to be any higher than this, but as long as it maintains at this level ... And then something occurred to him. He had eaten two of the brownies, not just one. The second one had not kicked in yet.

Oh man, he thought, feeling nervousness and anxiety pushing its way through the wall of deep euphoria. I think I�m in for a ride here.

And he was right. The second one kicked in just like the first: all at once. His high doubled instantly, blasting away the last remaining shreds of sobriety. That numbness and buzzing sensation in his limbs grew exponentially, until it felt like his arms and legs were filled with lead. Even minor movements were an effort. His jaw dropped open. His heart rate kicked up to more than one hundred and thirty beats a minute. His thoughts were now slow, deep, very detailed in a disturbing way. Several times he thought he heard voices or other strange noises coming from elsewhere in the suite. The sensation reminded him of the experimentation he had done with LSD back in his late high school years.

How long does this shit last? he wondered as some other French language sit-com came on the television. He watched it blankly, not understanding a word that was said, completely unfamiliar with the show. But it was too much effort to pick up the remote control and change the channel, so he watched anyway.

He sat like that for the next six hours, in the same position, just staring at the television set. He did not finish his drink. He did not get up to go take a piss. He simply stared at the TV screen while his mind jumped from subject to subject at random and his body felt numb and buzzing. The high remained just as strong through this entire period. For the first time in his life, Matt found himself wishing he were not stoned.

Finally, around two o�clock in the morning, the sensation began to ease just the tiniest bit. He was finally able to rise from the couch and walk to the bathroom to relieve himself. After finishing his business, he stared at himself in the mirror for an indeterminate amount of time, marveling over the fact that he had never actually seen his own face before, just photographs and mirror images. In fact, no human being had ever seen his own face before! Not a single one in the entire history of the human race!

�Heavy shit,� he muttered when he finally gathered the mental wherewithal to leave the bathroom.

He went to bed. And he did not sleep. He laid there in the darkness for hours, thinking deep thoughts, thinking bizarre thoughts, wishing he could just go back to the normal marijuana high which typically only lasted an hour or so.

Finally, around seven o�clock in the morning, he dozed off. His sleep was haunted by bizarre dreams and when the wakeup call came at eleven o�clock to let him know it was time to start making the meet and greets and the autograph session, he was still quite stoned, though in a much more manageable fashion now.

He showered and shaved and got dressed, moving slowly, carefully, his mind still full of weird thoughts. He then broke out his cocaine kit and crunched up a few lines. This did not get rid of the heavy-head sensation, but it at least gave him some energy. He picked up the cardboard box full of brownies and carried them downstairs with him to the caf� in the lobby.

The rest of the band were already there, drinking coffee and perusing the menus.

�Hey, boss,� Austin greeted as he sat down. �Did you have a good night?�

�No, not really,� Matt said, setting the box down on the table and grabbing a seat.

�How come?� asked Steve. �Didn�t you score some Dutch gash like you said?�

�No,� he said, picking up the menu. �Didn�t leave my room at all.�

�Really?� asked Corban. �Why not?�

He pointed to the box. �These fuckin� things,� he said. �Stay away from them.�

�What happened?� asked Austin.

Matt told the tale of the overwhelming high. His bandmates were very impressed.

�Wow,� said Steve. �I almost want to try one now.�

Matt shook his head. �No fuckin� way,� he said. �I am still stoned right now, more than twelve hours after eating them. You eat one now and you won�t be able to go up onstage tonight.�

�Aww, man,� Austin said. �That�s a rip!�

�Trust me, you�re better off getting high the normal way,� Matt said.

�Why did you bring them down here then?� asked Corban.

At that moment, Greg Gahn entered the room. He spotted his bandmembers and headed directly for them.

�Hey, guys,� he greeted, his signature grin on his face. �Are we all ready to do our thing today?�

�We�re ready,� Matt told him. �And we�ve already scored some bud for our time in Holland. You�ll just need to find a coke dealer to top off the stash.�

�Well, all right then,� Gahn said, grabbing a seat. He looked at the box sitting on the table. �What�s that?�

�I found a Dutch bakery down the street,� Matt told him. �They have the most incredible brownies there.�

�Oh yeah?� Gahn said, interested. In addition to his fondness for the Devil�s powder, he had a well-known fondness for sweets, particularly baked goods.

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said. �Some of the best brownies I�ve ever had. They use real Dutch chocolate and everything.�

�No kidding?� Gahn said, nearly drooling by this point.

�No shit,� Matt agreed. �Help yourself if you want one. They�ll go good with your coffee.�

�I think I will,� Gahn said, opening the box and looking inside. He took a few sniffs and then pulled one out. He set it down before him. He then looked at the other bandmembers. �Anyone else?�

�I�ve already had mine,� Matt said.

�We�re waiting until after breakfast,� said Austin, who was fighting to suppress a grin of his own.

�Oh, okay,� Greg said.

The waitress came by a minute later and offered Greg some coffee. Though he was a practicing Mormon, he did not adhere to their prohibition against caffeine, probably figuring that after being addicted to cocaine for a good part of his life, Heavenly Father would cut him a little slack on the coffee. He munched down his brownie as he sipped, declaring it to be one of the best brownies he had ever enjoyed.

�There�s an interesting aftertaste to it,� he said after finishing the entire treat. �I can�t quite put my finger on what it is, but it seems kind of familiar.�

�I thought that too,� Matt said. �It must be some special Dutch spice or something that they put into the batter.�

�Perhaps,� Greg said. �Anyway, thanks for sharing.� He seemed genuinely touched by the gesture, which was well outside of Matt�s typical character.

�Have another one if you want,� Matt offered.

�I couldn�t,� Greg said.

�Why not?� Matt asked. �There�s plenty.�

�Well ... in that case...� He opened the box and hooked out another brownie. It was the largest one in the box. He quickly made it disappear as well.

And so that was how Matt and the boys were finally able to prove a theory they had hypothesized for most of the tour: that they really did not need Greg Gahn to run and micromanage each individual show. Greg spent a good part of the day in a Rotterdam hospital emergency room having tests run and being sedated with Haldol and Ativan after suffering from an extreme panic attack that bordered on clinical psychosis. The cause of his ailment was discovered only after all of his tests came back benign except for one: the urine drug screen. It was positive for cannabinoids. The doctor asked him about his drug use and Greg denied using anything other than caffeine. The doctor then revealed the positive test and Greg was finally able to put two and two together.

�They gave me pot brownies!� he told the doctor, incensed.

The doctor listened to his tale and was forced to agree that pot brownies were the most likely suspect. �How many did you eat?� he asked his patient.

�Uh ... well ... two of them down in the cafe,� Greg said. �And then they gave me the box, telling me they were full after breakfast and didn�t want them. I took them back up to my room and ... well ... I ate two more up there.�

�You ate a total of four of them?� the doctor said incredulously. �That is a ridiculous amount of THC to ingest, my friend. The normal starting dose for beginners is half of a brownie.�

�I didn�t know they had pot in them, remember?� he barked.

�Oh yes,� the doctor said, nodding. He still wasn�t sure he believed that part. �If, as you say, your band members gave you these brownies without your knowledge and consent, this might just rise to the level of a criminal offense.�

�Really?� Greg asked.

�Indeed,� the doctor said. �Would you like me to summon the police so they may open an investigation?�

Greg actually thought about this for a bit�how long he was not actually sure because he was still quite cataclysmically stoned�and even considered it seriously. They had really gone too far this time, deliberately poisoning him with hallucinogenic drugs. The thought of the four of them being placed in handcuffs and taken to some Dutch prison was actually quite appealing. But, in the end, he knew he could not do it. They would have to postpone tonight�s show, a scenario that went against everything that Greg held sacred. National would hire the best lawyer in Holland to defend the musicians and they would likely be released before tomorrow night�s show. And he would be sacrificed to keep the tour going. They would fire him, make him pay to get himself home, and Rich Tankle, his second-in-command, would get a field promotion. In his current state of mind, he could picture the entire scenario as clearly as if someone were screening a 3D movie about it.

�That�s okay,� Greg said with a sigh. �I�m sure the boys just thought they were playing a harmless practical joke.�

�I will abide by your wishes,� the doctor told him, hiding his own smile of satisfaction. After all, he had two tickets for tonight�s Matt Tisdale concert, third row center. They had cost him four hundred and fifty guilders apiece. He and the mistress he kept in a little apartment on the south side had been looking forward to this night for a month. And he had two pot brownies�one each for he and his mistress�that he had purchased just for the occasion.

Greg was discharged from the emergency room at nine o�clock that evening, just as the band was stepping back onto the stage following their intermission period. The driver that had been sent to retrieve him asked if he wanted to go to the arena.

�No,� Ghan said. �I just want to go back to my room and get some sleep.�

And so that was where he went. And the show went on just fine without him being there.

Matt was feeling pretty much back to normal by the time he and the band returned to the hotel after the show. He was very tired and had a stronger than average alcohol buzz going on, and a decent cocaine high as well, but all of the out-of-my-head lingering from the pot brownies seemed to be gone at last.

�Never again,� he vowed to himself. �I will never try edibles again. I swear it on my fuckin� Strat.�

And, though he had broken many vows in his lifetime, most of them made to himself, a few of them even sworn on his Strat, this was one that he kept. For the rest of his life, he never again tried ingestible marijuana products, not even when they became fashionable with the rise of California�s legal medical marijuana industry, which would be approved by referendum in only another six months.

The party tonight was in Austin�s room. A total of nine Dutch groupies accompanied them back to the hotel to entertain them. Matt decided he would make an early night of it. He would grab a few hits, maybe a few lines, maybe a blowjob, and then grab one of the groupies and take her back to his room for a gash-fest and then kick her out immediately after. He really needed to get some sleep before repeating the whole cycle tomorrow. He took a moment to wonder if Greg had been sprung from the hospital and would be resuming duties tomorrow or if he were locked up in some Rotterdam psychiatric hospital, being held under the Dutch equivalent of a 5150 hold. He decided he did not really care, one way or the other.

The thirteen of them piled out of the limousine and entered the hotel lobby. The doorman immediately rushed over to Matt.

�Begging your pardon, Mr. Tisdale,� he said politely, �but I am informed that the front desk has an important message for you.�

�The front desk?� Matt asked. �What is it?�

�I was not made aware of the contents of the message, sir,� he replied. �I was just told to inform you of its presence.�

�No, no, no,� Matt said, shaking his head. �You were supposed to say, �it�s that big counter at the front of the lobby where the clerks work, but that�s not important now.��

�I beg your pardon,� the doorman said, looking quite confused.

�Jesus fucking Christ, dude,� Matt said. �Haven�t you ever seen the movie Airplane?�

�I am sure I have not,� he said.

Matt shook his head again. �And you call this an enlightened country. All right. Thanks for the message. I guess I�ll go see what this shit is about.�

�Very good, sir,� the doorman said, still looking quite confused. He turned and returned to his station.

�Head on up without me,� Matt told the band and the groupies. �Something I gotta check out real quick. I�ll be up in a few.�

The expressed their understanding and continued their trip to the elevators. Matt turned ninety degrees and headed for the lobby desk. Since it was well past eleven o�clock now, there was only one desk clerk on duty. She was a woman in her early twenties, not too bad looking. Nice titties, a pretty face, a little chunky perhaps. Matt categorized her as �would do in a pinch� on his scale of fuckability.

�Hey, baby,� he greeted when he reached the desk. �I hear I got a message waiting for me.�

�And you are?� she asked, her English with a particularly heavy Dutch accent, which caused Matt to instantly upgrade her to �would let her blow me if there was no chick with a tongue ring in the vicinity� status.

�Matt Tisdale,� he said. �You know? The musician?�

�Of course,� she said with a small nod. �Mr. Tisdale. And what name are you checked in under, sir?�

�Norm Worthington,� he told her.

�Short for Norman?� she asked.

�Yeah ... I suppose,� he said with a sigh. He really was not fond of his middle name, even in the diminutive form.

�Norman is a very noble name,� she said.

�No shit?�

�No shit,� she replied. �You should use it in its entirety. Anyway, let me go get your message.� She walked to a series of cubbyholes in the little room behind her and pulled out an envelope from the one with his room number on it. She carried it back to the desk. �Here you go, sir.�

�Thanks,� he said, taking the paper from her, still digging on her accent. �Hey, listen. What time do you get off?�

�I�ll be off shift at midnight,� she told him.

�Why don�t you pop on up to Room 1208 when you get done,� he suggested. �Me and the boys are having a little after show party up there. And I didn�t see any tongue rings on any of the other girls.�

�Tongue rings?� she asked, confused.

�Just a little categorization algorithm that I use,� he said. �What do you say?�

�I�m afraid I�ll have to decline,� she said, not a hint of regret in her tone. �Fraternization between hotel guests and staff is strictly forbidden by policy.�

�Really?� he asked, shaking his head at the injustice. �That�s a rip.�

�Some may call it that,� she said. �Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?�

�I guess not,� Matt said with a sigh. His voice did have a little regret to it.

He walked away from her desk and back into the main lobby. As he walked, he opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper within. It was written in English, in spiky, feminine script.

Please call Kim Kowalski at your home number as soon as possible.

�What the fuck is this about?� he muttered to himself, shaking his head, an uncomfortable feeling starting to wash over him. It had to be something to do with the audit of his taxes by the California Franchise Tax Board. The audit had taken place five days ago in Los Angeles. Andrew Hopple II, his primary accountant, had represented him there. Matt had heard no news about what had transpired as of yet and he had not enquired about any, figuring that no news was good news when it came to an audit of one�s taxes. But now, apparently, there was news.

He tossed the envelope and the message in the little trash can next to the elevators and then pushed the button. One of the doors opened immediately and he stepped inside, riding the conveyance to the top floor where the suites were located. As he stepped out of the elevator, he could hear the sound of loud music coming from down the hall. That would be 1208. Austin�s room. Matt did not go there. Instead, he used his key card to open the door to room 1202, his suite.

Before picking up the phone, he made himself a potent Jack and coke at the bar and then lit a cigarette and took a few drags. Only then did he go through the ritual of contacting the international operator for an overseas call to his home number. The phone rang two times before being picked up by Kim.

�Hey, Mattie,� she greeted after accepting the charges for the call. �How�s things?�

�It was a good show tonight,� he said. �That asshole Ghan was in the fuckin� hospital so things actually went a lot smoother.�

�The hospital?� she asked. �Is he all right?�

�Probably,� Jake said. �I fed him a bunch of pot brownies I got at a hash bar and he kind of flipped out a little. They should be pretty well worn off by now though.�

�I see,� Kim said slowly.

�What time is it there?� he asked.

�Three fifteen in the afternoon,� she said. �I take it you got my message?�

�Sure did,� he said. �Is it about the audit?�

�Most likely. Hopple called me up about three hours ago and asked me to have you call him as soon as you could. He says he�ll be in the office until six tonight, which will be about two o�clock in the morning where you are.�

�How did he sound?�

�Like he normally does,� she said. �You know, like a guy who owns a van with no windows and cruises around near junior high schools as they�re letting out.�

�He didn�t sound worried or anything?�

�No, but he didn�t sound un-worried either.�

Matt sighed and took another drag off his smoke. �Okay,� he said. �I guess I�d better see what this shit is about.�

�I guess you�d better,� she agreed. �I�ll keep my fingers crossed for you.�

�Thanks,� he said. �Catch you later.�

�Bye, Mattie.�

He hung up the phone and then walked over to his travel bag, where he had the little piece of hotel paper with Hopple�s phone number written on it stored. He had to dig around a little, but he finally found it. He walked back over to the phone, took a few more drags of his smoke, a few more drinks of his drink and then picked up the handset and pushed zero for the hotel operator.

Less than a minute later, Hopple�s secretary was accepting the charges�this time without question. She transferred him immediately to his extension. It rang twice on that end and then was picked up.

�Matt, my man!� Hopple greeted. �How they hangin�?�

�High and tight right now,� Matt told him. �Let�s skip the preliminary bullshit. What�s the word on the audit?�

�Well ... I do have some good news,� he said. �They accepted the medical deduction for your ablation surgery once I showed them the documentation and the invoice showing you paid in full out of your own pocket. That is no longer an issue.�

�Oh ... good,� Matt said, feeling some relief. �I guess you were right about that shit after all.�

�I was,� Hopple agreed. �I told you there would be no problem with that and there isn�t. That issue has been officially put to rest.�

�This really is good news,� Matt said happily.

But that happiness did not last long. �Yeah ... it is, but ... well ... I�m afraid that a few other issues came up during the course of the audit.�

�What other issues?� Matt asked slowly.

�Well ... I�m sure the situation will ultimately be resolved in your favor, but ... uh ... the fact of the matter is ... uh...� He trailed off.

�Spit it out, motherfucker!� Matt barked at him. �What is the fact of the matter?�

�Uh ... well ... it�s just that they have some questions about the actual amount of your taxable income.�

�What about the amount?�

�Well ... do you remember how I explained to you that your income from your solo contracts and your recent tours is not subject to California or United States taxation?�

�Yes, I remember that shit,� Matt told him. �You told me that because I have a house in Mexico I can claim to be a resident there even though I�m really not.�

�Exactly!� Hopple said. �And that is a perfectly legal loophole, of course.�

�That is what you told me,� Matt said, his voice edging into the danger zone.

�And I am correct in that,� Hopple assured him. �Have no fear about that. But ... well ... since that income is not subject to California or United States taxation, I did not bother reporting it to them. I mean, what�s the point? Letting them know about it would just lead to them trying to find a way to get their hands on some of it. It behooves neither of us to open that particular can of worms, right?�

�Was it something that you were supposed to report?� Matt asked him.

�Well ... in a strictly by-the-book way ... uh ... yes, technically I was supposed to. But there was really no reason to do it. They�re not entitled to any of that money, and I was under the impression that there was no way for them to even know that it existed in the first place. I mean, your Intemperance income is subject to taxation and everything about that was fully disclosed and taxed at the proper rate.�

�So, what the fuck happened then?�

�This is really kind of amusing, really,� Hopple told him.

�Nothing about this fucking conversation is amusing me right now, Hopple. Tell me what the fuck is going on.�

�As it turns out, the agent who was the lead on your audit is a music fan, particularly of Intemperance and your solo albums. He knows that you have just put out two back-to-back solo albums that sold multi-platinum and had two back-to-back tours that were profitable. He even went to the show in Los Angeles when you passed through the last time.�

�I�ll sign a fuckin� shirt for him,� Matt barked. �What happens now? Do you just have to amend the fuckin� tax forms or what?�

�Uh ... no. I don�t have to amend anything. You see, he�s going to ... uh ... get his own documentation on those figures.�

�His own documentation? What does that mean?�

�Well ... it sounds worse than it is, so don�t freak out on me or anything here.�

�What sounds worse than it is?� Matt asked through gritted teeth. �Tell me what you�re talking about!�

�He�s going to have a judge issue a subpoena for your income records from National Records� revenue distribution department.�

�A subpoena?!� he nearly screamed. �Will a judge do that?�

�Yes, in all likelihood he or she will,� Hopple said. �These government agencies are all in cahoots with each other to some degree.�

�And then what happens? Will National give that information to them?�

�They would have to,� Hopple said. �But you don�t have to worry about it, Matt. Truly you don�t. The underlying principle still applies. That money is not subject to California taxation because you do not reside in California. All that will happen is that a small, technical oversight on my part will be rectified by updating your recent income. Life will go on and everything else will be fine. And I�ll be sure to include that information on next year�s return.�

�You�re sure about this shit?� Matt asked.

�Absolutely sure,� Hopple assured him. �Nothing else will happen. We�re just correcting some paperwork here.�

Matt felt a little better with this reassurance. A little. �Okay,� he said. �I guess you know what you�re talking about.�

�I do,� he said. �Remember, my name is on those returns as well.�

�All right,� Matt said. �I want you to keep me updated on this shit. Call Kim whenever you have news to share.�

�I will,� Hopple told him. �Oh ... there is one other thing, just a precaution.�

�What�s that?�

�I think it might be a good idea if you retained a good taxation attorney to help me represent you.�

�A taxation attorney?! What the fuck for? You just said I don�t have anything to worry about!�

�As I said, just a precaution,� Hopple said. �I�m a CPA and I know the California and federal tax codes up and down. But I am not an expert in the law or the legal proceedings as they relate to taxation. I believe it would behoove both of us to have such a person on retainer from here on out to represent your interests from a legal standpoint.�

�I don�t know any fuckin� tax lawyers!�

�I know a few,� Hopple said. �If you like, I could...�

�No, fuck that shit,� Matt interrupted. �You�ve already done enough. I�ll find my own goddamned tax lawyer.�

�How are you going to do that from Europe?�

�I�ll find a way,� Matt said, a plan already formulating in his brain. It was not a plan he was enthusiastic about since it would necessitate the swallowing of a considerable amount of pride, but in a situation like this, you had to do what you had to do.

KVA Records� main studio in Santa Clarita was a busy place today and would continue to be busy for the next several weeks. During the day from 9:00 AM until roughly 4:30 PM, Jake was using the studio to start putting together his set for the upcoming TSF. As it was the very first day of rehearsal, most of it had been spent with Jake and the members of Lighthouse�Phil, Ben, Ted, and Lenny Harris�just getting their equipment set up and sound checked under the supervision of the Nerdlys and then Jake showing the boys�particularly Lenny�the basic melodies of some of his songs. At 4:30, the members of Lighthouse went home for the evening and, now that it was just past 5:00 PM, the members of Brainwash were here for their first full evening of workups and demonstrations of the tunes they wanted considered for the next album. They would work until at least 9:00 PM, maybe later if the groove was particularly groovy. Jake and the Nerdlys had both stayed behind for this. Pauline, on the other hand, was just about to walk out the door. She had spent much of the day making travel arrangements for when Brainwash headed up to Oregon on June 15^th to start their sessions at Blake Studios and issuing �no comment� statements to the media reps who were still calling endlessly about the Celia Valdez/Laura Kingsley lesbian sex scandal.

Just before Pauline made it to the door between the reception area and the parking lot, the phone began to ring on the receptionist�s desk. Melissa, the latest KVA receptionist (the previous one had quit two months ago after getting knocked up by her boyfriend) had already gone home for the day. Pauline pondered just letting the voicemail system field the call�after all, it was undoubtedly just another reporter fishing for lesbian sex details�but in the end, her work ethic and sense of professionalism just wouldn�t let her. She diverted her path and walked over to the desk.

�KVA Records,� she said into the phone. �How can I help you?�

A voice with a heavy, odd-sounding accent began to speak in her ear. �This is the international operator from Rotterdam, Nederland calling for a person to person call from Matt Tisdale to Pauline Kingsley. Is Ms. Kingsley available to accept the call?�

Pauline immediately wondered if this was some kind of joke or mistake. Matt Tisdale calling me? He would never do that! Especially not from freaking Rotterdam. �I�m sorry,� she said, shaking her head a little. �Did you say that Matt Tisdale is calling?�

�That�s what she said,� Matt�s voice interjected. �Is that you, Pauline? It sounds like you.�

�Yes, it�s me,� she said. �Is it really you, Matt?�

�Yeah,� he said, his voice sounding meek and very un-Matt-like. �It�s me. And I�m not calling collect either. National will pay for the charges. Could you do me a favor and accept the call? I really need to talk some shit with you.�

Interesting, she thought. �Uh ... sure, I�ll accept the call.�

�Thank you,� the operator said and then clicked off the line.

�What�s up, Matt?� Pauline asked. �I was under the impression that I was part of the �never� you laid down when you left Intemperance.�

�You were,� he said with a sigh. �But even though I hold you partially responsible for Darren�s death and I vowed to never speak with you or do business with you again, I never lost respect for you and your ability as a manager and a lawyer, you dig?�

�I dig,� she said. �And I think I might be flattered by your words, but I haven�t had time to fully analyze them yet. So ... what�s the deal? What kind of help do you need?�

�I need a good tax lawyer,� he said. �Do you know any?�

�As a matter of fact, I do,� she said. �What�s the issue? Are you in tax trouble?�

�My fuckin� accountant says I�m not,� he said, �but he�s about as trustworthy as Slick Willie in a fuckin� Catholic girls school.�

�A good analogy,� she said. �Why don�t you give me a brief on what�s going on?�

He gave her a summary of the situation, using the word �fuck� or one of its derivatives eleven times, the word �shit� six, and the word �schlong� twice. Pauline listened with growing alarm and disbelief as she heard the tale.

�You�re saying that you have paid no taxes whatsoever on any of your solo artist revenue for the past four years?� she asked incredulously.

�That�s right,� he confirmed. �Hopple told me that since I own a house in Mexico, I can claim I don�t live in the United States.�

�That wouldn�t matter even if it were true,� Pauline told him. �At least not on the federal level. You might be able to get away with that for California, but in order to pull that off with the IRS you would have to renounce your American citizenship and prove to them that you actually do live in Mexico the majority of the time.�

�Hmmm,� Matt grunted. �Are you sure about that shit?�

�Absolutely sure,� she assured him. �And I find it really hard to believe your accountant doesn�t know that.�

�You�re saying that he�s running some kind of scam?� he asked.

�I don�t know where he�s coming from with this,� she said. �Is he doing something malicious or is he just an idiot? I don�t know. You know him, I don�t.�

�It could be either one,� Matt said, sighing again. �Maybe a little of both.�

�I think you are definitely going to need a good tax attorney, Matt,� she said. �At least he was right about that. I see big trouble coming your way. Expensive trouble.�

�But the feds aren�t auditing me,� he said. �Just California. Didn�t you just say I could get away with the whole Mexico thing in California?�

�I said it was possible,� she corrected. �You at least have an argument to make. In order for them to buy it, however, you�re going to have to prove to them that you live the majority of the time outside of California. Do you have the ability to do that?�

�I don�t know,� he said. �I guess that�s something to talk to the tax lawyer about, right?�

�Yes, most definitely,� she said. �Even so, I would be prepared to pay all of your back taxes for the past four years to the franchise tax board. That will be a significant amount of money.�

�Well, at least it�s only California,� he said with a sigh.

�It is not just California,� Pauline warned. �The feds are going to come after you too. Don�t think for a moment they won�t.�

�What do you mean?� he asked carefully.

�State tax boards are required by federal law to report income discrepancies to the IRS if they uncover them. As soon as they finish your audit, as soon as they have documentation of four years of unreported income, they are going to forward it to the IRS. And, since you have not renounced your American citizenship, you have no argument to make that you don�t owe taxes on that income. They are going to hit you with all the back taxes and then charge you an assload of penalties on top of it. If you�re pulling in what I suspect you�re pulling in, we�re talking tens of millions of dollars here, Matt. Literally tens of millions. And they will do anything to make sure they get that money. They�ll seize your disposable assets and sell them. They�ll put liens on your property. They�ll garnish your royalty checks. You are in a whole lot of trouble here.�

There was silence on the phone for a few moments and then Matt summed up the situation in three words. �What a rip.�

Pauline hooked Matt up with Wesley Brimm of Brackford, Redman, and Jackson, the same firm that Celia used for her divorce lawyer and the same attorney that Pauline used for KVA taxation issues. He was a stuffed suit if ever there was one, an obnoxious, condescending, cocky piece of shit that Pauline sometimes suspected just might have a few severed heads in his freezer, but a top-notch expert on California and federal tax laws and tax procedures. He accepted Matt�s notarized contract and immediately went to work trying to gather information. He, like Pauline, was absolutely astounded that a licensed CPA would actually promote the idea that someone could claim that owning a house in Mexico relieved that person of the burden of paying federal and state income taxes.

Brimm ran into problems immediately in his quest for documentation. He could not get hold of Hopple in order to interview him and look over the files. He called six times a day, both at the office and on Hopple�s cell phone (the number for which he had obtained by nefarious means he elected not to discuss). At the former, he only got the receptionist who repeatedly claimed that Mr. Hopple was not in and that she did not know how to reach him. At the latter, he got nothing but a recorded voice telling him the cellular customer he was trying to reach was not available.

Meanwhile, a Los Angeles county superior court judge granted the California State Franchise Tax Board their requested subpoena for examination of payments made to one Matthew Norman Tisdale by their revenue distribution department for the past five years. Those documents were copied and released on June 3 and showed that National Records had paid Matthew Tisdale a grand total of $51,342,917 in royalties and touring income over the past five years, of which only $9,658,314 had been declared and properly taxed. That meant that Matt, if found not to primarily reside outside of the state of California, would owe 13.3 percent of that undeclared $41,684,603, which amounted to $5,418,998. And that was just the base amount he would owe. Penalties and interest would be tacked on as well, probably at least another half a million worth. And that was only the state of California. The federal tax rate on that $41.7 million would be close to forty percent, not including penalties and interest.

�This is a really bad situation, Matt,� Brimm advised the guitarist the night after the third and final show in Amsterdam. �I think you should start preparing yourself for the worst.�

�What�s the worst?� Matt asked.

�That you�re going to owe the state and the feds around thirty-two million dollars by the end of this year.�

�But I don�t fuckin� have thirty-two million dollars!� Matt complained. �Most of that I already spent on my fuckin� yacht and my house and the helicopter that goes with the yacht and the crew who fuckin� drives the thing and keeps it up for me.�

�The state of California and the IRS do not care about that, Matt. They will get their money one way or the other.�

�Will they let me make payments?� he asked.

�They won�t just let you make payments, they will force you to,� Brimm told him. �It�s called garnishment of wages. They�ll get a judge to sign off on taking up to half of each royalty check that you receive.�

�That shit ain�t right!� he complained.

�I don�t know what to tell you,� Brimm said. �The feds and the state don�t care about what�s right and what�s wrong. They just want their money, and they�ll do anything to get it.�

A hearing for the matter was scheduled for June 11 but had to be postponed because Hopple was still among the missing. The staff at the Hopple and Hopple offices were just as perplexed as everyone else about his disappearance. They claimed they had heard nothing from him, not a phone call, not a fax, not an email. He had failed to meet with multiple important clients and the junior accountants and partners in the firm were left leaderless. Police were sent to his house to make sure he hadn�t died but they found nothing there but his furniture. Both of his cars were still in the garage.

Finally, one of the franchise tax board auditors dug up Andrew Hopple I�s Florida phone number and gave him a call. The elder Hopple, now living the good life at a beachfront house just north of Miami, was quite surprised and alarmed to hear that his son was missing but was able to provide a small piece of information: His son had called him on the morning of June 1 to let him know that he would be taking a little vacation to South America.

�Did he say where in South America?� Hopple I was asked.

�Brazil,� was the answer. �Rio de Janeiro to be exact.�

�Did he say where he would be staying?�

�He did not. And I didn�t ask.�

�Very good, sir,� the auditor told him. �If you hear from him, please have him give me a call.�

�I will,� Hopple I said. �And if you hear from him, please let me know.�

The auditor promised to do so.

Three days later, on June 15, the California Franchise Tax Board obtained a legal order from a superior court judge to freeze all bank accounts belonging to Matthew Norman Tisdale in order to keep him from suddenly wiring all of his money overseas where they could not get to it. It was when the banks moved to enforce this order that they made yet another discovery.

Sixteen million dollars from Matt�s account had already been wired to a numbered bank account in Panama. That wire transfer had taken place the morning of June 1. It had been authorized by Matt�s primary accountant, one Andrew Hopple II. Further digging revealed that Hopple II had wired an additional twenty-one million dollars combined out of the accounts of sixteen other wealthy Hopple and Hopple clients on the same day. This brought the FBI into the case.

�Can I get my fuckin� money back?� Matt asked the special agent in charge of the case when he was interviewed by phone from his hotel suite in Bremen, Germany.

�I�m afraid that is extremely unlikely, even if we do manage to get our hands on Mr. Hopple,� the agent told him. �We�ve traced the wire transactions to Panama, but the funds were immediately transferred from there to a series of accounts in the Grand Caymans and then to other accounts back in Panama again, though we cannot determine just where. God only knows where that money eventually ended up.�

�That�s a fuckin� rip, dude,� Matt said.

�Indeed, it is,� the agent agreed.

�Does him ripping me off get me off the hook for all those taxes I owe?� he asked next.

�No,� the agent said simply. �You will still be required to pay your back taxes. My understanding is that the IRS is already opening up their own audit on this situation.�

�That sucks rocks,� Matt said sourly.

�Indeed, it does,� the agent agreed once again.

And so, on June 16^th, after returning from the second show in Bremen, Matt made a phone call to a number in southern California. It was time to swallow a little more pride.

�Matt?� asked a used-car salesman voice when Matt finally managed to get him on the line.

�Yeah, it�s me,� Matt told Jerry Stillson of Music Alive Incorporated. �I�m calling about the fuckin� Tsunami Sound Festival.�

�Have you changed your mind?� Stillson asked plainly. �Because we are still committed to having Jake Kingsley be the second-to-last act on both dates.�

�Yeah,� Matt said. �I�ve changed my fuckin� mind. I�ll be there.�

�I�m really glad to hear that, Matt!� Stillson gushed. �I mean that most sincere.�

�Just keep fuckin� Kingsley away from me, both at the venue and the hotel. You understand?�

�I understand,� Stillson said. �We�ll do everything in our power.�

Bogota, Colombia

July 1, 1996

�There�s our ride,� Jake told Laura as they stepped out of the international terminal of El Dorado International Airport after their five-hour flight from DFW. The loading and unloading area was very crowded, with taxicabs, a few limousines, and large SUV vehicles all vying for the limited parking spaces. Skycaps, passengers, and family and friends were everywhere, mostly speaking Spanish, but some speaking English or Portuguese.

Laura looked where he was pointing and saw a man in dress slacks and a white shirt holding up a sign with their names on it. He was standing next to a black SUV. �No limousine?� she asked, a little breathless from the elevation, which was actually three hundred feet higher than the aircraft they had flown on had been pressurized to.

�I learned a thing or two the last time I was here,� Jake said.

�What do you mean?� she asked.

�Well ... uh ... it was suggested to me by the hotel staff and by Mr. Gomez himself that riding around in a limousine in Bogota is not a real good idea.�

�Why not?�

�Uh ... well ... Bogota is known for being the ... uh ... the kidnapping capital of the world.�

�Kidnapping?� she asked, her eyes widening.

�Yeah, you know, for ransom. Apparently, it�s a very lucrative business model that contributes considerably to the local economy. Anyway, riding around in a shiny-ass limo is apparently the equivalent of holding up a sign that says: �I�m a rich motherfucker, please kidnap me for ransom.��

This information did not serve to comfort his wife. �Sweetie, are we safe here?�

He shrugged. �Almost as safe as we would be in Detroit or Baltimore,� he said.

�That does not make me feel better,� she said. She had been to both of those places, after all.

�We�ll be fine,� he assured her. �The guy picking us up works for the hotel and we�ll use him anytime we need to go anywhere. Besides, we�re not going to be here very long.�

Their driver�s English was heavily accented, but at least he spoke it. His name was Jorge, pronounced �Hore-hey�. He loaded their luggage into the back of the SUV and then held the doors open for them to climb into the back.

�Would you like to go to the hotel, Se�or Kingsley?� he asked once he was behind the wheel.

He and Laura had talked about this on the plane. They were here to take possession of their new aircraft, which had closed escrow as of the opening of business hours Bogota time today. Though they did not plan to actually start the long journey home until tomorrow, both wanted to lay their eyes and hands on the plane as soon as possible.

�Actually,� Jake told the driver, �can you take us to Guaymaral Airport? Just for a few minutes?�

�As you wish, Se�or,� he replied politely.

The ride to Guaymaral took about forty-five minutes, which brought them there just before sunset. Jorge said little during the trip, just drove and listened to a pop music station. All of the songs they played were in Spanish except for one: Celia Valdez�s latest release, Wounded Love, a moderately hard rocker that had a lot of Jake Kingsley on the distorted electric. Jorge made no mention of the tune, though he did sing along with the choruses.

He parked in front of the airport services building and opened the doors to let them out. They walked inside, finding the usual collection of pilots and their companions sitting at the desks and putting together their flight plans. Jake and Laura walked up to the counter and explained to the early twenties, limited English-speaking female who staffed it that they were here to take official possession of their new plane that was parked in Se�or Gomez�s personal hangar.

�Oh, si,� she said. �Se�or Gomez let us know to expect you. May I just see your ... how you say ... your identificacion?�

�Por supuesto que si,� Jake replied, pretty much exhausting his supply of Spanish phrases for this encounter. He pulled out his passport, flipped it open to the picture, and handed it to her.

She looked at it carefully for a moment, reading the name and then looking at the photograph and then looking at his face. �Your hair much shorter in picture,� she told him. �And you had bigote.� She pointed to the mustache that Jake had sported at the time of that photo.

�It was a phase I went through,� he explained.

She nodded and then handed the passport back to him. �Even though you look different, I still recognize you. I hear your music on la radio all the time. You are muy talentoso.�

�Gracias,� Jake told her.

She reached into a drawer and removed a key that had a label on it with Jake�s name. She slid it across to him. �Senor Gomez�s hangar is numero dos ocho uno. He asks that you return the key when you remove the plane from the hangar for the final time.�

�Will do,� Jake promised. �We�re just going to look at it today. We�ll take it out of there tomorrow.�

�Muy bien,� she replied.

The walk to the hangar took about ten minutes. Both of them were a little breathless from the thin air by the time they got there. Jake inserted the key in the handle of the large door and turned it, causing the mechanism to click. He turned the handle and then pushed up on the door. It was well lubricated and slid up easily and quietly. Inside the hangar was the Cessna Citation that belonged to Se�or Gomez and the Avanti that now officially belonged to the Kingsleys. Jake found the light switch on the wall inside the door and turned it on.

�Oh wow,� Laura said, taking it in for the first time. She had seen pictures of it, of course, but this was the first time she had actually laid her actual eyeballs on the actual aircraft.

�Isn�t it beautiful?� Jake asked, admiring it much the same way he admired Laura�s naked body when she emerged from her shower.

�For four point seven-five million dollars, it had better be freakin� beautiful,� she said slyly. As promised, she made a point to reference that amount whenever she could.

He let the remark go, as he normally did.

Jake opened up the main entrance on the left side of the plane, just aft of the cockpit, by punching a five-digit code into the locking mechanism and then manipulating the handle. They stepped inside and took in the layout.

�Okay,� Laura said as she looked at the plush seats, the reasonably wide aisle between them, the small bar, and the couch, �this really is pretty nice.�

�It should be for four point seven-five million, huh?� Jake asked her.

�Right,� she said.

�Why don�t you check out the bathroom,� he suggested next. �After all, that�s what got us into this whole deal.�

She walked to the very back of the plane and opened the narrow door, revealing a tiny, cramped room with a ceiling so low that even she could not stand up straight in it. The only thing in the room was a small airline toilet, a roll of toilet paper, and a flush button. Jake was doubtful that he personally would even be able to accomplish a sit-down in there with the door closed (even if he would have dared perform such an act in flight without another qualified pilot to take the controls), it was that cramped. Laura, as petite as she was, would still have her legs touching the walls on both sides.

�It�s a little bit small,� she said doubtfully.

�What were you expecting?� he asked. �A luxury shitter with a shower and enclosed bath?�

�Kind of,� she said.

�Will it be better than peeing in the female urinal?�

�Well ... yeah, it would have to be,� she admitted.

�There you go then,� he said.

While she continued to peruse the bathroom and the sink/bar combo outside of it, Jake made his way back forward and took a look at the darkened cockpit. He was very nervous about tomorrow�s flight, much more nervous than he had ever been at the thought of taking to the air before. True, he had taken the two-week course at the Piaggio facility in Greenville, South Carolina to acquire his type-rating for the aircraft and had now logged twenty-two hours of flight time behind the controls of the same model and year as this one, including eleven takeoffs and landings and twenty-seven touch and goes, but he had had an instructor with him for all of those hours. And now, his official type rating in hand, he was planning to take off from an airfield that sat 8390 feet above sea level�two thousand feet higher than Jake had ever taken off from before�and then fly across a South American border to a major international airport located in a valley surrounded by steep mountain peaks, with no one but himself to rely on. Was this really a good idea? Would it not be a better idea to just hire someone to ferry the aircraft back to California for him?

It would be a better idea, but he was not going to do it. He yearned to get behind the controls of his new plane. That was why he and Laura had made the decision to fly all the way to Bogota in the first place. She was as enthusiastic about this trip as he was. But it was she that he was worried about.

�Hon,� he said softly as she made her way up to where he was staring at the controls.

�What�s up?� she asked.

�Are you sure I can�t talk you into flying commercial for this first leg of the trip?�

Her expression clouded. �Why in the world would I do that?�

He explained to her about high altitude takeoffs, about crossing international borders, about landing in a valley at one of the five busiest airports in South America, about a pilot mostly inexperienced in a new aircraft type trying to do all of this on his very first solo flight.

�Are you saying you might crash this plane?� she asked.

�Well ... probably not,� he said. �It�s just that, when you add everything up, this first flight is statistically more dangerous than any other flight I will likely have on this journey home or in the future.�

She thought this over for a moment and then shook her head. �No way,� she said. �If we go down, we go down together. Besides, how much safer would I be flying on a local Venezuelan airliner?�

�Considerably safer, I would imagine.�

She shook her head. �You�re not getting rid of me that easily,� she said. �I�m going with you.�

They closed up the plane, turned off the lights, and shut the door to the hangar. They then strolled back to Jorge and the SUV and he took them to the Hotel Charleston, the same hotel that Jake had stayed in during his last visit to Bogota. Jake tipped Jorge a cool one hundred thousand pesos�the equivalent of about thirty US dollars�for his trouble. Jorge was extremely happy with this amount and assured Jake and Laura that he would be overjoyed to drive them anywhere they wanted to go for as long as they wanted to stay.

�Thanks, Jorge,� Jake told him. �We�ll just be taking one more trip though, back to Guaymaral at ten o�clock tomorrow morning.�

�I will drive you,� he promised.

�Gracias,� he said.

They checked in and made their way up to their suite on the top floor, tipping the bell boy another fifty thousand pesos for his trouble.

�This is nice,� Laura said, taking in the furnishings and the view.

�Isn�t it?� he replied. �What do you want to do, go down to dinner, or fuck first?�

�Let�s go down to dinner first,� she suggested. �I�m starving.�

�Fair enough.�

They went to dinner. They then went back up to their suite and fucked. After that, they went to bed and slept quite soundly thanks to the heavy Colombian meal, the jet lag, the thin air, and the fucking.

Jorge drove them back to Guaymaral Airport at ten o�clock the next morning. They went into the airport services building and Jake composed his flight plan to Simon Bolivar International airport just outside Caracas, Venezuela, the first stop on their trip home. He had never flown into such a busy airport before but, in this case, he really had no choice. Since he was coming in from Colombia and had to clear customs with a recently purchased aircraft, the only place in the area he could do that was at SBIA. He carefully calculated the weight of the aircraft, he and Laura, and their baggage, cross referencing it with the distance he planned to fly and the amount of fuel he would need to carry and then factoring in the weight of that fuel and then cross-referencing all of that with the altitude and the runway length at Guaymaral in order to figure out his V1 and VR speeds. He whistled as he came up with the final numbers. V1 was one hundred and twenty-five knots and VR was one hundred thirty, both about fifteen knots faster than a similarly loaded plane on the same length of runway at sea level. Assuming his engines worked as they were supposed to, he would have less than a thousand feet of runway remaining when his wheels left the ground. He would then have to make a quick right turn to a heading of 350 in order to avoid the high terrain immediately to the west, and then climb at least two thousand feet per minute in order to clear the high terrain a little further out to the north.

�Everything okay?� Laura asked him after watching him stare intently at his figures and take more than twice the time it usually took him to compose a flight plan into an unfamiliar airport.

�Yeah, everything is cool,� he assured her, taking care to keep the worry out of his expression and tone. �Let�s do this thing.�

He filed the plan with the clerk on duty and they walked to the hangar. Jake used Se�or Gomez�s key to open the door and then he and Laura used one of the tugs to pull the aircraft out of the building. While Laura ran the key back to the office, Jake began the process of preflighting the aircraft. He was still working on the external examination when Laura returned.

Finally, it was time to get inside. He turned on the batteries and then the avionics, checking first to see how much fuel was in the tanks. There was hardly any, maybe enough to get airborne, but not much more. And so, the first step was to use the radio in the plane to call for a fuel truck to pump eight hundred kilograms of jet fuel into the tanks, enough to cover the flight and give him nearly an hour and a half of reserve flight time in case of unexpected circumstances. After paying for the fuel with his credit card and watching the truck drive away, he visually confirmed the presence of the fuel in the tanks with a flashlight and a metal rod and then sealed the tank, triple checking that he had put the cap on correctly.

Jake and Laura got into the aircraft and he closed and sealed the main door. They took their seats in the cockpit, Jake on the left, Laura on the right, and buckled in. It was time for engine start. He fired up the number one engine first, watching over his left shoulder to confirm that the prop was actually turning. He then fired up the number two engine, making Laura confirm prop turn on that side. Since the bleed air flow was set to automatically keep the aircraft pressurized to eight thousand feet apparent altitude, and since they were sitting almost four hundred feet higher than that while still on the ground, their ears popped a little as the system started doing its job right way. This gave Jake yet another burst of apprehension as he considered the ramifications. I�m actually going to take off from eighty-four hundred fucking feet! Am I crazy?

�It�s a very quiet plane,� Laura remarked as she donned her headset.

�Shush!� Jake barked at her, a little sharper than he had intended. �Sterile cockpit is in effect.�

�Sorry,� she said quietly.

�Me too,� he said, feeling badly. �I didn�t mean to yell. I�m just a little nervous about this.�

�You�ll do fine,� she assured him, though she had absolutely no evidence to back this up. �I have faith in you.�

He gave her a smile and then started punching his navigation, flight information, and radio frequencies into the flight computer. Once that was all in, he opened up his pre-departure checklist on the computer screen before him (it really was nice to have a computerized checklist instead of a tattered hard copy) and began to go through the items one by one, checking them off as they were accomplished. Finally, it was time to get the show on the road. He called the clearance center and asked for his flight plan to be activated. They did so, telling him the clearance would expire in thirty minutes if he was not airborne by then. He then called Guaymaral tower and asked for permission to taxi to Runway 29R for departure. They granted this permission, directing him on the route he should take to get there.

He took a deep breath and then released the parking brake on the aircraft. He throttled up a bit and they began to move. He drove them carefully out of the hangar area and onto the taxiways, using the rudder pedals to steer. It took nearly five minutes to get to the hold line, where he was told to do just that and hold for incoming aircraft. While waiting, he went carefully through the takeoff checklist, making sure he was properly configured for a high-altitude departure.

�Flaps to takeoff setting,� he recited, pulling the lever and watching as the surfaces moved. �V1, VR bugs set. Auto-throttle set at two zero zero knots indicated. Autopilot off. Landing lights on. Barometer set to two-eight, decimal six. Elevator trim to takeoff.� He looked over at Laura. �Configuration complete.�

�Good to know,� she told him, not looking the least bit nervous.

He smiled and they waited while a Mooney Bravo and then a King Air touched down in front of them. The tower controller then told him he was clear for takeoff with departure to the north.

Jake acknowledged the instruction and throttled up once again, steering them onto the runway. Once they were facing down the runway, roughly into the five-knot wind, he took one more deep breath and then advanced the two throttle levers slowly forward to ninety-five percent thrust. The engine noise increased, but still was very quiet compared to the Chancellor. The airframe began to vibrate gently and they began to pick up speed. He kept them on the centerline instinctively, using the rudder pedals. He glanced continuously back and forth between outside the window and his airspeed indicator, watching it roll upward, past fifty, sixty, seventy, a hundred, until it reached V1 and then VR.

�Rotate,� he said softly and then pulled gently back on the yoke.

The nose came up and there was a thump as the wheels broke contact with the ground. The ground dropped away below them.

�Positive rate of climb,� Jake said, watching as the altimeter began to wind upward. He reached down and flipped up the lever for the landing gear. The sound of machinery winding began from beneath and behind. By the time he got lights out on the gear, they were seven hundred feet above the ground, well beyond the perimeter fence, and climbing at twenty-five hundred feet per minute.

Jake was pleased with the takeoff. It had gone smoothly, and, despite the high altitude, he was still climbing more than fifty percent faster than his Chancellor had been capable of even at sea level takeoff and traveling nearly twice as fast as the Chancellor could even dream of on climb-out. He turned to the right, marveling over how nicely the aircraft handled, watching as the compass spun to the heading of 350. After rolling out of the turn, he retracted the flaps, which brought the nose down a bit, settling them into a climb of two thousand three hundred feet per minute. A glance forward told him he was in no danger of not clearing the high terrain ahead as long as this rate of climb was maintained.

Guaymaral Approach handed him off to Bogota Center. He gave his position and they confirmed it matched with what their radar was getting from his transponder. They directed him to turn to 005 and to climb to flight level 200 for now but to expect to climb out to flight level 310.�

�Three one zero?� Laura asked, once again violating the sterile cockpit rule but they were well past ten thousand feet now, so it did not really matter much. �That�s thirty-one thousand feet, right?�

�That�s right,� Jake confirmed. �We�re in the freakin� stratosphere now, hon. Literally.�

�Cool,� she said, genuinely impressed.

As soon as they intersected Airway J9, which led to the CVD VOR station just across the Venezuelan border, the point in their flight plan where they would make a left turn toward Caracas, Jake turned on the autopilot and let it take over. He set the auto-throttle for 220 knots and then turned on the GPS navigation and the flight director. The plane obediently heeled over a bit and lined up exactly with the airway, continuing to climb to the altitude he had set. Though the autopilot was using GPS to find its way, Jake kept the nav radio programmed to switch to each upcoming VOR on their route as a backup. When they reached flight level 200, they were directed to climb to flight level 250. He adjusted the altitude setting accordingly and they continued their assent. Once they reached 250, he was directed to climb and maintain flight level 310. He programmed that in, and they ascended some more. Finally, when they reached 310 sixteen minutes after liftoff, he set the auto-throttle to 235 knots indicated�the most fuel-efficient setting at that altitude�and they began to pick up speed. 235 knots indicated at 31,000 feet equated to a true airspeed of 350 knots, or about 400 miles per hour over the ground at a throttle setting of only sixty-two percent.

�That�s pretty fast,� Laura remarked when he explained that to her.

�Yep,� Jake agreed, still a bit nervous about the upcoming descent and landing at SBIA but feeling much more confident now that he had got them airborne and on course without even a minor incident.

�The scenery is incredible,� Laura said.

And it was. They were flying over the Tropical Andes Mountains�the northernmost section of the largest mountain range on Earth. Below, as far as the eye could see in every direction, was a huge expanse of peaks ranging from fifteen to twenty thousand feet in elevation. Snow capped most of the taller peaks but down lower was dense tropical rainforest. Steep canyons cut over millions of years by the flowing rainwater could be seen between the peaks, their rivers twisting and turning, occasionally forming small lakes. Clouds drifted in between the peaks just below the snowline.

�Yeah,� Jake agreed. �You can�t get a view like this through the little window on a commercial jet.�

�Nope,� she said. �It is a little bumpy though.�

That was true as well. They were flying over a huge mountain range in a plane that was considerably smaller than an airliner. The turbulent air being pushed upward by wind flowing over and through the mountains was making them bounce and bump around considerably.

�It�ll smooth out once we get over the plains,� Jake promised, his eyes still taking in the view. �You know, this is why I really love flying. Not just because it gets me where I�m going fast, but because I get to see things like this. I get to see how big our planet really is and how much empty, desolate space there is down there.�

�That�s deep, sweetie,� Laura said, reaching over and patting his leg. �I wish I had some smoke so I could ponder that properly.�

�Sorry,� he said. �I thought it might be a bad idea to bring marijuana from Colombia into Venezuela when we have to go through a customs check in a plane we just purchased from an alleged Colombian drug lord.�

�Yeah,� she said, nodding. �I can see your concern with that.�

�I just hope Se�or Gomez made sure to empty all of his stashes before we took possession.�

�Yeah ... me too,� she said, seemingly more nervous about that thought than anything else that had happened today.

They bounced and bumped their way along for about twenty minutes and then came out of the mountains over the Llanos Plains, a vast expanse of tropical jungle terrain. As Jake had promised, the turbulence mellowed out considerably when they left the mountains behind.

�All right!� Laura announced, unbuckling her restraint. �It�s time.�

�Time for what?� Jake asked.

�Time to pee in the plane,� she said. �I deliberately didn�t go before we left just so I could try out the facilities.�

�You realize that once you actually go in that toilet, I have to arrange to have the tank dumped out at some point.�

�No, I did not really think about that,� she said, �but I�m still going to pee. I�ve been looking forward to this ever since you first told me about this plane.�

As she worked her way back there, Jake sighed and looked up at the overhead panel. Just next to the exterior light switches was a switch labeled LAV VAC. He flipped it to the on position and watched as the little light illuminated. Her toilet was now hot.

She opened the door and shut it behind her. After about three minutes or so, Jake faintly heard the sound of the toilet whooshing. The door opened again and she stopped at the sink to wash her hands. She tried to turn it on and nothing happened.

�Hey,� she said. �There�s no water.�

�Sorry,� Jake said, thinking it was testament to how quiet the plane was that he could even hear her. He reached up and flipped another switch on the overhead panel, this one labelled INT H2O. �Try it now.�

He heard the sound of water running a moment later. �That did it,� she announced. She washed her hands and then dried them with paper towels from a roll installed next to the bar. She threw the towels in a little trash receptacle and then made her way back forward.

�How was it?� Jake asked as she sat back down in the copilot�s seat.

�A little cramped,� she said. �A little awkward during the wiping process, but otherwise very nice.�

�That�s good to know,� he said. �I learned at the type-rating that the toilet seat is certified safe to use for takeoffs and landings.�

�Really? Why would someone want to do that?�

�Most of these planes are used by charter companies,� he said. �I�m guessing that that is where the flight attendant sits if all the other seats are full.�

�Wow,� she said, marveling over that. �I was wondering why there were seatbelts on the side of the toilet. I just thought it was in case you had to go while there was turbulence.�

�I guess you could use it for that too,� he said with a shrug.

�I�d have to go really bad to try that trick.�

They flew onward for another minute or so and then Jake looked over at her. �You better put your seatbelt back on. We�re going to pass pretty close to the mountains again as we cross into Venezuela.�

�I�ll put it back on in a bit,� she said. �Right now, there�s another first I need to accomplish.�

�What do you mean?�

She smiled her come hither smile at him. �I notice this cockpit is a lot roomier than in the Chancellor.�

�Yes, it really is,� he confirmed.

Her smile got bigger, more come hithery. �There seems to be a fair amount of distance now between your stick and your yoke.�

Understanding washed over him. �Uh ... yes, there is,� he agreed, �but I don�t think doing that right now, on my first flight, is a really good idea.�

�I think it�s a wonderful idea,� she said. �The autopilot has the plane now, right?�

�Well, yes, but...�

�No buts,� she said. �I�m sucking your dick, sweetie. You can either cooperate or I�ll take it by force.�

He looked over at her and smiled again. �Well ... I wouldn�t want things to get violent up here.�

�Good decision,� she said. �Now, break it out.�

He broke it out. And they officially broke in the new plane before he even managed to make his first successful landing.

As had been the takeoff, the landing at Simon Bolivar International Airport was anticlimactic and went rather smoothly. Jake was directed step by step by Caracas Center to descend and enter the landing pattern for an ILS approach to Runway 27. He was slid in between a Viasa Airlines MD80 that was three minutes ahead of him and a LASAR Airlines 727 that was three minutes behind him. Jake, as was his habit, had his nav radio tuned to the ILS frequency so he could see the glide scope on his instruments, but hand-flew the actual approach himself. He touched down neatly on the centerline at exactly the spot he wanted to only four minutes behind the ETA he had calculated. Though the runway was long enough that he did not really need to use reverse thrust to slow down, he used it anyway, partially because simply having it was a novelty that his Chancellor did not enjoy, but mostly because the thought of a fully loaded 727 right behind him on its own approach made him want to get his ass off the runway as quickly as he could.

The ground controller directed Jake to go immediately to the international terminal alongside Runway 10 and to park there and await the customs officers. Jake acknowledged this and followed the route he had been given. The terminal had multiple gates, at which were parked about half a dozen commercial airliners from three different countries. Jake�s assigned parking slot was on the tarmac well away from any of the gates. There were no other aircraft parked there currently. He brought the plane to a halt and then shut down the engines and the avionics. Since there was no APU, the air conditioning and air circulation died with the engines.

�Well, let�s open this thing up and see what�s in store for us,� he said.

He opened the main door and unfolded the steps. He and Laura stepped outside and enjoyed the fresh, thick air of the near sea level elevation. It was a beautiful day, cloudless, with bright blue sky overhead, about seventy-five degrees, and a gentle breeze blowing from the west. The humidity was a little thick, but no worse than Florida or Georgia or Tennessee.

�Welcome to Caracas,� Jake told her, giving her a side-armed hug.

�I�ve been here before, remember?� she said. �Already have a stamp on my passport from this very building.�

�Did you do the thing with the groupies here?� he asked.

�Nope,� she said. �Venezuela was early in the tour, before I discovered my relief valve.�

�A pity,� he said. �Venezuelan chicks are hot.�

�Have you ever done a Venezuelan?� she asked, her tone light, teasing, and not the jealous interrogation that many wives would display. Laura was just simply not like that, which was one of the reasons he loved her and had married her.

�Nope, never have,� Jake assured her, lying smoothly and completely and without guilt�with hardly even a mental acknowledgment deep in his own mind that he was lying. After all, the one time he had been with a Venezuelan had never happened. It was all just a dream now. �I nailed me some Mexican pussy back in the day though.�

�Oh yeah?� she asked. �How was it?�

�It was all right,� he told her. �They�re not much into keeping things trim down there.�

�But that wasn�t a deal breaker, right?�

�Oh, hell no,� he told her.

She punched him playfully on the shoulder and he playfully accused her of domestic violence. She countered by suggesting that domestic violence was probably not even against the law here. He was about to reply to that when a door opened on the terminal and three men stepped out. All of them were in uniform. All of them had sidearms strapped to their waists. One of them carried a clipboard. One of them had a black Labrador retriever on a leash.

�It looks like the welcome wagon is here,� Jake said, starting to feel a little nervous again.

�Yep,� she agreed.

The three men approached and stood before them. The dog sat on the ground at its handler�s feet, grinning that grin that only labs could grin.

�Welcome to Venezuela,� the man in the middle�the one with the clipboard�said in slightly accented English. �I am officer Sanchez of the Customs Department.� He did not introduce the other two men.

�Thank you,� Jake said. �I�m Jake Kingsley. This is my wife, Laura.�

Sanchez nodded. �We were expecting you, Se�or Kingsley. You just flew in from Bogota, correct?�

�Correct,� Jake said. �And please, call me Jake.�

�And I am Laura,� Laura put in.

Sanchez nodded. �As you wish. Your passports, por favor?�

They took out their passports and handed them to him. He opened Jake�s first, flipping to the picture and the actual document first. He examined the document carefully, made a few notations on his clipboard, and then flipped to the pages where the stamps were. �I see you are well traveled, Jake. Mexico, Spain, Italy, United Kingdom, France, Monaco, Italy, Japan, Australia, New Zealand. Two trips to Colombia. This is your first visit to Venezuela?�

�Yes, it is,� he said.

He nodded and then handed Jake his passport back. He then flipped through Laura�s in the same manner. �You�ve spent quite a bit of time in South America, Laura.�

�That�s correct,� she said. �I�m a musician. A saxophone player. I was on tour with Bobby Z when he toured the continent.�

�We are aware of who you are,� he told her matter-of-factly. �This is your second visit to Venezuela?�

�Yes,� she said, starting to look a little uncomfortable now.

He turned back to Jake. �What is your purpose for visiting Venezuela?�

Jake pointed at the plane. �We just bought this aircraft in Colombia. We�re taking it back to California. That�s our primary reason. This is our first leg.�

He looked over at the aircraft and then back at Jake. �Not a very lengthy first leg,� he said.

�We have other reasons to be here,� Jake said. �Celia Valdez�you know who she is, right?�

�Yes,� he said as if he had just been asked a blindingly obvious question by a moron. �I know who Celia Valdez is. Everyone in Venezuela knows who Celia Valdez is. She is perhaps our most famous native.�

�Yeah, I guess that makes sense,� Jake said. �Anyway, Celia is my business partner. She is one of the owners of our record label and we have been friends for years. Laura is her sax player on her tour. They�re both on hiatus currently between the North American and European legs of the tour. Celia is going to meet us here in Caracas. She should be landing in another hour or so and she is going to show us around the place for a day or two. After that, we�re going to fly to Barquisimeto so she can show us her hometown and she can visit her family. After that, she�s going to stay for a week or so, but Laura and I will be continuing on our journey. We�ll be flying to Panama City after Barquisimeto. From there, we�ll go to Guatemala City, then Mexico City, then Cabo San Lucas, then San Diego, then home, staying one night at each stop.�

�I see,� Sanchez said. �That all makes perfect sense. You say that Celia Valdez will be landing here in Caracas in an hour?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Continental flight 721 out of Houston. It�s probably coming over Aruba about now.�

�Interesting,� Sanchez said thoughtfully. �Do you have anything to declare?�

Jake shook his head. �Nothing. All we have is what we left Los Angeles with.�

�Except the plane, of course,� Sanchez said.

�Well ... yeah, except that.�

�A plane you purchased from a gentleman named Eduardo Gomez.�

�That�s correct,� Jake said.

�How well do you know Se�or Gomez?� he was asked next.

�I�ve only met him once,� Jake said. �That was on my last visit to Colombia, when I went to inspect the plane before I committed to purchase. Se�or Gomez made a point to meet me. We went out and had a few beers while my mechanic was inspecting the aircraft. Played some darts. He was a nice enough guy. Very down to Earth.�

�I see,� Sanchez said. �Are you aware of what Se�or Gomez does for a living?�

�He told me that he was in the import and export business,� Jake said. �That he imports consumer electronics and exports coffee.�

�Si, he does those things,� Sanchez said. �But it is highly suspected that those are just covers for his real business.�

�Which is?� Jake asked.

�He is believed to be one of the biggest exporters of yeyo to the United States in South America.�

�Is that a fact?�

�It is a strong suspicion backed up by considerable evidence,� Sanchez said. �And that is why we took a particular interest when we saw your flight plan. You see, this aircraft has been flagged for the last two years.�

�Surely you do not suspect that I am in cahoots with Se�or Gomez?� Jake asked.

�Now that I have talked to you and your story seems reasonable enough, no,� Sanchez replied. �I sense no deceit from you.�

�Oh ... good,� Jake said, relieved. He was, however, a little disappointed that Sanchez had not implored him to not call him Shirley.

�Nevertheless, we will give your belongings and your airplane a quick onceover, just to be sure.�

Jake waved them in the direction of the plane. �Be my guest,� he offered. After all, it wasn�t like he had much of a choice in the matter.

The onceover took about twenty minutes. Sanchez had Jake and Laura remove their suitcases from the cargo hold and open them up on the tarmac. The dog�her name was Maria�sniffed over their things for a few minutes but gave no reaction. Sanchez and the non-dog-handling agent then dug through their things for a few more minutes, seemingly disappointed when they found nothing out of the ordinary. Laura thought they did spend a little more time than necessary looking at her panties�particularly the dirty ones stored in a plastic laundry bag�but she said nothing. After that, the dog-handling agent led Maria all around the perimeter of the aircraft. She sniffed at everything and gave no reaction. She was then led inside the plane and remained there for the better part of five minutes. At last, the handler and Maria emerged. The handler held a whispered conversation in Spanish with Sanchez and that was it.

�You may put your luggage back into the plane,� Sanchez told them. �After that, you may accompany us inside the terminal and I will stamp your passports. After that, you may proceed to the general aviation terminal to arrange for temporary berthing.

�Very good,� Jake said, nodding, wondering if he was now supposed to tip them or something.

Apparently, he was not. They turned and walked back to the terminal. Jake and Laura put their suitcases back together and stowed them back in the plane. Jake closed the door back up and he and Laura went and got their passports stamped and were given their tourist cards since they would be staying less than thirty days. They were now free to move about Venezuela.

They got back in the Avanti and taxied it over to the general aviation terminal on the far side of the airport. There, Jake was able to acquire some Venezuelan currency at a rate of 207 bolivars for each US dollar. He got a thousand dollars worth and, using this currency he paid his landing fee of 10,000 bolivars and his daily tie-down fee of 5,000 bolivars. They took their luggage out of the plane and secured the aircraft with the passcode lock. They then walked back into the terminal and out the other side, where they caught a circulating shuttle van back to the international terminal, entering it from the main entrance this time.

They found a waiting area near the security checkpoints�which they had no intention of traversing�and were delighted to find that a fully functioning bar and lounge was located within it. The staff there all spoke English to varying degrees. They found seats at the bar and ordered some drinks. Jake, since he was not going to be flying or even driving in the next few days, went with a rum and coke, specifying one of the local rums. Laura ordered a glass of one of the local wines. These drinks cost another thirteen hundred bolivars, including the tip�about $6.28 in US dollars.

�You gotta love this exchange rate,� Jake said as he sipped from the potent concoction. It really was pretty good rum.

�Celia told me it�s getting worse every year,� Laura said. �She said the country seems to be heading for some kind of financial meltdown.�

�Interesting,� Jake said. �You would think a place with as much oil as Venezuela would be a little more financially secure.�

�You would think.�

�They�re a member of OPEC, for god�s sake.�

�I guess they just don�t manage money very well,� she suggested.

Continental Flight 721 landed on time. Jake and Laura finished their drinks and then headed over toward the baggage carousel assigned to it. It was nearly another forty-five minutes before passengers began to emerge from the escalator that led downward from the customs and declarations station on the second floor. And when they did begin to emerge, they did so in dribbles and drabbles. Jake expected that Celia and Suzie, who was traveling with her, would be among the first off since they were flying first class. He was wrong. They were among the last to emerge, and the moment that Celia stepped off the escalator, her carry-on bag in hand, she was mobbed by a crowd of disbelieving Venezuelans who chattered to her in Spanish and asked for autographs, ecstatic that their most famous citizen had returned home. Suzie got separated from her in all the chaos and so it was she that Jake and Laura greeted first.

�Fly Girl!� Laura greeted happily when she saw her.

�Teach!� Suzie shot right back. They came together and shared an affectionate hug.

�How was the flight?� Laura asked her when their embrace broke.

�Not bad,� she said. �I don�t get to do first class very often. I kind of enjoyed it.� She then looked over at Jake. �Jake. Good to see you again.�

�You as well,� Jake said.

To his surprise, Suzie gave him a hug too. He returned it affectionately. After all, he was now going to have an actual commercial transport pilot along for the ride with him for each hop back to San Diego. The thought was very comforting.

�How was the Avanti?� she asked him. �I can�t wait to see it. I am actually green with envy that you have one now.�

�It flew like a dream,� he told her. �I was a little nervous about taking off from eighty-four hundred feet for my first flight solo, but I hardly even noticed other than the high VR speed.�

By the time he finished his summary of the flight from Bogota (leaving out the part about the blowjob at FL-310), Celia had finally managed to free herself from the crowd and locate them. She came over and gave first Laura and then Jake big hugs.

�That was quite the welcome home,� Jake told her, nodding his head in the direction of the crowd, which was still hovering nearby.

�Yeah, I probably should have expected that,� she said. �Especially after what we just went through upstairs.�

�What did you just go through?� Laura asked.

�The customs people wouldn�t let us go,� she said. �We were the first ones to make it to the counter and the last ones to leave.�

�What was the problem?� Jake asked. �They didn�t think you were smuggling, did they? Who smuggles things into Venezuela?�

�Lots of people do, actually,� Celia said. �Cash mostly. Illicit income from the drug trade in US dollars. But that wasn�t what took so long. They didn�t even go through our bags. They just kept talking to us, asking us personal questions. They asked about the whole story with Suzie and me. They asked about my divorce from Greg. They asked about Mindy Snow. They even asked about you and Laura.�

�Why were they asking about that?� Laura asked.

�Simple curiosity would be my guess,� Celia said. �The same reason all the other random people ask us about it. Only they were trying to use their authority positions to get me to say something.�

�You didn�t tell them anything, did you?� asked Jake.

�Only what I tell everyone: that I deny everything.�

�And then they asked why I was traveling with her if none of it was true,� Suzie said.

�What did you say?� asked Laura.

�Just that we were good friends, I am now on a one-month hiatus from my assignments, and that Celia invited me to see her country and her hometown. I then told them how beautiful I found Venezuela so far.� She smiled. �That seemed to mollify them a little.�

�That was exactly the right thing to say,� Celia said. �We Venezuelans are culturally very proud of our country. Even more so than the other South American nations, I believe.�

�They looked at my panties,� Laura said.

Suzie and Celia looked at her. �Your panties?� Celia asked. �They made you take off your pants?�

�No, not the panties I�m wearing,� she explained. �The ones in my luggage. Even the ones in the laundry bag. They looked at those the longest.�

�Disgusting!� Suzie said.

Jake simply shrugged. �They were just being guys,� he said. �I�d have done the same thing in their situation.�

All three women gave him dirty looks at that piece of information.

�Anyway,� Jake said, deciding a change of subject was in order, �how about we go collect your luggage and blow this scene?�

Everyone thought that was a good idea.

They collected the luggage with only a few more fans harassing Celia. None of them seemed to notice that one of her traveling companions was Jake Kingsley, which Jake thought a little odd since Venezuela was second only to Brazil in Intemperance album sales among South American countries. Maybe we all look alike to them, he was finally forced to conclude.

Outside of the terminal was a white limousine that Celia had arranged for. A tall, handsome driver in a chauffer�s uniform and hat was standing next to it, holding up a sign with Celia�s name on it. He babbled excitedly to her in Spanish when they approached. Jake got enough of the jist of his words to understand that he considered it an honor to drive her and her companions around.

They got in the back and he closed the door for them. Jake asked warily, �Is it safe to ride in a limo in Caracas?�

�Of course it�s safe,� Celia scoffed. �Where do you think you are, Bogota?�

�Good point,� he allowed.

They had a wonderful time in Caracas, spending two days there. They traveled about by limousine and Celia showed them all the sights, the touristy ones and the out of the way places that only a native of the region would know. They saw four-hundred-year-old churches and cathedrals that dated back to the Spanish conquistador era. They rode the Teliferico tram to the top of Avila Mountain and took in the cityscape below (as well as a few drinks). They went into small bars and taverns in the downtown area and mingled with the locals (all of whom were astounded when Celia Valdez just came strolling in like an ordinary person). They visited the clubs where Celia and her brother used to play music before they were discovered and turned into La Diferencia by Aristocrat Records. They ate in five-star restaurants and at little madre and padre eateries in out of the way places. In general, Jake, Laura, and Suzie found Caracas to be a vibrant city, on par with New York or Boston, but with a distinct Latino twist.

Jake actually wanted to stay one more day even though he knew Celia was burning to get to Barquisimeto to finally see her family. His reason for wanting to delay their trip was not because he thought there was much more to see and do in Caracas�although he did think this. It was because a heavy cloud cover had drifted in while they were there, blanketing the entire region in uniform overcast with occasional thunderstorms. Jake did not want to fly in conditions like this.

�Why not?� Suzie asked him when he finally confessed his reason to her. �You�re IFR certified. A flight like this is no problem.�

�I am IFR certified,� he confirmed. �And I fly IFR all the time, usually when we�re going back and forth to Oregon, but ... well ... I only really fly it when I have to go above seventeen thousand and it�s required or if there are spotty clouds. I�ve never really done it when the clouds were so dense I couldn�t see the ground at all�except in training. If there is thick cloud cover or rain or anything like that, I usually just postpone my flight until the weather is better.�

�That�s no way to live your life,� she scoffed. �You have an all-weather aircraft now. Embrace it. Don�t be afraid of it.�

�I get what you�re saying,� he told her, �but I think it�s something I need to work my way up to.�

�Nonsense,� she scoffed. �I�ll sit in the copilot chair and talk you through it. Let�s get Band Geek back to her people.�

�Why don�t you just take the controls for me?� he asked.

�I can�t do that,� she said. �While I�m sure I could fly that plane if I needed to, I�m not type-rated in it. You are. You have to fly it.�

�I really don�t know about this, Suzie,� he said.

�Oh yeah?�

�Yeah.�

�Well, I�ll tell you ... there�s a little motivational speech I learned from Band Geek that she says she learned from you. It seems to fit the situation right here and now.�

�What are you talking about?� he asked.

She looked him dead in the eye, her expression one of challenge. �You don�t have a fuckin� hair on your ass if you don�t make that flight tomorrow morning.�

Jake looked at her in astonishment. �That�s hitting below the belt,� he told her.

She smiled. �Sometimes you have to do that in the interests of teaching.�

And so, it came to pass that the four of them were dropped off at SBIA the next morning at 10:00 AM to get ready for the thirty-eight-minute flight to Jacinto Lara International Airport in Barquisimeto. Jake�s doubts took a significant upturn when he and Suzie went in to compose a flight plan and Jake reviewed the weather report for his destination.

�The ceiling is at thirty-four hundred at JLIA,� he told Suzie. �That�s only fourteen hundred feet AGL.�

�So?� she enquired. �You have ILS. That�s well above the safety limit.�

�I don�t actually use the approach autopilot,� he told her. �I never have since training. I use the nav to give me the glideslope and then hand-fly the landing once I have visual. I�ve never let the autopilot make my descent before.�

�Seems like a good day to start,� she said flippantly. �This is a perfect time to learn to trust your ILS.�

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

�Do I need to bring up the hair on your ass�or lack thereof�again?� she asked.

She did not. And, in truth, the idea of having her sit next to him and talk him through the landing was alleviating some of his fear. If Suzie was not nervous about the upcoming IFR flight, why should he be?

�All right,� he said. �Let�s do it.�

They put together a flight plan that had them ascending to FL-310 and then descending into the JLIA pattern for an ILS approach to Runway 09. Jake filed the plan and they went back out to the main terminal, where Celia and Laura were drinking bloody Marys in the bar and chatting about the things she was going to show them in her hometown.

�And you can pee in the plane now!� Laura told Celia excitedly. �An actual normal pee, into a real toilet, with toilet paper and everything!�

�I think I�m probably going to have to try that out before we land,� Celia said.

�It�s really cool,� Laura said. �Maybe not four point seven-five million dollars cool, but cool all the same.�

Jake had a fuel truck come over and pump in another four hundred kilos of jet fuel. Once it left�after running his credit card for the charges�he sealed up the plane. Jake and Suzie strapped into the pilot and copilot seats, respectively. Laura sat in the forward-facing seat just behind Jake. Celia sat in the seat next to her, just behind Suzie. Jake fired up the engines. Ten minutes later, they were taxiing. It took almost twenty minutes before they were cleared for takeoff.

�God, this thing is sweet,� Suzie commented as they accelerated down the runway�her tone almost sexual in nature.

Jake lifted off at 110 knots, a bit slower than he had had to at Guaymaral despite the additional weight. They roared into the sky, climbing at 2900 feet per minute. Within three minutes they were in the clouds and could no longer see anything but grey blur.

�Too low and too tropical for icing concerns,� Suzie advised him. �So don�t worry about that.�

�Okay,� Jake said. He actually had not been worried about that until she mentioned it.

They broke out of the clouds at eleven thousand feet, bright sunshine now filling the aircraft. Both pilots put on their aviator sunglasses to combat it. Jake looked around nervously, seeing nothing but cloud cover as far as the eye could see in every direction�cloud cover that extended well into their destination and would not break up until some fifty nautical miles north of the coast of Venezuela. He had absolutely no visual references other than the possibly misleading cloud horizon. No mountain peaks, no cities, no terrain at all. Even though he had trained for this and knew what to do, he had never been behind the controls in such a situation before, having always avoided it as a matter of course.

His confidence grew, however, when the plane and its navigation system kept him exactly on course, making turns when they were indicated, the little airplane on the GPS map and the navigation screen tracking exactly along the line, even when the line angled in another direction. His VOR navigation tracked as a backup, offering even more reassurance.

�Nothing to it,� Suzie told him. �If fact, when you do it as much as I do, it gets a little boring. Sometimes I hand-fly in IFR just to break the monotony.�

The nervousness came back when it was time to descend. They dropped back into the cloud cover and Jake knew they would not break through the ceiling until they were just a minute or two from touchdown.

Suzie talked him through it.

�You�re doing great,� she said, her posture relaxed, her hands to her side, well away from the controls. �Everything is just the same as a normal landing except the autopilot is flying it and you can�t visually confirm your references.�

�That�s a big difference,� Jake said, watching as they made the last turn toward the runway and started final approach. Outside, there was still no visibility whatsoever. He could barely even see the wings and the engines.

�All right, there you go,� she said. �We�re at forty-six hundred and on the line. You should be able to catch the glideslope any minute now. Switch to approach hold mode and watch for capture.�

Jake hit the button for approach hold and watched as the nav radio switched to the ILS frequency. They continued forward for another minute or so, still traveling at 220 knots indicated on auto-throttle (the auto-throttle was something that Jake had already embraced with enthusiasm. It was one less thing to concentrate on during climb and approach). Finally, the horizontal indicator started to move upward. The entire plane lurched a little, the nose going down as the autopilot followed the electronic glide slope.

�That�s capture,� Suzie said. �Now just do everything else like normal. Reduce speed when indicated. Drop your flaps when indicated. Drop your gear when indicated. All just like on a manual landing. The only thing you�re not doing is steering and manually descending.�

�This feels so weird letting the plane fly when I can�t see,� Jake said, chewing his lip a little, his eyes staring intently at the glide slope indicator. It was perfectly centered.

�Like I said,� Suzie told him, �you have to learn to trust it. Once you do, you�re home free.�

Jake nodded and continued to concentrate on his instruments. And then, just 1300 feet above the ground, they dropped out of the cloud cover and he saw the airport a little more than a mile ahead. He was perfectly lined up for Runway 09, could see the big number painted on its surface, directly ahead. He breathed a big sigh of relief and then reported to Barquisimeto Approach that he had the runway in sight. They acknowledged. He had already been cleared to land.

�All right,� he said happily. �Back on familiar ground. I�m taking over now.�

�No,� Suzie said. �Don�t do that.�

�Why not? I can see the runway now.�

�It�s part of learning to trust the ILS,� she said. �Let it take you down to just before touchdown, to two hundred and fifty feet AGL. That�s when you take over.�

Jake gritted his teeth and did as she asked. His left hand rested on the yoke and his right on the throttles, but he made no inputs. He now had the flaps fully deployed and the gear down. His speed was set at one hundred knots indicated. The glideslope indicator was still perfectly centered. The thing really did work. Who would�ve thought?

He shut off the autopilot at 250 feet, just as they were crossing over the highway that ran past the airport. He made a few minor adjustments to the yoke and the rudder, throttled down just a tad, and touched down neatly on a centerline that was slick with rainwater. The plane hardly made a thump.

�Very nice,� Suzie told him as he deployed the reverse thrust and retracted the flaps. �Almost like you knew what you were doing.�

�Almost,� he agreed.

He slowed to forty knots and then throttled back the reverse thrusters, returning the props to normal pitch. He turned at the next taxiway and contacted ground control to receive directions to the general aviation terminal. It took about ten minutes to get there. He parked the airplane in the spot he had been assigned and shut it down.

When he opened the door, they looked out on a drizzly, overcast landscape. The tarmac was wet and the mountains could not be seen. The air temperature was warm and muggy. Jake did not see a single thing that impressed him.

But Celia walked off the plane and out into the rain without hesitation. She looked up at the sky, feeling the wetness come down on her and she had a big smile on her face.

�I�m home,� she said happily. �After all this time, I�m finally home.�

And just hearing those words, Jake felt a little more enthusiasm for the place. If Celia loved it this much, it must be a nice place to visit.

San Diego, California

July 11, 1996

After the two-and-a-half-hour flight from Los Cabos International at the southern tip of the Baja peninsula, the Avanti touched down gently on Lindbergh Field�s Runway 27 at 2:05 PM, three minutes ahead of schedule. Jake was in the pilot�s seat, Suzie in the copilot�s seat, Laura sitting behind Jake. Celia had remained behind in Barquisimeto to continue visiting her family. The approach had been a little harrowing�at least to Jake�with a steeper than normal glideslope, some tricky wind shifts, and the uncomfortably close proximity to the downtown skyscrapers, some of which were higher than the final approach altitude. The slope brought them uncomfortably close to a parking structure located just eight hundred feet from the runway threshold, but Jake had pretty much learned to trust his ILS approach system by this point and had resisted the urge to pull up and go around. They had cleared the garage by more than two hundred feet, though it had certainly looked like less than that.

�Another nice one,� Suzie commented as they rolled out. �It�s almost like you know what you�re doing now.�

�Almost,� he said with a chuckle. He was exceedingly grateful that Suzie had been along for the ride on this trip, was convinced he would not have been able to do it without her. He really had not thought the trip through when he had first planned it, had not really thought about the fact that he would be flying from busy international airport to another busy international airport, usually through legitimate IFR conditions due to the tropical cloud cover, skirting the occasional thunderstorm, and consistently having to choose between making a nearly blind ILS approach or not flying at all. Suzie�s presence had been a last-minute suggestion when Celia offered to meet them in Caracas and he now knew that without her by his side to talk him through the flights and the landings and to gently goad him into working on unfamiliar skills, he likely would have just ended up hiring someone to fly the plane home after all. But now, he had more than fifteen hours of challenging flying and six challenging ILS landings (including two high altitude airports) under his belt. He was much more comfortable with his new airplane and had already decided to embrace all of its capabilities now that he had some experience.

�Now it�s time for the interrogation,� Laura said sourly from her seat. She had slept almost the entire flight and had only awakened when she heard the flaps being lowered for approach. She was still a little groggy and out of sorts.

�Undoubtedly,� Jake said with a sigh as he turned onto the taxiway and started heading for the international terminal, where the general aviation customs checkpoint was waiting for them. The interrogation was something that had happened each time they had crossed an international border: in Caracas, in Panama, in Guatemala City, and in Mexico City. The aircraft they were flying on was flagged in pretty much every nation in the western hemisphere and everyone wanted to give it and its occupants the onceover. They had no reason to believe that San Diego would be any different.

It turned out it was a little different, but not in a good way. Instead of only customs agents and a drug-sniffing dog, there were two additional armed men waiting for them. These men were dressed in tactical gear. They wore baseball caps on their head with the letters DEA on them.

�This is going to be fun,� Jake remarked sourly as he went through the shutdown checklist.

The customs agents were polite, as they had been in every previous country. They looked at everyone�s passport, paying particular attention to the stamps, and then asked Jake what his business had been in South and Central America and Mexico. They listened to his explanation attentively, as if they did not already know what his business had been. The DEA agents stood back a few feet during this phase, unintroduced and saying nothing.

�Why did you pick the route home through Central America and Mexico?� one of the customs guys asked after Jake told his story. �Wouldn�t it have been easier just to fly directly to Miami and then work your way home from there?�

�Maybe,� Jake allowed, �but that would have been a long, overwater flight during thunderstorm season in an aircraft I am not all that familiar with. I have never done an overwater flight of that distance before and I wasn�t entirely comfortable with it. I was more comfortable with shorter hops that were always within a hundred miles or so of land.�

The agents nodded, giving no indication whether they believed him or not. They then moved on to the second part of the ritual: opening up the suitcases and having the dog sniff them before rifling through their belongings. Like every other team of customs officers, they seemed to find something particularly interesting about Laura�s panties.

The agents then boarded the aircraft with the dog for their inspection and walk-through. While they were doing that, the two DEA agents finally stepped forward and introduced themselves. They were Special Agents Markley and Mendoza.

�We�re assuming that you understand our interest in you and your aircraft, Mr. Kingsley?� Mendoza, who seemed to be the leader, asked him.

�I do,� Jake said. �This plane used to belong to Eduardo Gomez, who is allegedly a particularly successful exporter of yeyo from South America.�

�That is correct,� Mendez said. �How well do you know Mr. Gomez, Jake? May I call you Jake?�

�You may,� Jake said. �And I don�t know Gomez very well at all. I had never even heard of him until my accountant discovered that he was trying to sell the very plane that I was interested in buying. And I had no reason to believe he was an international drug dealer until after I had already closed escrow on the plane and started working my way home with it.�

�But you�ve socialized with Mr. Gomez,� said agent Markley. It was not phrased as a question, but stated as a fact. One or more of the previous customs agents had undoubtedly been in contact with him.

�That is correct,� Jake said. �When I flew to Colombia back in May to inspect the aircraft, he made a point of coming to meet me. I�m sure you�re aware that I�m somewhat of a celebrity, right?�

�Oh yes,� Mendoza said. �We are aware of who you are. Intimately aware, you might say. And we know you have had some previous experience with yeyo yourself.�

�Yes, I used to snort a little coke back in the day,� Jake allowed. �Everyone who picks up an entertainment rag or reads the headlines in the supermarket knows that. But I haven�t used any in years now, not since the last Intemperance tour back in 1990.�

�Would you be willing to submit to a drug test?� asked Markley.

�No,� Jake said simply.

�Why not?� Markley asked.

�Because what is in my pee is none of your business,� Jake explained.

�If you�re not doing any cocaine, why are you unwilling to submit a sample?� asked Mendoza.

Jake sighed. �If you know me as well as you say, then I�m sure you�re aware that my father spent his career as an ACLU lawyer. Giving you my pee just to satisfy your curiosity kind of goes against the grain of how I was raised. If you want my pee, you�re going to need to get a judge to sign an order compelling me to give it. Good luck with that, gentlemen.�

The two agents looked at each other for a moment, passing some kind of silent communication back and forth. Mendoza then looked at him again. �You know,� he said, �it would be perfectly within our rights to impound this aircraft pending an investigation into whether or not it was purchased with drug money.�

�You think I purchased it using drug money?� Jake said with a laugh. �Seriously? I am a multimillionaire, gentlemen. I have money falling out of my asshole, all of which can be traced back to my primary income stream, which is KVA Records, which gets its income from the sale of music produced by myself, Celia Valdez, and a little group called Brainwash. I don�t know if you�ve checked with your friends over at the IRS yet, but I can assure you that everything is in order and there are no questionable income streams.�

�We�re not talking about your purchase of the plane, Jake,� Mendoza said. �We�re talking about Eduardo Gomez�s purchase of the plane. If he bought the plane using drug money, then it doesn�t matter that you bought it with clean money. It was still originally purchased using tainted funds.�

�We do not need to prove the matter in a court of law,� Markley added. �We only need to have reasonable suspicion in order to impound the asset.�

Jake was starting to get angry now, but he kept his temper in check and his voice calm. �If you want to go down that road, you had better be prepared for a fight,� he said. �The title on that aircraft is quite clear. The bank that financed it for me did a very thorough investigation into the title�an investigation that they charged me nearly fifteen thousand dollars for, I might add. They were satisfied that the funds Eduardo Gomez used to purchase the aircraft from Piaggio Aerospace in Italy were from legitimate and legal sources of income.�

�Yes,� Mendoza said, as if he were talking to an idiot�which he probably thought he was. �That is because that money was laundered and made to appear legitimate through accounting practices that relied on Gomez�s coffee export business to disguise the actual source of the income.�

�I guess they did a pretty good job then,� Jake said, �because Piaggio Aerospace and Security Pacific Bank both signed off on the transaction. They would not have done that if there had been any questions about the source of the original funding.�

�Any provable questions,� Mendoza said.

�A fair point,� Jake allowed. �Do you have any provable questions that Piaggio and Security Pacific were unable to uncover?�

�We haven�t opened the investigation yet,� Mendoza said.

�Well, by all means, open the investigation if you think you need to,� Jake told them. �But if you impound my aircraft while you�re doing it, I�m going to come after you�both as an agency and personally�with every legal means at my disposal. And believe me, gentlemen, when you have as much money as I do, there are a lot of means. Not only will I hire the best, most specialized law firm to come after you, but Security Pacific will do the same. After all, you�re threatening to cause a default on a loan of more than three million dollars they just made, because you can bet your ass that if you impound this plane, I�m not paying a dime of the monthly payments.�

The two agents shared another look, this one a little more doubtful. It seemed they were starting to realize that Jake was not someone they could just intimidate into doing what they wanted.

�Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot here, Jake,� Mendoza finally said.

�Perhaps we did,� Jake agreed. �Look, guys, I�m not involved in the drug trade. Not in any way, shape, or form. I am willing to concede that Eduardo Gomez might be involved in it, but I had no knowledge of that when I entered into this agreement to purchase the plane with him. I used my provably legitimate income to make this purchase. The aircraft manufacturer and the bank that funded my loan have no questions about the source of the income originally used to purchase the aircraft. The title is free and clear and has been approved. All of the paperwork is in order. That is all I have to say. If you wish to speak to me further about this matter, you will have to make an appointment and I will make sure I have an attorney present. If you want to open a huge can of worms�worms that will have teeth�then you go ahead and impound the aircraft.�

�I don�t think that will be necessary, Jake,� Mendoza said politely. �We will, of course, continue to look into this, but we have no further questions for you at this time. As long as the customs agents do not find any irregularities, you are free to keep possession of the aircraft for now.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said.

The two agents walked away, heading for the entrance to the plane.

�Wow,� Suzie said as they walked away. �That was pretty intense.�

Jake simply shrugged. �It�s the life I chose,� he said.

Meanwhile, just over a hundred miles to the north, a serious breach of patient confidentiality was about to take place�again. This was a breach that would be investigated extensively and the perpetrator of it fired from her job and sued in civil court by her victim. It was a breach that would be mentioned in the United States House Chamber as the 104^th Congress debated the final details of the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act�which would become known as HIPAA�and would serve to sway a few members who had previously been hesitant to vote aye.

The perpetrator of this breech was a registration clerk at the Women�s and Children�s Center on the campus of Covington Medical Center in Santa Clarita. A large, modern hospital that had opened for business only five years before, it was where Mindy Snow had chosen to deliver her baby when the time came. And the time was nearly here. Though her actual due date was not until July 21, her doctor had arranged to have her admitted for a non-emergency induction on the morning of July 12, more than a week early.

Darcy Grover was the thirty-year-old clerk who took the call from Dr. Jonas Steinberg�s office regarding the admission and induction. She was not a nurse but had been working in this position for six years now and she knew that planning a routine induction more than a week before the actual due date was unusual indeed. Darcy had access to Mindy Snow�s chart and could see that there was no medical justification for such a thing. Mindy did not have gestational diabetes and the fetus was not overly large. There were, in fact, several medical reasons not to do an induction early. She smelled something sour here, something that probably had to do with Mindy�s Snow�s celebrity status, but she could not figure out what it was.

It should be noted at this point that Darcy Grover had a fairly intense dislike for Mindy Snow. Though she had never met her, she was a regular follower of celebrity gossip and knew that Mindy had been responsible for the breakup of Greg Oldfellow and Celia Valdez, who had been her absolute favorite celebrity couple. She thought that Greg was the most handsome man and often fantasized about him when she masturbated. And Celia was her favorite singer and favorite female celebrity of all time. She had a beautiful voice and seemed a very realistic person. The two of them had been natural together, obviously soulmates. And those vicious stories about Celia having sex with that lesbian pilot simply could not be true�just like those stories about Greg routinely cheating on her when they were married.

After putting the hold on the birthing suite for the next morning, Darcy went and talked to the day shift charge nurse to let her know that a VIP would be checking in the next day.

�Mindy Snow, huh?� Lynda Rogers, the charge nurse in question, commented when she was told. �I heard that she would be delivering here.� She sighed. �I guess we�ll have to pull out all the bells and whistles.�

�I noticed that her EDC is not until July 21,� Darcy said. �And she has no medical reason for early induction. Isn�t that kind of strange?�

Lynda, who had been working in labor and delivery departments in the greater Los Angeles area for more than twenty years simply shook her head. �Not with these celebrity types,� she said. �It�s a body thing.�

�A body thing?� Darcy asked, confused.

�How does Mindy Snow make her living?�

�With her acting,� Darcy said.

�That�s part of it,� Lynda allowed, �and I�m not suggesting that she isn�t a great actress, because she is, but it�s her looks that are the most important thing. She is a beautiful woman, and she needs to stay that way if she wants to keep getting roles. I�ve seen this time and time again with women who rely on their looks to get them through life. They eat a restrictive diet and exercise obsessively so they won�t gain any weight while they�re pregnant. They rub imported Greek extra-virgin olive oil on their bellies four times a day. And they want the baby out as soon as it is reasonably safe to do so. This all helps prevent stretch marks on their precious skin. And they want it out by induction instead of C-section. Induction doesn�t leave a scar on her their little flat bellies.�

�That is appalling!� Darcy said, outraged. �They would risk their baby�s health just to prevent a few stretch marks?�

Lynda simply shrugged. �It�s Hollywood,� she said.

�And Dr. Steinberg goes along with this?� She had always liked and respected Dr. Steinberg before. But now...

Another shrug. �It�s not really all that dangerous,� Lynda explained. �There�s a slightly increased risk of lung issues, but it�s only a small risk. If Steinberg didn�t do it, she�d find someone else who would.�

�Hmph,� Darcy grunted, shaking her head. �I think it�s disgusting.�

�Yeah? Well, what can you do?�

Darcy returned to her desk and continued to fume about this. What could she do? Well, maybe there was something that she could do. She could expose Mindy Snow for the heartless bitch that she was. Anonymously, of course.

She got off work at four-thirty that afternoon and drove home to her modest apartment in North Hollywood. After feeding her two cats and playing with them for a few minutes, she went to the kitchen and looked at the stack of this week�s LA Times copies that were sitting next to the garbage can waiting their turn to be taken to the recycle bin. Her absolute favorite entertainment reporter was Bernadette Tapp, who had been the one to first break the story that Greg and Celia were divorcing and who had covered their breakup extensively since. There had been an article penned by her a few days ago on that very subject. It had to do with the final paperwork filing of the uncontested divorce.

It took her a few minutes of digging around before she found the story again. She did not re-read the article. Instead, she went to the bottom where Tapp�s office number and email address were printed. She debated giving a call but decided that she would probably only get voicemail and God only knew how long it would be before someone listened to it. So, instead, she turned on her computer and opened up her email account. She put Tapp�s email into the sender box and then typed out a brief message.

I have some very interesting information to share regarding Mindy Snow�s upcoming delivery of her child. If interested, I will be home all evening and will answer the phone if you would like to discuss this.

She signed her email �an anonymous source� and then put in her phone number. She then sent the email from her account (her email address was an AOL account, with username Darcy_Grover). She then sat back on the couch to watch television, eat leftover pizza from last night, and drink chardonnay from a box in the refrigerator.

Less than an hour later, when she was three glasses in, the phone began to ring.

It was Bernadette Tapp on the other end.

They had quite the conversation.

Jake and Laura spent the night in Oceano after flying from Lindbergh Field to San Luis Obispo Regional Airport in the city of San Luis Obispo. The airport was fifteen minutes further from their home than Oceano Airport, but the runway in Oceano was not long enough to accommodate the Avanti so they were now renting a hangar at SLO, hoping that the faster aircraft would cancel out the longer driving distance. In the next week Jake would put the Chancellor on the market for the asking price of two hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

On the morning of July 12�a Friday morning�he got his first opportunity to check the timeline of his commute in the new plane. His band�the members of Lighthouse�had been hard at work rehearsing up the basic melodies of the set he planned to play at the TSF and he was going to check on their progress before they knocked off for the weekend (he had given them all weekends off until the festival itself). On Monday, he would jump right back in with them and they would hopefully start to polish things up into something that did not suck. Of course, he still did not have a piano player or a synthesizer player or a violinist, so those were things he was going to have to start working on as well.

He roared into the sky just after eight o�clock, climbing out toward Morro Bay before turning south toward the San Fernando Valley. As he left the airport, his engines turning at ninety percent thrust, hundreds, if not thousands of people who lived or worked in the vicinity of the egress path of SLO Regional looked up as they heard the grating, irritating, loud whine of those rear-facing turboprop engines. Though the Avanti was extremely quiet inside the fuselage, outside was another story completely. Many of them pondered the strange aircraft that was generating the noise. It looked quite peculiar, like something out of a science fiction show. They then mostly forgot about it. For the time being anyway.

Jake leveled the Avanti at 11500 feet, flying under VFR conditions and reaching his target altitude in less than five minutes. After entering cruise flight, the aircraft easily achieved a ground speed of 330 miles per hour, bumping lightly over the spine of the coastal mountains. He began his descent only sixteen minutes later and then circled into the landing pattern of Whiteman Airport, touching down at 8:37 AM. It took him another ten minutes to secure the aircraft and make the walk to his hangar, where his F-150 was hooked to a trickle charger, patiently awaiting him.

As he drove from the airport to the studio, he passed quite near the Covington Medical Center campus. His aviator�s eyes noticed that there were several helicopters circling around the fifteen-story building, which was kind of strange, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it was no longer in his sight. He arrived at KVA Records at 9:07 AM, only seven minutes after the band had started their day.

The Nerdlys were not there�they were up in Oregon with Brainwash, starting the process of laying down the rhythm tracks for the ten tunes that had been selected for the next CD�so the soundcheck was nearly complete (although, in truth, they did not sound as good as when the Nerdlys were supervising it).

Everyone was happy to see Jake.

�How�s the new plane?� asked Ted.

�Everything I hoped it would be,� Jake told him.

�Did I ever tell you about the plane crash I was on back when I worked in Riverside County?� he asked next.

�No,� Jake said. �And I do not want to hear about it, if you please.�

�It�s a good story,� Ted said, just itching to spin a tale of death and destruction.

�I�m sure it is,� Jake said, �but I�m going to take a pass on this one.�

�All right,� Ted sighed, clearly disappointed.

They finished their sound check and showed him what they had accomplished. It was a lot. When he had left for Dallas nearly two weeks ago, they had been in the very beginning stages of learning his melodies. Now, they were able to perform respectable instrumental versions of every one of the sixteen songs on the setlist. Of course, they still needed to work on the bridges, intros, outros, and the mixing with Jake�s vocals, but they had made good progress while he was gone and his confidence that he could pull this off began to rise.

Nobody had listened to the news today or had read the LA Times. For that reason, nobody knew that a media circus was currently in progress just a few miles away. The first that Jake heard about it was when the band broke for lunch and Jake used his cell phone to call Greg Oldfellow. Greg was staying in LA these days because Palm Springs was too hot for his taste this time of year. The two of them had made plans to have dinner today as they had not seen each other in more than a month now.

�We still on for Remington�s?� Jake asked the actor when he answered his phone.

�Are you kidding me?� Greg asked. �I�m not leaving this house until all of this blows over.�

�Until all of what blows over?�

�You haven�t heard?� he asked.

�Heard what?�

�Mindy is having her baby today,� he said. �She�s in the hospital right now.�

�Oh ... I didn�t know that,� Jake said, still not understanding what the issue was. Why was Greg the least bit interested in the birth of a child he had been tricked into fathering and had publicly renounced a relationship with?

�I have reporters and paparazzi clustered in front of my house and at least two news helicopters circling over the top of it. It�s insane.�

�Why are they bothering you?� Jake asked.

�Because I�m the father,� he said. �Johnny, my agent, tells me they have been harassing him since last night. First it was Bernadette Tapp for the LA Times. She�s the one that broke the story that Mindy was being induced today. And then, once the Times came out this morning, all of the other gossip trolls started calling and showing up in front of my house.�

�I don�t understand their interest in any of this,� Jake said. �She�s just having a baby. An ordinary, everyday baby. It�s not like she�s a virgin birth or something.�

�A truer statement was never made,� Greg scoffed.

�Why the helicopters and the pap and all that? I don�t get it.�

�It�s because Mindy is being induced more than a week before her due date,� Greg said. �Somebody at her doctor�s office or the hospital leaked that information along with the speculation that she is doing it for vanity reasons.�

�Vanity reasons?� Jake had no idea what he was talking about.

�That she�s getting the baby out early to avoid stretch marks or a C-section scar. This same �anonymous source close to the case� is also claiming that Mindy was starving herself the entire pregnancy to avoid weight gain. The press has already been painting her as a heartless manipulative slut.�

�That�s what she is,� Jake reminded him.

�I know that,� Greg said, �but now they�re painting her as an unfit mother, willing to risk the health of her child for her own vanity. The article brings up the fact that she had an amniocentesis that was not medically necessary just to DNA type the child as being mine. The anonymous source is claiming that there was no medical reason at all to induce the baby early and plenty of reasons not to.�

�I see,� Jake said. �And they�re trying to drag you into this for what reason?�

�They�re asking Johnny crazy questions,� Greg said. �They want to know if I�m going to step in and try to stop the induction. They want to know if I�m going to try to obtain full custody of the baby to keep her incompetent hands off of it.�

�And you�re not going to do any of those things?�

�Of course not!� he said. �My position is unchanged. Mindy made this bed, now she can lay in it. I just don�t want to deal with those reporters and this media circus. I�m holing up in here until this all blows over.�

�Didn�t you say you were going to head up to Coos Bay soon?� Jake asked. His golf course was now complete and would be ready to host its first players on July 20. Greg planned to be the very first golfer to swing a club on the course. And it was intended to be a high-publicity event to serve as advertisement for the posh course.

�I will be there, one way or the other,� he vowed. �I still have a week to figure it out. Maybe this will have died down by then.�

�I doubt that,� Jake opined. �Listen, I have an idea.�

�An idea?�

�I�m flying back to Oceano after rehearsal today. Going to stay the weekend. Come with me. You can see my new plane and then hole up at my house where the reporters can�t get to you. On Sunday morning, I�ll fly you up to Coos Bay and you can hole up there as long as you want.�

Greg thought this over for a few moments and then tried to dismiss it. �It won�t work,� he said. �They�ll just circle your house in their helicopters instead of mine. They�ll just send the mobs to your front door instead of mine. And then they�ll just follow us to Coos Bay.�

�Well, they can�t show up at my front door,� Jake countered. �My property is secured. The most they could do is cluster around the access road where it comes off of the PCH, and I don�t think the SLO sheriff�s department and the highway patrol would be very keen on that.�

�There�s still the helicopters,� Greg said. �Do you really want two or three of those vultures circling over for hours every day.�

�Not really,� Jake admitted, �but I think there�s a way we can avoid that as well.�

�What do you mean?�

�They won�t show up at my house if they don�t know you�re there.�

�How would we keep them from learning that?� Greg asked. �If you pick me up, they�ll just follow us to the airport with their helicopters. Even if they don�t see us fly off, they�ll know I�m with you and they know where you live.�

�Then I should not be the one to pick you up,� Jake said.

�Who is going to pick me up then?� he asked. �A limo? I will still have to fight my way through the horde in order to get inside.�

�How about you drive yourself to the airport, Greg,� Jake said.

�Drive myself?� he asked, as if Jake had suggested that he club a baby seal.

�You do know how to drive, and you do have a car, right?�

�Well ... yes, but ... I still don�t see how that solves the problem. The helicopters will still just follow me.�

�They can only follow you so far,� Jake said. �They can�t fly in the airspace adjacent to the airport. They�ll have to break off when you get close. In fact, if you just take North Hollywood instead of the Golden State, you�ll pass right by Burbank Airport. They�ll have to break off pursuit there and you will likely lose them at that point. They won�t even know you were in the vicinity of Whiteman by the time you get there. And I can have the plane all ready to go as soon as you arrive.�

�Hmmm,� Greg said, pondering this plan. �It would be nice to be able to get out of town without anyone knowing where I�ve gone.�

�All you have to do is leave from your garage,� Jake said. �Just back out onto the street and drive away. That way, none of them will have time to get in their cars to follow you on the surface streets. By the time the helicopters realize they have to break off, you�ll be too far ahead for them to catch up.�

�But what about my car?� he asked next. �Will it be safe at that airport for a week or so?�

�They have security there,� Jake assured him. �And even if something happens to your car, you�re rich. You just buy another one out of the cash in your pocket.�

Another few moments of pondering and then, �I find you make some good points. Let us put the plan into action.�

�Right,� Jake said. �I�ll be heading to Whiteman at 4:00 PM and should be there by 4:15. I will be ready to fly by 5:00. You time your drive so you get to the airport about 4:45. Don�t forget to account for the detour up North Hollywood. That should add another ten minutes or so.�

�Uh ... right,� Greg said. �Ten minutes.� A pause. �So ... what time should I leave here then?�

Greg did not do much of his own driving and was quite inexperienced at estimating travel time.

�It�s a Friday afternoon,� Jake said. �Traffic will be a little thick. You should probably leave your house at about ten minutes to four. If you arrive a little early, it�s no big. If you arrive more than ten or fifteen minutes late, however, things start to get more complicated.�

�Right!� Greg said. �Ten to four. I�ll be there.�

�See you then,� Jake said.

�See you then,� Greg agreed.

The plan went off without a hitch. Greg came quite close to running over two reporters and a videographer when he suddenly backed out of his garage without warning, but they managed to allow their survival instincts to override their reporter instincts at the last second and got out of the way. He drove off rapidly from his Brentwood subdivision, leaving the ground troops scrambling to get to their vehicles. The airborne troops followed him, as predicted, two of the helicopters broadcasting his journey live on their respective stations, breaking into the previous live shot from in front of Covington Medical Center, where they were still camped out and waiting for word on Mindy and her baby. As Jake had promised, the helicopters had to break off when he approached the southern portion of Burbank Airport. The ground troops in their cars were still too far behind to catch a sighting of where he went from there. Greg was able to continue on his journey in relative peace from here, having only to deal with the afternoon traffic of Los Angeles.

Jake watched the pursuit from inside the KVA Studio building along with Pauline, Ted, and Ben Ping.

�This shit reminds me of the day they arrested OJ,� Pauline remarked.

�He�s driving a lot faster than the Bronco was,� Ted pointed out.

By the time he left the studio to drive to Whiteman, Jake already knew that Greg had successfully evaded them as they were now back to the view in front of the medical center and speculating about just where Greg might be going. Since he had been heading in the general direction of the San Fernando Valley, and since Covington Medical Center was located just a bit northwest of the San Fernando Valley, the conjecture was that he was on his way there and they eagerly anticipated his arrival. Some thought he was coming to try to stop the induction. Others thought he was coming to be with Mindy and witness the birth of his child.

Instead, he pulled into the parking lot of Whiteman Airport at 4:46 PM and parked his car in the weekly pay lot, which was automated for arrivals so he did not have to deal with an actual human being who could tell the reporters he had been there. He made his way over to the tarmac in front of the main terminal building, where Jake was in the process of having fifteen hundred pounds of jet fuel pumped into his tanks from the fuel truck. Jake hustled the actor inside the plane before the fueling tech could see him.

�I think you pulled it off,� Jake told him. �Go grab a seat on that couch back there so the fuel guy doesn�t see you through the window.�

�Right,� Greg said, looking around the interior. �Not bad,� he said. �Not quite a Gulfstream, but much better than that other plane of yours.�

�Yep,� Jake agreed, �and you can take a piss if you need to.�

�That�s good to know,� Greg said.

�I didn�t even put you on the manifest as a passenger,� Jake told him. �A violation of FAA regs, true, but it will keep some tower controller from ratting out where you are.�

�Oh, that seems a wise precaution,� Greg said. �Can you get into trouble for that?�

�If it�s discovered, I can just claim it was an oversight and take a little slap on the wrist. I have no previous violations.�

�That�s good,� Greg said.

�The only thing is that if we crash and burn, they�re not going to know it�s you in the plane with me. That could complicate the identification of your remains to some degree.�

Greg looked at him sharply. �Uh ... my remains?�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �But don�t worry. I�ve covered that as well. Elsa and Laura know you�re on the flight with me. I called them earlier and told them to expect you. Pauline knows you�re with me as well. One of them will be able to tell the NTSB who you were and then it�s just a matter of getting hold of your dentist to match his x-rays with the teeth of your corpse.�

�Very comforting,� Greg said.

�I thought so,� Jake said with a smile. �Hang tight. We�ll be in the air in twenty minutes.�

It was actually closer to eighteen. Greg sat in the copilot seat while Jake rolled down the runway and lifted into the air. He turned northwest for home and climbed to eleven thousand feet. Once he was at altitude, he set the autopilot, including the auto-throttle, and settled in.

�It�s a remarkably quiet plane,� Greg observed once he perceived that the sterile cockpit condition was no longer in effect.

�That it is,� Jake agreed. �Having the engines mounted high, in the rear, and facing backwards keeps most of the engine noise from reaching us. Also, there�s pretty good sound insulation built into the fuselage.�

�Definitely a step up from your other plane,� Greg said again.

�And guess what?� Jake asked.

�What?�

�I have the ability to turn off the control inputs from your position. So, if you want to put your hands on the controls and pretend like you�re flying, you go right ahead. You can even make engine noises if you want.�

Greg looked at him and saw him smiling. �I�ll take that under consideration,� he finally said.

Jake chuckled and then took a glance at his instrument panel. Nothing was amiss. He scanned the sky around him, seeing two airliners heading into LA but neither were in a position to be of concern to him. He turned back to the actor. �You look better than the last time I saw you.�

�Do I?�

�You do,� Jake said truthfully. �You don�t look as stressed. Did you get yourself laid?�

�Not yet,� Greg admitted. �But I do feel like I�ve been handling the situation better of late. I�m not drinking as much as I was the last few months and I�ve resumed my workouts. I�ve even gotten some feelers about upcoming auditions. Until today, it seemed my reputation was intact and the press had almost forgotten about me.�

�I wouldn�t think this whole clusterfuck about Mindy being induced will ultimately be damaging to you,� Jake suggested.

�It shouldn�t,� he said. �Still, I�ll be glad when it�s over.�

�Have you talked to Mindy since all the shit hit the fan?�

�Not a word,� he said. �She has been in seclusion and has made no attempts to contact me. Nor have I made any to contact her.�

�I bet she gives the kid a fucked-up name,� Jake prophesized.

�That is not any of my concern,� Greg said.

They flew on in silence for a few minutes, the plane making an automatic course correction as they reached one of the programmed waypoints on the route. When it rolled back to level, Greg finally spoke up.

�So ... you ... uh told me that Celia was there when you picked up the plane from South America?�

Jake nodded. �She met us in Caracas,� he said. �Showed us around for a few days and then we all flew to Barquisimeto and stayed there for a few days. It was cool. Nice place. Kind of reminds me of Heritage in a way. A medium sized city whose purpose for being is the agriculture that surrounds it. A little muggier than Heritage though.�

�You saw her family while you were there?�

�We did,� he said. �Nice, down-to-earth people. Celia stayed with them in their house. Me, Laura, and Suzie stayed in the hotel, but we had dinner with them both nights. I enjoyed talking to them. They seem very concerned about the direction their country is heading in. Inflation is out of control, wages are stagnant, everything costs more, and it all gets worse by the month.�

�Interesting,� Greg said, though he sounded far from interested in Venezuela�s economy.

�They kept talking about some dude named Hugo something-or-other,� Jake added. �They seem to think that if he would just run for the top spot there that he�ll be able to turn things around.�

�I�m sure he will,� Greg said dismissively. �You say that this Suzie, the female pilot, was there with you?�

�She was,� Jake confirmed. �I�m sure you�ve read about Suzie and C being friends. It�s been in all the papers.�

�Yes, I�ve read about it,� Greg said. �They allege that there is a sexual affair going on between the two of them�or at least there was one?�

�That�s the allegation,� Jake agreed. �They got that from Suzie�s former copilot, Njord. He didn�t play well with others and told an elaborate story about Suzie and Celia to an entertainment reporter. The rest is history. The press has been running with it ever since and Njord got fired and will probably never fly passengers again.�

�A perfectly ridiculous story,� Greg scoffed. �I�m amazed that anyone actually takes it seriously. Celia having sex with another woman? Absurd! And then suggesting that Laura is sleeping with female groupies? Even more absurd!�

�Uh ... yeah,� Jake said slowly. �Absurd. That�s what it is.�

Greg did not pick up on the tone of Jake�s voice. That was a good thing. Jake did not want him to ask if the allegations were true or not because he did not want to have to lie to the man. Though he was a much better liar than his wife, it did not mean he did it lightly.

�How is Celia?� Greg asked next. �How is she coping with everything�the divorce, the rumors, the media coverage?�

�She�s doing okay,� Jake said. �She�s been able to throw herself into her work and channel all of the negativity into putting on her performances. It�s a gift she has. It keeps her from having to think too much about what happens next.�

�She was always good at that,� Greg said. He hesitated for a moment and then: �Any ... uh ... romantic interests that she has?�

�She does not share the details of her personal life with me,� Jake answered. �And I have not been out on the road with her much. But, as far as I can determine, there has been no new man in her life since you.� Don�t ask about women in her life though, he thought.

Greg did not. He had already made his opinion on that matter clear. He nodded, trying to look somber but actually sending off a happy vibe that Jake was easily able to pick up. �I am so sorry that I screwed things up with her,� he said. �I told her that in person when we met for the divorce agreement, but if you wouldn�t mind just reiterating it to her the next time you see her?�

�I will,� Jake promised. �And she knows that you�re sorry. She�s sorry too.�

Elsa fed them her famous chicken parmesan, angel hair pasta, and a tossed green salad. They washed it down with a bottle of high-end chianti imported from Italy. They ate ravenously and then retired to the deck to watch the sunset while sipping scotch and smoking Cuban cigars. None of them had watched the television or paid any attention to the news since Jake and Greg had arrived, but Laura had informed them that as of 6:00 PM, when they had arrived from the airport, the biggest questions being asked were: Is Mindy going ahead with the induction despite being condemned as a bad mother? And just where had Greg Oldfellow gone and what was he doing? His trail had grown cold in the vicinity of Burbank Airport. Had he perhaps flown from there to somewhere else? And, if so, where?

Just past nine-thirty, as they were all back in the house and enjoying more scotch, the telephone began to ring. Elsa had already finished her nightly cleanup and had retired to her guest house, so Jake checked the little caller ID box and, seeing that it was Pauline�s number, picked up the phone.

�Hey, Paulie,� he said into it. �What�s up?�

�Have you been watching the news?� she asked him.

�Not since I left the studio,� he said.

�Why don�t you let me talk to Greg for a minute?�

�Uh ... sure,� he said softly. �Is it bad news?�

�That depends on one�s perspective,� she said. �It is not unexpected news, however.�

�Uh ... okay,� he said. He turned to the actor. �It�s Pauline. She wants to talk to you.�

�To me?� he asked, surprised.

�To you,� he confirmed, handing him the handset of the phone.

He took it hesitantly and then put it to his ear. �This is Greg.� He listened, his face souring a little. �She did? It was?� Another pause. �And this is official? Really? Grand? Seriously? Wow.� A shake of the head. �I see. Well ... I suppose that�s good to know. It doesn�t change anything, but I appreciate you letting me know. Okay ... I will. And you do the same. All right. Goodbye.�

He pushed the button to disconnect the handset. He then slowly handed it back to Jake.

�What was that all about?� Laura asked. �Did she have the baby?�

�She did,� Greg said. �Pauline says it was officially announced by Mindy�s agent ten minutes ago. She had a baby boy. Seven pounds, two ounces. Healthy in all respects. A routine induced delivery.�

�Wow,� Laura said. �I honestly didn�t think she would go through with the induction after all the negative media coverage of it.�

�You can�t steer Mindy off a course if she decides she wants to be on it,� Jake said.

�That is very true,� Greg agreed.

�Did she tell you if they know the name?� Laura asked.

�They do,� he said. �She named him Grand, no middle name. She apparently made sure to specify that.�

�Grand?� Laura asked.

�Yes,� Greg said sourly. �Grand Oldfellow.�

They paused and let that sink in for a minute.

�I knew she�d give him a fucked-up name,� Jake finally said.

Pictures of Grand Oldfellow were printed in the LA Times on Sunday morning, the shots released by Georgette, Mindy�s agent, who had reportedly been by her side during the labor, the delivery, and the immediate postpartum period. He looked like a typical baby that had been delivered vaginally, his head somewhat misshapen from having been squeezed through the birth canal, a blue hat on his head, no particular expression on his face. He was neither beautiful nor ugly at this point in his life, though it was plain to see that he shared Greg�s nose and Mindy�s cheeks. There were no pictures of Mindy and no quotes from Mindy other than that she would just like to be left alone to care for her child in privacy. As if that was going to happen.

Speculation remained rampant about just what had happened to Grand�s biological father. Though it was well-established by this point that Greg had no intention of being a part of the child�s life, this did not prevent the various reporters from accusing him of being a bad father. He had not been there for the birth! He had not even offered her congratulations! He was not returning any of their calls or reporting his whereabouts so they could harass him! In their eyes, this last was particularly unacceptable behavior.

About an hour after reading the copy of the Sunday Times that Jake had arranged to have delivered to the mailbox at the front gate of his property�Elsa enjoyed making the hike down each morning to collect it�Jake, Laura and Greg climbed into Jake�s car and made the drive to SLO Regional. It was time to get Greg to Coos Bay. Obie offered to let him stay in his house while he was there�he and Pauline and Tabby were currently staying in LA�and Greg took him up on it, though he did plan to start scoping out a house of his own while he was there.

They lifted off and Jake climbed to his assigned altitude of 34,000 feet. It only took two hours and ten minutes from wheels up to touchdown�more than one hour faster than he could have done it in the Chancellor. Marcie Scanlon, who could be spared from recording duties today because they were still working on the rhythm tracks, picked them up in the van that KVA had purchased for transportation in Oregon.

�Oh my God!� she gushed when she saw who was with Jake and Laura. �Greg Oldfellow!�

�That�s right,� Greg said with a sigh.

�It�s really you! Oh my God! I knew that Jake knows you, but I never thought I would get to meet you!�

�I�m very pleased to make your acquaintance,� Greg said, though he sounded anything but pleased. �Jake has told me a lot about you. And, of course, I really enjoy your music.�

�Thank you!� she said. �Wow. So ... that�s where you�ve been all this time they�ve been wondering what happened to you? Hanging out with Jake and Teach?�

�That�s where he has been,� Jake said. �And we would really like to keep that to ourselves for the time being.�

�Oh ... of course,� she said.

�I don�t really expect that you won�t tell Jim about this,� Jake said. �But we would prefer you don�t mention it to anyone else. And when you do tell Jim, please make sure he understands the need for discretion.�

�I will,� she promised.

Jake instructed Marcie how to get to Obie�s house. They dropped Greg off in front and he went in. The servants had been told to expect him.

�He seems nice,� Marcie commented as they drove away, heading back to the studio.

�He�s just an ordinary guy,� Jake said. He considered these words for a moment and then shook his head. �Scratch that. He�s actually a pompous ass completely out of touch with the common people. But, for all that, he is a nice guy. And he�s in a bad place these days.�

�I know,� she said. �Imagine, not being able to be a part of your own child�s life.�

�Yeah ... I suppose,� Jake allowed.

Once at the studio, Jake turned all business. He immediately pulled Nerdly off of the soundboard and into a private office (very much over Nerdly�s protests. He did not want a single note put down on the hard drive without his personal approval of it). He then asked for a report on their progress so far.

�We are proceeding a little more slowly than expected and over budget,� was the summary.

�What�s the issue?� Jake asked.

�The issue is you,� Nerdly informed him.

�What do you mean?�

�None of us quite realized the depth of your contributions to the Brainwash recordings,� he said. �It is you who comes up with and suggests most of the fine-tuning of the melodies and the blends between melodies and bridges, intros and outros. You are the one who comes up with those subtle nuances that elevate the tunes from good to great. Jim, Marcie and Steph are trying to adapt your techniques, and they are getting better at it, but they simply do not have the experience and the instinct that you do when it comes to fine-tuning a recording.�

Jake was flattered by this news, but also worried. �Are you saying you�re not going to be able to put out a quality recording without me?� he asked.

�Not at all,� Nerdly said. �I�m sure that even without your input, we will produce an aesthetically pleasing master in the end and it will sell well. It�s just that it will not be as good as it could be without your regular contributions.�

�Hmm,� Jake said thoughtfully. �Well ... I can�t do too much about this. I�m committed to the TSF and I do not want to shortchange my efforts to put on a good show in September. Especially not since I�ve already lost two weeks so I could pick up my new plane. And especially not since Matt will be the headliner, playing right after me. I�ll be goddamned if I let that asshole show me up.�

�Oh yes,� Nerdly said. �I heard that Matt is now committed once again. Do you have any information about why he changed his mind?�

Jake shrugged. �None whatsoever,� he said. And this was true. Pauline had not mentioned anything to him about Matt�s compelling reason. He did not even suspect that Pauline might know what it was.

�Maybe he wants to show you up?� Nerdly suggested.

�Maybe,� Jake said. �I don�t know. I don�t really care. I�m just going to put on the best fuckin� show I can throw together with what I have to work with.�

�That�s what you always do,� Nerdly said. �What we always do.�

�And we�ll do it here too,� Jake said. �I�ll make a point to come up here as much as I can and be involved in the process. Hell, with my new plane it only takes about two hours to fly up here. I can come up on the weekends and review what you�ve been doing, make suggestions.�

�I think that would behoove all of us,� Nerdly said.

Jake nodded. �I aim to behoove,� he said.

Jake and Laura got up at 4:30 AM on Monday morning. Jim Scanlon drove them to North Bend Municipal at 5:15 AM. Jake lifted off from Runway 04 at 6:01 AM, just one minute after the night restriction on outgoing flights was lifted. Nevertheless, the screeching, whining loudness of his plane woke up hundreds of people as he made his climb-out and turned to the south. The airport operations voicemail would record two dozen noise complaints before he was even at cruising altitude.

Laura slept almost the entire flight, nodding off around eleven thousand feet and not waking up again until the sound of the flaps lowering for final approach to Whiteman. They touched down at 8:33 AM and were at the studio at 8:55. Laura drove Jake�s truck to Grenada Hills to sleep some more and then to start getting her affairs in order for her upcoming trip to Europe. Jake put in a full day of rehearsal with his band. They made some good progress.

Mindy Snow and Grand Oldfellow returned to their home that same day. Paparazzi and videographers captured her trip from the hospital lobby into the limousine (with reporters commenting on how Mindy did not even look like a woman who had just given birth) and then news helicopters followed her home, broadcasting the entire trip live, including the zoom-in as the mother and son got out of the limo and walked into the house.

Greg Oldfellow�s whereabouts was still a mystery, still the subject of endless speculation. It was known, however, that he was scheduled to officially open his new golf course in Oregon on the morning of July 20^th�one day before Mindy�s original due date.

The pap staked out the airport for two days before the 20^th, but no one caught so much as a glimpse of him, though they did get some good shots of other celebrities and general rich people arriving in town for the grand opening. The media people were not allowed on the golf course property, but this did not stop them from mobbing the entrance starting at 5:30 AM. They filmed and snapped pictures of every vehicle that arrived for the opening but still never managed to capture Greg�s face since when he did actually arrive, he was in the back of a limo with tinted windows.

There were a gaggle of reporters who were allowed onto the course, but they were mostly sports-oriented, and all had been advised that the subject of Greg Oldfellow�s illegitimate child was off limits.

And so, when the time came, Greg simply appeared outside the clubhouse, dressed fashionably in a pair of expensive slacks, six-hundred-dollar golf shoes, and a polo shirt and hat with the name of the club prominently displayed. He gave a short speech about the club being a lifelong dream of his and then cut a ribbon with a large pair of scissors. He then joined the first foursome to play the course�himself and three of his top investors.

They took to the links and played for the next four hours. Greg beat all of his companions with a scratch 76, thus briefly allowing him to hold the record for the lowest score ever recorded on the course. The fact that his low score was beaten two hours later did not even matter. He was still entitled to having his name inscribed on a plaque above the bar, where it would be there forever.

In his opinion, it had been a good day.

July 26, 1996

Oceano, California

Jake and Gordon Paladay�aka Bigg G�sat in the loungers out on Jake�s deck on the cliff, watching as the sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon. They had just smoked a joint of some pretty good Humboldt greenbud, passing it back and forth until it was gone, and were sipping from icy cold bottles of Lighthouse Ale from the Lighthouse Brewing Company in Coos Bay. A cooler next to Jake�s lounger contained ice and four more unopened bottles. Both men were dressed in shorts and simple t-shirts. They were feeling quite mellow, particularly Jake. It was Friday at last and this was his first indulgence of intoxicating substances in more than a week now.

�I really dig your place, brother,� G told him with obvious sincerity. �I can see now why you go to all the trouble of flying back and forth all the time.�

�It�s worth it,� Jake said. �Worth every penny I spend on fuel and maintenance, every dollar I spent on this land and this house, and worth every minute I lose from my life making the commute.�

�Fuck yeah,� G said. �I get it now. You got this big-ass crib sitting on this cliff over the ocean. There ain�t no fuckin� smog here, no fuckin� neighbors putting their nose in your business, and you go to sleep at night in a place that ain�t fuckin� LA.�

�To ain�t fuckin� LA,� Jake said, raising his beer bottle for a toast.

�Ain�t fuckin� LA,� Gordon said, clinking his own bottle against it.

This was G�s first visit to Casa Kingsley. He had read an article in the LA Times this morning in which the noise complaints from a small but vocal number of San Luis Obispo County residents about Jake�s new plane had been detailed and sensationalized and then cross referenced with complaints on the same subject from various Coos County residents. G had called Jake�s cell phone to check in with him and give him a little good-natured shit about disturbing the peace. After receiving said ration of shit, Jake had invited him to fly up with him after he finished TSF rehearsal for the week to check out the plane and the house. With nothing else to do, G had agreed and met Jake at Whiteman at 4:30. The two of them had the house to themselves. Elsa had weekends off and Jake had flown her to LA this morning so she could use Laura�s car to drive to Orange County and visit her family. Laura, along with Celia and the rest of the band, were now in England, playing the first dates of the European tour. Neesh was in San Francisco attending a two-week orientation course for her new position as a junior lawyer for the firm of Brannon, Smith, and Harlow, an upper-end group that specialized in securities, equities, and derivatives. Jake had given him the grand tour of the house and then made them a couple of ribeye steaks on the grill for dinner. After cleaning up, they made their way out to the deck to watch the sunset. The hot tub remained closed and latched shut, however, since there were no women present and it was therefore forbidden under the rules of being a guy that they get into it under such circumstances.

�How goes your next album?� Jake asked him. �Getting any work done?�

�Still in the composition phase,� G told him. �I got six tunes I�ve been working up on the piano so far, but I haven�t got together with my homies yet to start taking them to the next level.� He shrugged. �I�m not really in much of a hurry. Still getting lots of airplay from the last album and still selling enough copies to keep me in beer money.�

�That�s pretty much the boat I�m in,� Jake said. �I�ve only got a few basic tunes strummed out so far and I�m not even sure I�m happy with them. Most of my time is being taken up with trying to get my set together for the TSF. It�s coming up soon.�

�How�s that going for you?� G asked.

�It�s kind of a two steps forward and one step back kind of thing,� Jake said. �Every time we start to make some progress, something happens to throw a cock-block at us. We were able to nail down Natalie as our violinist�remember her?�

�The Russian bitch that home-wrecked Celia�s pilot?�

�That�s her,� he confirmed. �It was kind of a stroke of luck, really. She moved to Texas to be with him and married him there after both of their divorces were final. She had told us when she made the move that she might be agreeable to doing some studio sessions in the future but would not go out on tour. So, I told Pauline to give her a call and see if she might help us out for the TSF. Pauline couldn�t get ahold of her though. Her number was no longer in service. And so, I was starting to think about maybe asking my mom if she would step up.�

Gordon chuckled at this. �That would�ve been something,� he said. �Your momma steppin� up on the stage and playing with you at a heavy metal festival.�

�Hey,� Jake said. �I think she could�ve pulled it off. My mom knows how to rock when she has to. Besides, none of my tunes with violin in them are really hard rockers anyway.�

�True,� G said. He had listened to all of Jake�s solo albums and did, in fact, particularly appreciate the cuts with Mary Kingsley playing her fiddle.

�But before I could even think of a way to ask her, Natalie just up and calls Pauline out of the blue. She tells her that her husband just got a gig flying for United Express out of John Wayne and they�ve moved back to So-Cal and was there maybe any studio sessions she could do? And, just like that, violinist problem solved. She�s not quite as good as Eric or my mom, but she�s pretty damn close and she�s already familiar with a good portion of my tunes.�

G nodded appreciatively. �I like it when shit just works its way out like that.�

�Yeah, me too,� Jake agreed. �And then, just after Nat joined the team, I found a keyboardist I liked. Ron Sailor.�

�I�ve heard that name before,� G said. �I�m not sure where, but I�ve heard it.�

�He used to play with Tubular back in the late eighties,� Jake said. �After they broke up, he mostly did session work and the occasional live gig as a support player. He�s worked with Bob Seger, Neil Diamond, Stevie Nicks, and Joe Satriani. Impressive resume, right? He auditioned for me and fuckin� nailed it. The dude is amazing on the instrument. He can play the synthesizer and the piano and he agreed to work for the basic session wages that I pay.�

�Sounds like you scored,� G said.

�Sounded like it,� Jake said. �As it turned out though, I should have talked to Bob and Neil and Stevie and Joe before I brought him onboard. He only lasted a week and a half and then I had to fire him.�

�What happened?�

�He�s a fuckin� alky. And I mean a hard-core alky. He missed two sessions completely and was drunk at all the others. And even if I didn�t have a rule against that sort of shit, his skill on his instrument decreases proportionately with his intake.�

Gordon shook his head sadly. �That�s a damn shame,� he said. �Far be it from me to judge someone for their drinking�I�m pretty much a functional alcoholic myself�but to let it fuck up your livelihood? I just don�t get that shit.�

�Me either,� Jake said. �And I�m a man who spent a good portion of 1990 and early �91 drunk and wallowing in self-pity.�

�The South Island Blur,� G said. He was one of the few people on Earth who realized that Jake�s most popular solo tune was not about partying in the tropics, as was commonly believed.

�Fuckin� A,� Jake said. �So, anyway, I still need to find a keyboard player who can lay down the piano and the synthesizer tracks, or one of each. And the TSF just keeps getting closer and closer. Hopefully, Pauline will have some auditions for me this week.�

�You know something, homey,� Gordon said, �I�m a little disappointed in you.�

�Why is that?�

�Why the fuck didn�t you ask me to lay down the keyboards for you?�

�You?� Jake asked, surprised.

�Me,� he confirmed, grinning slyly. �Is it the color of my skin or something?�

�What?�

�Don�t want no darkie playin� on your stage and making the rest of y�all look bad?�

Jake looked at him and then shook his head in amusement. �Yeah, that�s exactly what it was,� he said.

They shared a laugh. �Seriously though, homey,� G said. �Why didn�t you ask? You know I play a mean piano and you know I do all the synthesizer tracks on my cuts.�

�I guess it never occurred to me,� Jake said. �Are you offering?�

�Fuckin� A, I�m offering. I owe you big for all the work you�ve done with me on Step and Signed and my tour. Least I can do is help you out with the TSF. Besides, I ain�t got much going on these days. Neesh is gonna be working sixty-hour weeks for a while so I need something to occupy my days.�

�Well ... all right then,� Jake said. �Why don�t we give it a shot?�

�Let�s do it,� G said. �Monday morning, nine o�clock, KVA Records?�

�That�s where we�ll be. How much money you want for this gig?�

�Not a dime,� G said. �I�m just helpin� a brother out.�

�Bullshit,� Jake said. �I�ll at least pay you the same as I pay the other musicians�fifty an hour for the rehearsals and your cut of a hundred grand for the TSF itself.�

�If it makes you feel better to do that, I won�t argue about it.�

�It would make me feel better,� Jake confirmed. �And what about doing some of your material? We should probably at least do Step and Signed, right?�

Gordon was shaking his head. �I don�t think we should do any of my shit,� he said. �It�s your show, not mine. In fact, I don�t think you should even introduce me. No sense distracting their attention away from you. I�ll just come out with a hat and a pair of sunglasses on and play my part and let everyone wonder who that nigger on the keyboards is. It�ll be fun.�

�You sure about this?� Jake asked.

�As sure as scoring with a groupie,� G said.

�That�s pretty sure,� Jake said.

�Yep.�

They watched the sun disappear over the horizon and the first few stars come out. They then picked up the cooler and the empty bottles and headed back to the house. After throwing away what needed to be thrown away and then stowing everything else, they each opened a fresh beer and headed for the entertainment room.

�Hey,� Gordon suddenly said, �remember that talk box I gave you?�

�Of course,� Jake said. �I have it in my composition room.�

�Did you ever figure out how to make music with it?�

�Hell yeah,� Jake said. �You were right when you said it adds a whole separate layer to making notes, but I took it up to Oregon with me when we were recording the last albums and played around with it quite a lot in one of the empty iso rooms when I wasn�t needed on a track in progress. I got to be pretty good with it, actually�not quite Frampton level or anything, but I can do solos and riffs that don�t sound like somebody strangling a chicken.�

�No shit?�

�No shit,� Jake confirmed. �I might even find a way to lay down a track or two with it on my next album.�

�Bust it out, homey,� Gordon said. �Let me hear you play it.�

�Uh ... sure, okay,� Jake said. �Just help me carry the shit in here.�

They went to the composition room and hauled the amplifier, the speaker, the talk box, the microphone stand, the various cords and cables, and Jake�s sunburst Les Paul guitar back to the entertainment room. This took about ten minutes to accomplish. Hooking everything up took another ten. G then sat down on the couch across from Jake, near the speaker, and Jake sat down in a chair. He quickly tuned the guitar by ear and then set it up for moderate distortion. He played out a few riffs and a brief solo in order to get into the groove of playing. He then stepped down on the talk box pedal.

�All right,� he told G. �Here goes.�

He put the plastic tube in his mouth and then began to play some simple riffs on the Les Paul. The vibration of the strings was converted to an analog signal by the dual Humbucker pickups on the guitar and then shipped to the amplifier by the guitar cord, where it was distorted and amplified and then sent to the talk box, which was a basic isolation box with a plastic tube coming out of it. The sound traveled through the air inside that plastic tube and was emitted in Jake�s mouth, where he could use his lips, tongue, and jaw to further shape it in a variety of ways. From Jake�s mouth, it went into the microphone and came out the speaker.

He kept his lips, tongue, and jaw in a neutral position at first, so the notes he played came out sounding mostly normal, with just a bit of an echo effect. He played a brief solo and then the riff for Ozzie�s I Don�t Know. From there, he started to use his lips and tongue a bit, transitioning into the main riff for the Eagles� Those Shoes, followed by the blues stomp from Rocky Mountain Way. He pulled these off pretty well, improving with each repetition he made.

�I like that shit, homey,� G told him enthusiastically. �It�s like Joe Walsh is in the fuckin� room with us.�

�I don�t know about that,� Jake said modestly (and truthfully), �but I have definitely picked up the basics of the device.�

�Do some Frampton,� Gordon ordered. �That�s the gold standard there�and don�t even try to tell me you haven�t been playing around with Frampton�s shit.�

Jake chuckled. He had actually been about to make that claim. �All right,� he said. �Just don�t expect too much.�

He ran through his Peter Frampton repertoire, starting with Show Me the Way and then moving into the extended talk-box solo from Do You Feel Like We Do? Though he did not have quite the same output dynamic as Frampton had because of differing distortion levels, he was able to duplicate the talking guitar effect reasonably well. From there, he played some other examples of talk box tunes that he had taught himself: Nazareth�s Hair of the Dog, Pink Floyd�s Pigs (Three Different Ones), Bon Jovi�s Livin� on a Prayer, and Steely Dan�s Haitian Divorce. Finally, he silenced the guitar and removed his mouth from the tube, breathing heavily.

�That was badass!� Gordon declared.

�I guess,� Jake said, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. �I always forget to breathe as much as I should when I use this thing. It�s like walking uphill.�

�You have got to find a way to use that thing at the TSF.�

�The TSF?� Jake said, shaking his head. �No way. We�re already pressed for time to work the set up. There�s no way I could work in a completely new tune.�

�I�m not saying you need to come up with an entirely new tune,� G said. �I�m saying that you can find a way to adapt the box into one of your existing tunes that you plan to play anyway. Extend the solo or the bridge or maybe even both on one of the less popular cuts and make it into something new. That�s what Frampton did with Feel, isn�t it?�

�Uh ... yeah, that is my understanding.�

�And the live version of Feel is now Frampton�s most popular track, isn�t it?�

�It�s certainly up there,� Jake had to admit. �Are you suggesting that I could pull something off like Frampton did? Take one of my more marginal tunes and turn it into something new by adding in some talk box.�

�Fuckin� A,� Gordon said. �You could be this generation�s Peter fucking Frampton.�

�I am nowhere near as skilled with the instrument as Frampton or Walsh or even Sambora. I�m not sure I could pull it off.�

�You may not be as skilled as them, but you�re no slouch either. I think you can do this shit, Jake.�

Jake thought about it for a few seconds. The idea seemed to gain appeal the more thinking he did. �Maybe,� he said at last. �But if I do this, you need to step up as well.�

�What do you mean?�

�I want a keyboard solo of some kind in the tune as well. And I want to introduce you to the crowd at that point in the show.�

�Introduce me as Bigg G?� he asked. �I don�t really want to go there.�

�I�ll introduce you as Gordon Paladay,� Jake countered. �Just a brief little blast out, like Frampton did for Bob Mayo on the live version of Feel. I�ll even imitate the style: �Gordon Paladay on the keyboards, Gordon Paladay�. Cue the audience applause in honor of you. I then transition into the guitar solo and the talk box solo.�

Gordon nodded his head as he thought this over. �Okay,� he said. �I can get into that. Most of the people in your audience won�t even know that my real name is Gordon Paladay. The media people will pick up on it though. The secret won�t be secret for long.�

�No, but will the knowledge that you played keyboards for me at the TSF hurt either of our reputations? It�s already known by your target demographic and mine that we collaborate on our music. I think it would do nothing but give me some added street cred and you some added musical cred.�

A few more nods from Gordon. �You do have a point there, homey,� he said.

�Why don�t we take a look at the set list I put together and see where we can do this thing?� Jake suggested.

�Bust it out,� Gordon said.

There was a three-and-a-half-week break between the last date of Matt Tisdale�s European tour in Odesa, Ukraine and the first date of the Asian tour in Seoul, South Korea. This was how long it would take for the equipment to travel by ship from the port of Odesa, through the Suez Canal, arrive at the port of Incheon, and then be trucked from there to Seoul to await the arrival of the crew to set everything up. The plan had been for the band and crew to enjoy their tour break at a resort on the Greek island of Mykonos in the Aegean Sea, and, in fact, most of the band and crew were still going to do just that. But Jim Ramos, Matt�s tour paramedic, whose job it was to stay by Matt�s side at all times during the trip, would not get to see the resort this time around. Instead, he was flying back to Los Angeles with Matt so that Matt could spend the break sorting through his IRS and state franchise tax board troubles.

�Was I right about the Ukrainian gash, or what?� Matt asked as they cruised high above Belarus about an hour after lifting off from Kiev. They were en route to London, as the Ukrainian International Airlines currently did not have any planes capable of reaching the United States nonstop. That was okay with Jim. He did not really wish to fly any further with UIA than he had to.

�It was some pretty good gash,� Jim said honestly. Though the Ukrainian groupies that he had bedded since arriving in the country eight days ago were not into shaving or even trimming things down below, they had all been extremely beautiful and enthusiastic sex partners. It had been an experience to remember in a trip full of such things.

�It�s gonna be kind of hard to go back to regular gash now,� Matt said sadly. He then shrugged. �Oh well. Life goes on, right?�

�Right,� Jim agreed, taking a sip from his gin and tonic.

Matt lit up a cigarette�smoking was still allowed on UIA flights�and puffed on it thoughtfully for a moment while sipping out of his own Jack and coke. �I�m sorry about you having to miss out on that fuckin� Greek island,� he said. �It sounded like a good place to let your schlong out on the beach and kick back for a few.�

�It�s no big,� Jim told him. �It�ll be nice to spend a little time at home.�

�I guess,� Matt said. �I really do feel bad about dragging your ass along with me. After all, I won�t need you when I�m in LA and have access to American fucking healthcare. It�s just these flights out of the third world and back to America that make me nervous.�

�Don�t sweat it,� Jim told him. �This is my job, what you pay me all that money for. And, like I said, I�d rather be home for a few weeks than sitting on an island with my schlong out.�

Matt looked at him pointedly. �You can�t possibly be serious about that.�

�Dead serious,� Jim said. �There will be other tour breaks, right? They�re setting us up in Rio for the break between Asia and South America. And then we get to go to Vegas for the TSF in the middle of it. That�s all shit I never got to do as a private paramedic. Believe me, Matt. I will never be one to complain about having to do my job. Especially not when I�m working for you.�

�All right then,� Matt said, taking another drag. �I guess I�ll keep you around a little while longer.�

They flew on for a bit, long enough for the two of them to finish their drinks and order two more. While they were waiting for them to arrive, Jim looked over at Matt once again. �I know it�s none of my business,� he said, �and feel free to tell me that, but how much tax trouble are you in?�

�That�s what I�m going home to find out,� Matt said sourly. �It will be significant, I�m afraid. According to the tax lawyer I hired, I should probably just bend over and start slabbing on the lube right now so at least when they stick it in, it won�t hurt as much.�

�Your lawyer said that?� Jim asked.

�I�m paraphrasing a bit,� he replied, �but that�s the general gist of the situation. I haven�t paid any state or federal taxes on my solo income since I started getting it.�

�None at all?� Jim asked, astounded.

�That fuckin� scumbag accountant I had doing my taxes told me I didn�t have to,� he said. �And then the motherfucker skipped off to South America with another sixteen million of my dollars when the shit hit the fan.�

�That�s fucked up,� Jim said, unable to think of anything else.

�That�s a good way of putting it,� Matt said. �I�ll tell you one thing, if I ever catch up with that motherfucker down there ... or anywhere ... his ass is fuckin� lunchmeat. And I mean that shit literally. I will kill him where he stands and then grind him up and turn him into hamburger and feed him to the fuckin� dogs in the dog pound.�

Jim felt a little chill as he heard this. He had no trouble envisioning Matt Tisdale doing exactly what he just said to someone who had wronged him in this manner.

Matt dozed off a few minutes after finishing his drink. Jim watched the scenery passing by outside his first-class window (on UIA, first-class meant you got free drinks, got to sit up front, board first and exit first, and your seat was slightly bigger than the common person�s seat). He still enjoyed looking at places he had never been before. They landed on time at Heathrow and then spent the two-hour layover in the British Airways first-class lounge drinking Jack and cokes and gin and tonics, respectively. Finally, it was time to board one of the new 777 aircraft for the long flight to Los Angeles.

�Now this is fuckin� class,� Matt said as they were directed to their seats. He had chosen British Airways specifically for the first-class arrangements.

�That ain�t no shit,� Jim said, impressed. Their seats were next to each other at the very front of the aircraft. They both had twenty-inch television screens and the seats were plush, separated from each other, had dedicated armrests, and were capable of fully reclining into the supine position. It was like sitting in a recliner in front of the TV at home.

Matt took the aisle seat�he had no interest in looking out the window in flight�and tried it out for a few minutes while other passengers streamed by on their way to their own seats. Some recognized him and a few greeted him, but no one asked for his autograph. Apparently, there was some taboo against doing that on a boarding aircraft.

When the boarding was pretty much complete but the door to the plane was still open, Matt suddenly stood up and got the attention of one of the British flight attendants.

�Can I help you with something, Mr. Tisdale?� she asked politely, her English accent quite strong and aristocratic sounding.

�Yeah,� Matt said. �Where�s the pisser? I gotta offload.�

She directed him to the facilities. While he was in there, the flight attendant took a moment to check out Jim. �Are you one of Mr. Tisdale�s band members?� she asked.

�No,� Jim said. �I�m his paramedic.�

�His paramedic?�

�It�s a long story,� he said.

She smiled at him. �Maybe you�d like to tell it to me sometime?�

�How�s that?� he asked, confused.

�Or any other story of your travels,� she said, a saucy smile on her face. �I have a three-day layover in Los Angeles. Perhaps we could get together during that.�

Jim looked her up and down for a few moments, taking her in. She really was quite attractive. Brunette hair, brown eyes, a feminine, curvy body. A woman who would have been quite out of his league before he was on the payroll of Matt Tisdale. And now she was propositioning him just minutes after meeting him for the first time. �I think I would like that,� he said with a smile of his own.

�Lovely,� she said. �They�re putting us up in the Hilton at the airport. Two to a room. Maybe you have someplace a little more ... oh ... private?�

�Uh ... actually, I�m going to be staying at Matt�s place in Orange County. You see, I gave up my apartment when we went out on tour.�

�Will Mr. Tisdale mind if you have a guest over?� she asked.

�You know, I don�t think he will.�

Matt did not have a problem with this. In fact, he was quite proud of his medic. �The English stewardess, huh? And she just came out and asked for it?�

�That�s how it went down,� Jim told him.

�Out of fuckin� sight,� he said, impressed. �She�s definitely doable. Hell yeah! Bring her on over. I was going to have a talk with you about how you can�t fuck Kim the first night we�re home, but now I don�t have to.�

�Only the first night?� Jim asked.

�Yeah. I�m sure she�ll want my schlong on that first night, and I�ll want her snatch. But after that, all of LA is open to me. And while this foreign gash we�ve been getting is pretty good�particularly the Ukrainian gash�there�s still a lot to be said for good old, Grade A rated American gash. Am I right?�

�You are right,� Jim had to agree.

They took off on time and headed northwest out over the ocean, taking the great-circle route up over Greenland and northern Canada. Matt and Jim both had two more drinks after reaching cruising altitude and then reclined their chairs and went to sleep. They awoke for a bit just before the aircraft crossed the east coast of Labrador. They ate their dinners�both had seen the movie Airplane and went with the steak dinner instead of the fish�had another few drinks, and then went right back to sleep. They did not wake up again until the plane began to descend into the landing pattern for LAX.

After clearing the customs checkpoint, they met the English stewardess�her name was Holly as it turned out�in front of the terminal. She was now dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut blouse that showed off an impressive amount of cleavage. She rolled her wheeled travel bag with her. They climbed into the limo that Matt had arranged for and started heading for the western outskirts of San Juan Capistrano. All of them were quite jetlagged, though Holly was probably more used to it. They had left London at 4:10 PM Greenwich Time, flown for more than eleven hours, and it was now 7:45 PM Pacific Time, but their bodies were telling them it was early in the morning, right around sunrise. Fortunately, Matt had a great remedy for this. He poured everyone a healthy shot of Jack Daniels and they put them in their stomachs.

Holly was quite impressed with Matt�s mansion on the beach. She was also quite impressed to meet Mary Ann Cummings, declaring that she had seen every one of her films and owned multiple videotapes from her production company.

�Which is your favorite?� Kim asked her.

�I have to say that To Fill a Mockingbird is the one that gets me the hottest and that I�ve watched the most.�

�Ahhh yes,� Kim said. �People do seem to like the whole brother and sister aspect of that film. What about my production tapes?�

�The Amateur Lesbians series,� Holly said without hesitation. �I own every volume.�

�Interesting,� Kim said with a knowing smile. �The subject interests you?�

�It does,� Holly agreed.

�Ever had a chance to try it yourself?�

�Not yet,� Holly said. �But if the opportunity ever came up...�

�Maybe that will happen,� Kim suggested.

They ate dinner�even though it felt to the recent travelers that they should be eating breakfast�and had a few more drinks. Matt then declared that he needed to get his dick wet and that Holly and Jim should make themselves at home. He led Kim to the bedroom. Jim and Holly soon retired to the guest bedroom and became better acquainted�intimately acquainted you might say�themselves.

Holly stayed the night. The next day, shortly after lunch, Jim and Matt sat in easy chairs and watched enthusiastically as Kim and Holly stripped down and had a lengthy and hot session of lesbian sex on the couch. After about forty-five minutes or so, Matt declared that it was time for the guys to get in on the action as well. He stood and started stripping off his clothes. Jim hesitated for a moment, feeling a little awkward�should they maybe ask permission first? he wondered�but then he got over it. He started pulling off his own clothes.

�All right, you get Kim,� Matt directed. �I�ll start on the stewardess bitch.�

�Uh ... okay,� he said. Kim was currently kneeling on the floor, her face between Holly�s widely spread legs, licking away. Holly was leaning her head back, an expression of bliss on her face, her hands running through Kim�s hair.

�Condoms are in the bowl there,� Matt pointed. �And remember the rule of two guys in the foursome.�

�No touching each other,� Jim recited.

�Except to high five,� Matt amended. �Let�s do this.�

They did it. Matt crawled up on the couch next to Holly. �Here, baby,� he said. �Why don�t you suck on this a little?�

Jim worried that Holly might balk at having an unfamiliar erection shoved in her face, but she did not. She unhesitantly slurped it down and went to work on it, occasionally taking her mouth off to moan when Kim licked a particularly erogenous region. Jim then grabbed a condom out of the bowl and put a helmet on his little soldier. He walked up behind Kim and put his hand on her ass cheek, stroking gently. This, he had learned in his travels with Matt, was the accepted etiquette for asking permission to enter during an event that fell under the definition of an orgy. Kim moaned out an enthusiastic �mmm hmmm� to him and repositioned herself so her butt was sticking up in the air. He got into position and put himself inside of her.

They had a good time for the next two hours or so, using up two condoms apiece. Jim came once while fucking Kim and once while fucking Holly�s ass while Kim licked his balls and Matt fucked Kim�s ass. It was a good time, and it is mentioned here because it was the only good time that Matt managed to have during his tour break. He spent the rest of the time prepping himself to have his own ass fucked by a much bigger dick than his or Jim�s.

Wesley Brimm was the tax attorney that Pauline had set Matt up with. He met the man for the first time in person at the Brackford, Redman, and Jackson offices in Brentwood two days after the impromptu orgy in his mansion. He was a short man of slight build, his features prissy and feminine looking, his voice matching his features, but he was reputed to be one of the foremost exports on federal and California taxation laws as they related to people and/or corporations who made more than a million dollars a year. It was he who advised Pauline and Jill on KVA tax issues.

�You are in serious trouble here, Matt,� was his summary of the situation.

�I kinda got that impression,� Matt said.

�As expected, the franchise tax board notified the IRS of the income discrepancy they uncovered, and the IRS immediately ordered an audit of your taxes from 1991 to 1995.�

�I know,� Matt said sourly. �You had me fax that form that released all my documentation to them and authorized you to be my mouthpiece.�

�That audit began two weeks ago,� Wesley said. �They haven�t even started working their way backwards yet. They�re still doing the preliminaries of 1995�s taxes and already you�re in very deep water.�

�What are we talking here? Jail time?�

�Oh no, they�re not going to pursue incarceration,� Wesley said. �If you�re in jail, you�re not making money. And they want their money. And they will do anything in their power to get it. To get all of it, plus interest and penalties.�

�And what is in their power?� Matt wanted to know.

�It would be easier to tell you what is not in their power. They have many avenues at their disposal, and they are already starting to implement them. Just based on the preliminary exam of 1995, they have already put liens on both of your California real estate holdings, have put a hold on your ability to transfer large amounts of money out of your bank accounts, have frozen your certificates of deposit and bond holdings, and set a tracker on any sale of stock certificates in your name.�

�Assholes,� Matt spat.

�They�re doing the job they are paid to do,� Wesley said. �And they do it extremely well in situations like this.�

�What happens next?�

�When the audit is complete, they will issue their findings and tell us what the amount of back taxes plus interest and penalties you owe. They will demand payment of the full amount within ninety days.�

�They won�t let me negotiate a payment plan or some shit like that?�

�They will negotiate with me on that manner, but it is they who get to decide what is fair and equitable. They are not going to simply tell you to pay a couple thousand a month until it is paid off. They will expect at least half of each of your royalty checks for starters.�

�Half?�

�Half,� he confirmed. �In addition, they will move to seize and auction off your nonessential property to pay down the debt. Your helicopter and your yacht will be the first things they go after. They will likely make a move on one of your domiciles as well.�

�My domiciles? What the fuck does that mean?�

�Your real estate holdings,� Wesley explained. �You own a condo and a house in California. They will argue that you do not need two residences. My guess is that they will go after the San Juan Capistrano home because it is worth more.�

�They can�t take my fuckin� house!� Matt yelled.

�They can�t take both of them,� Wesley corrected. �They can take one. And since the San Juan Capistrano house is worth more, that�s the one they will go after. Now, a judge may disagree, especially when I argue that that domicile is your primary residence, but they�ll have the LA condo at the very least. And they�ll keep the lien on the other house no matter what. You will not be able to sell it without their say-so.�

�This shit�s like Nazi-fucking-Germany!�

�No, it�s like the United States Internal Revenue Service when you owe them a lot of money,� he said. �And things don�t end there. They know about all of your possessions, Matt. They subpoenaed the records from your insurance company, including the appraisals of value. Everything deemed unessential is up for grabs. Your guitar collection, for instance. It is valued at three hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars. They will go after that.�

�My guitars?! What the fuck, dude?� And then something even darker occurred to him. �My Strat! They can�t take my Strat from me, can they? I�ll never give it to those motherfuckers! I�ll burn it first!�

�The Stratocaster you play is insured separately and listed as a unique asset,� Wesley said. �By itself, it is currently valued at ninety-five thousand dollars, though I personally think it would sell for much more at auction. And yes, they may try to go after it, but I am reasonably sure I could convince a judge that that particular guitar is essential to your income stream and reputation as a musician.�

�Reasonably sure? What the fuck does that mean?�

�It means that I can�t promise you that some judge will not order it turned over, but it is unlikely.�

�Oh ... okay,� Matt said, feeling a little better, but not much.

�My strong suggestion to you,� Wesley went on, �is that we ask for permission for you to start selling off some of these assets yourself.�

�How does that help anything?� he asked, pondering the loss of his yacht and his helicopter and one of his pads. He hadn�t even ridden in the helicopter yet! Had never even met the pilot he�d hired to fly it! And now he was going to have to fire him along with all the other crew of the yacht. It had been a long time since he had felt like crying�probably more than thirty years�but he felt like that now.

�You�ll get more money for them that way and pay down the debt faster. If the IRS seizes your yacht and your helicopter, for instance, they�ll just auction them off with little to no effort and take whatever they get. But if you sell it, you have a vested interest and can work to get a better price. Same for your LA condo. In addition, if you sell the condo yourself, then the argument about them seizing the San Juan Capistrano domicile becomes null and void.�

Matt nodded miserably. �I guess I understand that shit,� he said. �What about my pad down in Cabo? Will they try to take that too?�

Wesley shook his head. �That possession is out of their reach,� he said. �It is in Mexico, not the United States, and they have no ability or jurisdiction to seize it. However, I would strongly suggest that you consider selling it as well.�

�Sell my Cabo house?� he asked, outraged. �Why the fuck would I do that if I don�t have to?�

�For money to pay them off,� the lawyer explained. �My understanding is that you own the house in Cabo San Lucas free and clear, correct?�

�Well ... I own the house itself,� he said. �Paid cash for that motherfucker when I bought it. Two hundred fuckin� Gs. But I don�t own the land it sits on. Those fuckin� beaners won�t let Americans actually buy the land from them. I have a ninety-nine-year lease on the property�well, ninety-five years at this point.�

�That doesn�t really matter,� Wesley said. �You have de facto ownership of the property.�

�De facto?�

�That means that for all intents and purposes, the property is yours to do with as you please,� he explained. �That ninety-five-year lease would transfer to any potential buyer, so the land retains the same value it would have if you did legally own it. And real estate in Cabo San Lucas�particularly two acres of actual waterfront real estate�is extremely valuable right now. I checked with our real estate department on this. Even without the house on it, that land would be worth well over a million dollars American now. With the house, it�s worth maybe one point four million.�

�Damn,� Matt said slowly. �That�s a pretty good investment I made, isn�t it?�

�It was,� Wesley agreed. �You bought at exactly the right time, just a year or so before Cabo San Lucas was discovered and became a major tourist destination. You could unload that property today, by the close of business hours, for one point three million minimum. That would be a pretty decent chunk of what you will end up owing to California and the IRS.�

Matt was shaking his head. �No fuckin� way,� he said. �I ain�t selling my house in Cabo. I�ll keep it until I die.�

�Are you sure that is a wise decision, Matt?� Wesley asked. �My understanding is that you only spend a few weeks there a year.�

�It doesn�t matter,� Matt said. �That house is mine. I love it almost as much as I do my fuckin� Strat. I ain�t givin� it up.�

Wesley gave a sour face but let the subject drop. �All right then,� he said. �You hang on to the domicile in Mexico.�

�You were talking some shit in one of our phone calls about how the only way I can claim that my income isn�t taxable is if I renounce my American citizenship.�

�Yes,� Wesley said carefully. �I did say that.�

�Is that shit still on the table?�

�What do you mean?�

�I mean, if I renounce my citizenship and move my ass down to Mexico, does that make all this shit go away?�

�No,� the lawyer said simply. �You would still be on the hook for the back taxes and the penalties that you incurred before you renounced your citizenship. As to future income after you did such a drastic thing, even that is up to debate if you are still primarily obtaining your income from music sales in the United States. And even if that all went well�which is very questionable at best�you would literally have to live in Mexico the majority of the time and be able to prove that you are living in Mexico. And you would then have to start paying taxes to Mexico on your income.�

�Mexico has taxes?� he asked. He had never even considered such a thing.

�Yes, Matt,� Wesley said patiently. �Mexico has taxes. And I would suspect that their version of the IRS is not as polite as ours.�

�Wow,� he said. �Who woulda thought?�

And so, over the next ten days, Matt and Wesley worked together with the firm�s real estate department to begin working on the liquidation of some of his most beloved assets. Wesley spoke with the lead agent in charge of the Matthew Norman Tisdale investigation and was given permission to begin unloading things. He was warned very sternly that each transaction would be watched very carefully for signs of deceit, that each transaction would need to be signed off on by him, and that the capital gains taxation was still very much in play.

�Capital gains tax!� Matt yelled, outraged, when he was told about this. �You�re telling me these motherfuckers are going to tax me on the money I make by selling my fuckin� condo and my fuckin� stocks when the only reason I�m selling them is to pay their asses?�

�That is correct,� Wesley told him.

�This shit ain�t right, dude,� Matt said.

�Right or not, it�s the way things work, Matt.�

�Assholes,� he spat again.

�So ... anyway, we were talking about the listing price for your condo in LA. I�m told that one point three million is not an unreasonable number. Shall we start there?�

While Matt was putting his condo and his yacht and his helicopter on the market (and starting to grudgingly think about putting some of his guitars on the market as well), the Celia Valdez tour was in Madrid, Spain for four sold-out shows. They were staying in the Westin Palace Hotel, a quaint, huge hotel that had been built in the early twentieth century and had once been the largest hotel in Europe. Celia and the band had flown into Madrid-Barajas International the morning after their last show in Marseille, France. They had two days to enjoy the city before the first date. It would take that long for their equipment and crew, which was traveling by trucks and buses respectively, to arrive and be assembled.

The weather was pleasant in Madrid, a little on the warm side with blue skies and a gentle breeze blowing. The hotel suites they stayed in were pleasant as well, a little dated, but with all the luxuries and perks that the travelers had grown accustomed to. They checked in and then met for lunch in the Rotunda Restaurant and Lounge which sat beneath a large glass dome. Everyone chowed down on Spanish food and drank a few glasses of Spanish wine (except for Eric, who had had to take a Xanax for the plane ride) and then went back to their suites to take naps. They had just finished back-to-back dates in Marseille with an early travel day after the final show and all were tired and out of sorts.

Celia closed her curtains and blinds. She turned the air conditioning to high. She turned off all the lights. She then stripped herself naked and snuggled in under the covers of the King-sized bed. She was extremely horny and planned to paddle her pink canoe all the way to the Falls of Orgasm before her nap. She had not had anything resembling actual sex since the last night she had spent with Suzie, Jake, and Laura in Caracas before flying in Jake�s plane to Barquisimeto. That night, she and Suzie had enjoyed a long, luxuriant session of sapphic love in Celia�s suite and then slept the rest of the night in each other�s arms. Since then, not so much as a kiss. While staying in Barquisimeto, Suzie had had her own hotel room while Celia slept at her parents� house in her old bedroom. They had not wanted to give her parents or brother the idea that there was any truth to the media stories about the two of them. And then Suzie had flown off with Jake and Laura while she had stayed behind in her hometown. And she had not seen or talked to Suzie since. Aristocrat tour management was flying them all first-class commercial between the European cities so there was no need for a dedicated aircrew.

She thought of Suzie now, as her fingers began to idly play with her inner thighs, her outer lips. Suzie with her wonderful feminine kisses, her large nipples, her skill with her lips and tongue. She juiced up a little, began to feel the familiar tingling of sexual arousal, but could not seem to get fully into the fantasy. With a sigh, she started thinking about that one night in Portland with Jake�a memory she did not take out often�and that juiced her up a little more but, for the first time ever with that particular memory, she still could not quite get into things, could not bring her arousal up enough to make a reasonable push toward her destination.

What is the matter with me? she thought, frustrated, but it was a rhetorical thought. She knew what the problem was. It had happened before. She had reached the point where paddling the pink canoe was just not going to cut it any longer. She needed the real thing in some way, shape, or form. But there was no prospect in sight, neither male nor female. She knew she would have no trouble getting herself laid if she really wanted to�by either sex�but she needed to have an emotional connection of some sort or she simply would not enjoy it. Sometimes she thought it must be easier being a man. Men did not care who they had sex with. They could bang someone whose name they did not even know without a second thought.

And so, feeling horny and frustrated, her fingers still touching her soft lower lips, she fell asleep, unfulfilled. She slept for four hours straight, hardly moving at all, soft little feminine snores occasionally coming out of her mouth. She likely would have slept for another two or three hours if the phone had not started ringing, dragging her out of her slumber.

She groped for the handset and finally managed to pick it up and put it to her ear.

�Marie Vasquez�s room,� she grunted into it.

�Hey, C,� Laura�s voice said. �It�s me.�

Celia blinked a few times and slowly sat up. �Hey, Teach,� she said. �What�s up?�

�I was calling to see if you were going to go down to dinner tonight.�

She yawned. �What time is it?�

�About eight-thirty,� Laura told her. �I just woke up from a pretty good nap a few minutes ago.�

�Ugg,� Celia grunted, seeing that she was still naked and probably smelled a little like a wet vagina. �I think I�m going to do the room service thing tonight. I do not feel like showering and doing my hair just to go down and eat.�

�That�s kind of what I was thinking as well,� Laura said. �Just thought I�d check in with you first.�

�I appreciate it,� Celia said. �If you want to, come over to my room and we can eat together. Maybe have a few drinks.�

�Hmm,� Laura said thoughtfully. �The sounds like a good idea. You need to give me a few minutes to get dressed. I�m currently just wearing my old sweatpants and a t-shirt.�

�You don�t have to dress up on my account,� Celia told her. �I�m only across the hall. And I�ll be wearing my jammies as well.�

�A pajama party huh?� Laura said. �Sounds like fun. I�ll be right over.�

�Okay. See you then.�

She hung up the phone and then went to her travel bag, which she had yet to unpack. She rummaged around in it and found a pair of baggy gray cotton shorts and a long t-shirt with a faded picture of Winne the Poo on it. She pulled the shorts over her legs, not bothering with underwear, and the t-shirt over her head, not bothering with a bra. She washed her hands with soap and water in the bathroom sink. As she was drying them on the hotel towel, she heard knocking on the door.

She put her eye to the peephole and verified it was Laura out there. She then opened the door and let her in. The sax player was a little bleary-eyed as well. Her hair was down and uncombed. She was dressed in a ratty green t-shirt with a picture of a kiwi bird on it and a faded pair of black sweatpants. Her socks were plain white. The way her small breasts jiggled as she entered told Celia that she had not bothered donning a bra either. She took a moment to admire the sight surreptitiously. Ever since she started having sex with Suzie, she found herself appreciating the female body and its attributes on more than a strictly aesthetic level.

�What are you drinking?� Celia asked her as they walked into the suite�s sitting room, where the bar was.

�I don�t know,� Laura said. �What are you going to have?�

�I�m thinking a vodka and tonic,� she said. �They have some of that new stuff that Jake introduced me to: Grey Goose.�

�Oh yeah,� Laura said with a nod. �That stuff is pretty smooth. I�m surprised they have it here in Spain. I thought it was just in the states.�

�This hotel is known for catering to Americans,� Celia said, walking over to the bar.

�Oh, I guess that makes sense. I�ll take one of those as well.�

�Two Grey Geese and tonics coming up,� Celia said, pulling down two water tumblers.

They sat down at the dining room table to sip their drinks and peruse the room service menu. Since the hotel catered heavily to American tourists there was plenty of American cuisine to choose from. They both chose instead to order some Spanish cuisine since they were, after all, in Spain and neither of them had ever been in the country before or sampled its food. They both went with the paella, a rice dish made with chicken and various peppers. Celia made the call, ordering the dinner, a few appetizers (in case she got hungry later) and a bottle of local white wine. They were able to down two goose and tonics apiece before the knock on the door came.

Laura, who was not as recognizable as Celia, answered the door while Celia stepped into the other room to be out of sight. She let the server in and watched as he set up their plates on the dining room table and opened the wine for them. She then tipped him with a one thousand peseta note�the equivalent of about five dollars US�and thanked him in Spanish for his effort.

�Food�s on!� she yelled to Celia once he was gone.

They both found the paella to be quite spicy but delicious. They ate the entire meal and finished the bottle of wine. After setting the dinner dishes out in the hallway for pickup, Celia made them each another goose and tonic and they went out onto the small balcony. The sun was low in the sky but had not set yet and the breeze was pleasant. They could see the main avenue in front of the hotel, which was still heavy with foot and vehicular traffic. They sat down in the reclining chairs and watched night approach Spain�s largest city.

�I wish we had some cigars,� Celia said. �I could really go for one about now.�

�Me too,� Laura agreed. �Maybe you can get Larry working on that tomorrow.�

�I will put it on my list,� she said.

�Ask him if he can score a little pot too,� she said. �I know we can�t travel with it, but if he could get me just enough for the six days we�re here, that would be nice.�

�I�ll ask him,� she promised.

�You would think they have good pot in Spain, wouldn�t you? I mean, it�s a warm country, kind of tropical in places. Isn�t that where good pot likes to grow?�

�I do not know enough about the subject to speak with authority,� Celia said. �But I am certain there is pot for sale somewhere in Madrid. And if there is, Larry should be able to find it.�

�He does have a nose for sniffing out black market items,� Laura said.

�As any good tour manager should,� Celia said.

They talked of inconsequential things mostly, with occasional brief forays into the subject of Greg and Mindy and Grand Oldfellow. Celia was more amused than anything else about the stories circulating in the entertainment media about how Greg was trying to wrestle custody of the infant from the unfit mother (he most certainly was not, and Celia did not have to be told this to know it to be true). They drank two more goose and tonics as they talked and watched night conquer the city. By the time they went back inside, both were fairly tipsy.

�One more?� Celia asked, holding up her empty glass.

�I think I�m going to pass,� Laura said. �I�m going to go back to my room and take care of a little business.�

�A little business?� She had no clue what Laura was talking about.

Laura giggled. �Yeah. You know? Personal business.�

Understanding washed over her. She felt herself flush a bit with arousal as the imagery popped into her mind. �Ohhhh,� she said with a smile. �That kind of personal business. I tried to conduct a little of that kind of business myself earlier.�

�Oh yeah?� Laura asked, her eyes shining a bit.

�Yeah,� Celia said sourly. �It didn�t work out for me.�

�You�ve reached the line, huh?� Laura asked sadly. This was something they had talked about before�usually while drinking. The line was the point where self-pleasure no longer relieved the tension, where you had to find an actual partner of some kind or learn to live with the frustration. Celia had not been up against the line since the night she seduced Suzie that first time.

�I�ve reached the line,� Celia said with a nod. �I�m not sure how I�m going to relieve it this time, to tell you the truth. Suzie is four thousand miles away from me and I�m not one to just go pick up some random guy.�

�I�m getting pretty close myself,� Laura said. �Ever since Njord outed us, I don�t dare use my normal relief valve. And Jake is not in a position to fly out to visit.� She sighed. �What can you do?�

�Exactly,� Celia said sadly.

And then a strange little smile appeared on Laura�s face. �Maybe there�s something that we can do,� she said softly.

Celia looked at her sharply. Surely, she was not going to suggest... that, was she? �What do you mean?� she asked carefully.

�Well ... maybe it�s just because I�m a little drunk and a lot horny, but the sight of your boobies bouncing around under your shirt has gotten me kind of hot.�

�Have they?� Celia asked, licking her lips a little, both fearful and excited about where this conversation was heading.

�Like you would not believe,� Laura said.

�Okay,� Celia said, making note that Laura�s nipples were now visibly protruding against the inside of her kiwi-bird shirt. �And how does that help your situation? You�re not going to suggest that you and I ... you know...�

�Not at all,� Laura said. �The idea is appealing, but I don�t think we should do that.�

�Then what should we do?� Celia asked, noticing that her nipples were now getting hard as well.

�Just a little variation of what Squiggle and I did that one night. A girl-time variation.�

�Explain further,� Celia heard herself saying. A part of her mind was screaming at her to end this conversation right now before her friendship with Laura and possibly even Jake was harmed. But another part�a bigger, more emotional part�was quite interested in where this was leading.

�Maybe we just sit down on the couch over there,� Laura suggested. �And maybe you take off your shirt and let me look at those boobies of yours, admire them. And maybe I could put my hand in my sweats and play a little while I look. And maybe you would like to have me look at your boobies and you could play a little as well. And maybe that might get the both of us on the right side of the line again.�

Celia felt another shudder of black excitement ripple through her. She felt her vagina juice up a little more. She could now feel the hardness of her nipples rubbing against her shirt as her breathing picked up and drove the friction a little faster.

�But we don�t touch each other?� Celia asked, a little breathless.

�That was the deal between Squiggle and I,� Laura said.

�And he tried to violate the deal, if I recall.�

�He did,� Laura agreed, �but I prevented that with just a word.�

The voice of doubt began to fade in Celia�s mind. The sheer naughtiness of what Teach was suggesting was driving it into a hole. �Do I get to look at your boobies too?� she asked.

Laura smiled. �That would only be fair,� she said.

The last remaining shred of doubt was buried with these words. �All right,� she said. �Let�s do it.�

�Let�s do it,� Laura said, heading for the couch.

They sat down next to each other, close, their legs nearly touching, Celia on Laura�s left side, and then turned toward each other a bit, so each could see the other without turning their heads ninety degrees. Celia felt some awkwardness trying to take hold, could see in Laura�s face that she was experiencing the same.

But before any doubts could be expressed, Laura said: �Take off the shirt, C. Let me see them.�

Celia did not allow herself to think any further. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt. She pulled it up and over her head, allowing her bare breasts out into the light. She dropped the shirt on the floor and turned a little more toward Laura.

�My God,� Laura whispered in awe. �They�re beautiful. The most beautiful boobies I have ever seen in my life.�

Celia was blushing furiously now. �Thank you,� she said. �Now it�s your turn.�

Laura nodded and pulled her own shirt off, revealing a pair of nicely shaped, apple-sized breasts capped with pencil eraser sized nipples that were standing up proudly. Her excitement kicked up considerably at the sight of them.

�Yours are quite nice as well,� she told her.

�They�re kind of small,� Laura said.

�They�re perfect,� Celia insisted. �I am actually drooling looking at them.�

This made Laura blush furiously. She then lowered her eyes and took in Celia�s breasts again. Her right hand then began to move downward. �I think I�m ready to get started,� she said.

�Yeah,� Celia said. �Me too.�

Laura�s hand dove into her sweatpants and disappeared. She immediately began to rub herself. Celia�s shorts were so baggy that she was able to simply pull the crotch of them to the side, showing Laura her wet sex. She had not shaved in three days now, so she had stubble, but Laura did not seem to mind in the least.

�I can smell you, C,� she whispered. �And you smell really good.�

At these words, Celia put her fingers on her sex and began to rub and stroke, sending waves of sexual pleasure radiating out of her. She looked at Laura�s breasts while she played, imagined putting her hands and mouth on them. These thoughts and sights drove her excitement onward.

They played like this for perhaps five minutes, both of them getting more and more flushed, their breathing getting heavier, the smell of female sexual arousal getting thicker in the air. And then Laura took her left hand, the one that was not buried in her sweatpants, and extended it out to her left. She let it fall upon Celia�s right breast, where it began to softly caress the flesh.

�I ... I thought we weren�t supposed to ... to touch each other,� Celia panted, enjoying the touch immensely.

�The rules are that if you don�t want me to do this, you tell me to stop,� Laura returned, now twirling her finger around Celia�s nipple.

Celia did not tell her to stop. It felt too damn good. In fact, she could now feel the orgasm starting to build inside of her, climbing toward the peak, edging closer to the point of no return. There was no way she was going to interrupt now.

�Harder,� she told Laura. �Squeeze it a little harder. Be rough with it.�

Laura complied, adding some force, squeezing the nipple now and again, handling the boob like a man would. This had an immediate effect on Celia. The orgasm began to build faster now, becoming a positive feedback loop that fed upon itself. She began to pant faster, to moan in bliss, and soon the release point came and waves of intense pleasure exploded throughout her body.

�Oh my God, that was hot,� Laura panted, still rubbing away at her own sex frantically.

�Now it�s your turn,� Celia told her. She took her hand away from her own sex and twisted her body even more toward Laura. She then reached out with both of her hands and took both of Laura�s breasts in them.

�Oh yes,� Laura panted, speeding up her rubs even more. �My boobies love to be touched.�

But Celia could not confine herself to simply touching. Acting on an impulse she did not even attempt to question, she leaned forward and took Laura�s left nipple in her mouth. She began to tongue and suck on it.

�Oh my God!� Laura panted. �Oh my God, oh my God!�

Laura exploded with her own orgasm thirty seconds later, her pelvis bouncing up and down on the couch, Celia�s mouth suckling her nipple through the entire thing.

When the spasms finally died down, Celia took her mouth and hands off Laura�s body and sat back up. Both of them slumped in the couch cushions, letting their breathing get back to normal, letting their heart rates drop back down, letting the sweat dry on their skin. They sat like that in silence for the better part of five minutes. Finally, they turned their heads and looked at each other.

�I enjoyed that,� Celia said simply.

Laura nodded. �Me too. It was very intense.�

�Was it a wise thing to do though?�

�I don�t know,� Laura said. �I guess time will tell.�

�Are things going to be awkward between us now?� Celia asked next.

�I don�t think so,� Laura said. �We weren�t really ... you know ... doing it with each other. We were just two friends helping each other through a tough time.�

�You don�t think we crossed over a line in our friendship?� Celia asked.

�I think maybe we blurred the line a little,� Laura said. �I don�t think we crossed it.�

Celia nodded. �Well ... okay then,� she said. She leaned forward and picked up her shirt from the floor. She pulled it back over her head and let it drop into place. Laura did the same.

�Well, I guess I�ll head back to my room now,� Laura said. �Thanks for having me over.�

�Anytime,� Celia said.

Laura stood up and picked up her key card from the writing table where she had left it. She then turned back to Celia. �Oh, there is one thing I probably should have mentioned before we actually ... you know.�

�What�s that?� Celia asked.

�I have to tell Jake about this.�

Celia�s eyes widened in surprise. �Jake? You have to tell Jake about ... about ... what we just did?�

�Yes,� she said simply. �It�s part of our agreement. But don�t worry. He won�t be mad. I�m sure he�ll find the whole story kind of hot.�

She simply could not think of a thing to say. Laura gave her one last smile and then walked out the door, letting it close behind her.

Madres de Dios, she thought. How do I get myself into these situations?

September 26, 1996

Las Vegas, Nevada

Jake and his Tsunami Sound Festival band members were all put up in luxury suites at the Caesars Palace Hotel and Casino on the Las Vegas strip courtesy of Music Alive. The members of his crew, however, were not included in the deal. He had twelve people on his crew, all of them people he had worked with before, either as part of Celia�s last tour or in the Intemperance days. It would be they who would do the assembly and tear down of the equipment, run the soundboard during his portion of the show, hand him and the other musicians their instruments when it was time to switch during the performance, and generally make sure that Jake�s performance was all that it should and could be. He could have paid them minimum wage and housed them two to a room in some sleazy off-strip roach motel and they would have been perfectly happy, but Jake believed in treating those who worked for him fairly and generously. He was paying them twenty-five dollars an hour for the time they were actually working on show-related business and had arranged for all of them to have private rooms in the same hotel he was staying in. In addition, he was picking up the tab for all of their meals and had given all of them a thousand dollars in casino credit for drinks and gambling.

The crew had ridden by chartered luxury bus to Las Vegas, leaving at noon and arriving at the hotel at 4:30. Since Jake had arranged for an open bar on the bus, all of them were already hammered by the time they checked into their rooms. As for the band, Phil, Lenny, Ben, Ted, and Natalie all flew to Las Vegas on a 3:05 flight out of Burbank Airport in first-class commercial seats that Music Alive had paid for. Though their time in the airport and in the air was less than two hours, they too managed to get a pretty good head start on their Vegas partying. Jake, Gordon, Pauline (who was doing soprano backup singing for him and was nervous as hell about her first live performance), Obie (who was not performing, but wanted to see Pauline sing) and the Nerdlys (who Jake had recruited to dial in his sound and oversee the multi-track recording of the show which he had negotiated the right to do and exploit as part of his agreement to perform) flew in Jake�s new plane from Whiteman to Henderson Executive Airport just south of the city. Jake was unable to pregame because he was piloting, but his passengers all made good use of the now-stocked bar in the aircraft during the trip.

The six of them rode in a limousine from Henderson to Caesars Palace and checked in at the private, high-roller desk on the second floor just after five o�clock in the afternoon. They were given their room key cards and asked if they would like to sign for casino credit for their gaming enjoyment during their stay.

�Goddamn right I do,� Obie told the young, extremely attractive desk clerk. �I�ll take fifty grand.�

�Me too,� Pauline said�she somehow already had a drink in her hand.

�Put me down for fifty,� Jake said. He was not a big gambler, but, when in Vegas...

�Better put me down for seventy-five to start,� said G. He was a big gambler, and this was not his first trip to the high roller section.

�And what about you, Mr. and Mrs. Archer?� she asked the Nerdlys.

�We will decline the offer,� Nerdly told her.

�Decline?� asked G. �What�s up with that shit, Nerdly? I�ll show you how to shoot some craps.�

�I already know how to do that,� Nerdly said. �And craps does statistically give you the most favorable odds of success of all the various games of chance in the casino, but those odds are still in the favor of the house, which means they will eventually emerge victorious in the contest. Therefore, it is illogical to engage in the activity.�

�Does this guy know how to party, or what?� Jake asked, looking around to try to figure out where Pauline had scored her drink. It was time for him to start pregaming as well.

�I seem to remember a little gambling trip we made back in the day,� Pauline said with a smile. �I do not recall you thinking it illogical then.�

�It was not illogical then,� Nerdly said. �I was playing with Mindy Snow�s money, not my own. I had nothing to lose.�

�Good point,� Pauline said, grimacing a little at hearing Mindy�s name mentioned. She was still getting phone calls from entertainment reporters about Mindy Snow and Greg Oldfellow and Grand Oldfellow and Celia�s thoughts on the matter.

The clerk offered to assign them their own private casino room on the third floor, but they declined on the grounds that none of them planned to spend that much time gambling. She then told them where the exclusive high-roller casino floor�available only to those who signed up for at least thirty thousand in credit or took out thirty thousand in casino chips�could be accessed. They all took note of this information, signed their casino credit agreements, and then headed to the elevators to go check out their rooms.

�I�m heading down to the floor as soon as we get our shit stowed,� Obie said. �Who�s with me?�

�You know I am,� Pauline said. �There�s a roulette table that I�m just itching to feed.�

�Me too,� said Jake. �I�m up for some blackjack and a few alcoholic beverages to start my evening.�

�I�ll be there too,� said G. �I think I�ll start with a little blackjack and then hit up the craps table.�

�What time do you all plan to have dinner?� asked Sharon. �Should we wait for you or just go ourselves?�

�How about around seven?� Jake suggested. �Celia and Laura will get here around nine o�clock or so and I�d like to have my food nice and settled before then�if you know what I mean.�

�Ahh yes,� said Nerdly. �You will obviously want to engage in vigorous marital relations with Laura after going so long without them.�

�Damn right,� Jake said.

�That�s a policy your mother would approve of, Jake,� Obie said with a grin. �Always wait at least an hour after eating before you go in.�

Jake chuckled. He had a little bit of anticipatory stage fright brewing in the back of his mind, but, in general, he was happily anticipating performing tomorrow, was even more happily anticipating the reunion with his wife in a few hours, and was in an overall good mood.

�Are you sure she is going to want to get it on?� Pauline asked. �The two of them are going to be wasted after flying all the way from Poland to Las Vegas after finishing up their last show the night before, not to mention being jetlagged as all hell.�

�I have faith that Laura�s need for satisfaction will outweigh her jetlag and fatigue,� Jake said confidently. �Does seven o�clock dinner work for everyone?�

Everyone agreed that it worked for them. They boarded the elevator and rode up to the top floor together. Fifteen minutes later, Jake, Pauline, Obie, and G all met at the main entrance to the high-roller casino floor. The armed security guard at the entrance scanned their key cards, saw they were allowed inside, and permitted them entry.

The casino floor was maybe three thousand square feet in size, though looked much bigger thanks to the mirrors that lined every wall. Unlike the normal casino floor where the riffraff played, there were only a few slot machines and poker machines here. These were clustered together in one corner and the minimum bet for all of them was ten dollars per play. No one was playing on them at the moment. Most of the room was filled with gaming tables; blackjack, roulette, craps, pai-gow, and baccarat; upon which the minimum bet was five hundred dollars. There were perhaps two dozen gamblers in the room, a few of them musicians who would be playing at the TSF tomorrow or Sunday, most of them older people unknown to Jake. There were no clocks on the walls. There were no windows to the outside. The lighting was uniform and would remain so twenty-four hours every day. There was a light haze of cigarette smoke in the air and the smell of a cigar or two. A trio of scantily clad, extremely attractive cocktail waitresses circulated about between the bar and the customers, serving drinks and enduring without protest the occasional hand stroking their bare legs. All of the tables were staffed by at least one dealer. Two bartenders manned the bar�one an extremely attractive woman, one an extremely attractive man.

�Drinks, first and foremost,� Jake said, making a beeline for the bar.

The rest of his group followed him over. Everyone ordered their drink of choice�Jake went with a captain and coke�and the bartender politely set them up, making no effort to collect payment or even verify their identity. If they were able to enter this room, they were to be given free drinks. That was the rule. Everyone tipped him and then turned to take in the casino floor once again. Pauline found the roulette table and headed over. Jake, G, and Obie wandered until they found an unoccupied blackjack table staffed by an extraordinarily beautiful girl named Yolanda. Yolanda�s nametag declared that she was from El Paso, Texas and she looked young enough that one might question whether or not she could legally work in a casino.

�Welcome, gentlemen,� she greeted as they sat at her table, Obie at first base, Jake at second, Gordon at third. �Can I get you some chips for play?�

�I�ll take twenty for now,� Obie told her.

�Same for me,� Jake said.

�Give me forty,� G directed.

�Very good,� she said. �If you�ll just show me your identification and let me scan your room cards?�

They produced the required documentation. She called out to the pit boss�an older, though still attractive gentleman who looked more than a little prissy�to verify the transaction and then pulled out twenty thousand dollars in chips for Obie and Jake and forty thousand for Gordon. The chips were carefully counted out in view of their recipients, the dealer, the pit boss, and the cameras in the ceiling and, once everyone was satisfied with the count, names were signed and play was able to begin.

�Good luck, gentlemen,� Yolanda told them and then began to shuffle the multideck pile in the shoe.

They placed their bets for the first hand. The minimum bet was five hundred dollars but none of them were that piddly. Obie threw down two thousand-dollar chips. Jake threw down one. G put down three of them.

Yolanda laid down the first hand. Under this table�s rules, the player cards were dealt face-up. Obie had a seventeen. Jake had a fourteen. G had two sevens. Yolanda�s up card was a six of hearts.

�That�s what I like to see,� Obie said, waving his hand over the top of his cards.

Jake did the same, playing the odds that the dealer would break, thus giving him the win by default. G split his hand, putting another three thousand dollars down to cover it. He was given a six on the first seven, which he held, and then an eight on the second. He held that as well.

�All right, let�s see what we got,� Yolanda said cheerfully. Her cheer was likely genuine. After all, it was not her money she could potentially lose here, but the house�s. She got paid the same from the house no matter what the outcome. And if the customers were winning, they often tipped her quite well.

She turned up her hole card. It was a nine, giving her a fifteen. She was required to hit on anything less than seventeen, forbidden from hitting on seventeen or above (unless it was a soft seventeen, made with a six and an ace, in which case she had to hit). She put one more card face-up on the table. It was the queen of spades, giving her a total of twenty-five. She had busted.

�Now that�s the way to start off,� G said happily as Yolanda paid everyone their due from her large cache of chips.

She dealt up the next hand and they settled in and began to play, drinking their drinks and talking of inconsequential things. Jake went on a run in which he could not seem to lose. He increased his bets with each consecutive win and was soon up more than twenty thousand dollars. Obie was just the opposite. He endured a freakishly long streak of being dealt thirteens, fourteens, fifteens, and sixteens in situations where strategy dictated he should hit. And he busted on every single one of them. He was soon down eighteen thousand. G seemed to have found the middle ground. He won about half, lost about half, and stayed within a thousand dollars or so of his original stake. Win or lose, however, they were having a good time basking in male bonding.

�How�s the second Brainwash release coming along?� Obie asked shortly after they were served their third drinks (and shortly after he pulled out another ten thousand in chips). �My moles in my studio tell me they�re finished laying down the tracks.�

�Yeah,� said Jake. �They finished overdubs at the end of August. They�re all back in their classrooms in Providence now. The Nerdlys have been working on the mixing this past month with the techs. It�s not moving very quickly.�

�That�s because you ain�t there to prod the Nerdlys along,� Obie suggested.

Jake nodded. He knew Obie was right. Without him there to draw the lines in the sand, the agonizing over unachievable audio perfection went on and on endlessly. They were still working on the second of ten tunes that would be on the CD. And of the two that had been mixed already, Nerdly still had not signed off that they were actually complete, stating he was planning to go back and give everything a final once-over after all were done. �You speak the truth,� he said. �Nerdly has actually forbidden anyone to so much as enter the studio while he and Sharon are here to help us out with the TSF. Not a single note will be approved without his say-so.�

�Nerdly needs a brake,� Gordon suggested. �And by that, I don�t mean a break, as in a period of rest and relaxation, but a brake, a device to slow something down and/or stop it.�

Jake nodded again. �I�ll be heading up to Oregon next week to assume the position,� he said. �I feel bad enough that I wasn�t there for most of the recording process. I�ve been checking in on the weekends here and there, but I�ve had to devote most of my time to getting ready for the TSF. I haven�t even heard the complete tracks for all their tunes yet. I haven�t been able to shape them as much as I would have liked.�

�They should be okay,� G said. �Brainwash are a talented bunch of squares, that�s for sure�never would have thought I�d say that the first time you told me about them�and the Nerdlys are pains in the asses and ultra-anal, but the end product of anything they work on always comes out clean and fine in the end.�

�That�s what I�m hoping,� Jake said.

�But you�re ready to go with the TSF tomorrow?� asked Obie after taking a hit on a twelve and drawing a ten.

�We�re dialed in pretty tight,� Jake said. �I don�t know how we did it with this ragtag bunch I assembled, but everyone stepped up and I think the crowd is going to like what we do.�

�Especially the talk box number,� G said. He looked over at Obie. �Wait �til you hear my man Jake wail on that fuckin� thing.�

�Paulie told me you have a talk box number,� Obie said. �You don�t think that�s kind of seventies?�

�Maybe a little,� Jake admitted, �but the sound of it is iconic and endures. I�ve updated it a bit into the alternative rock genre. I think I pulled it off.�

�His solo on that thing is badass,� G said.

�Where did you put it in?� Obie asked.

�I modified it into my tune I Am High from the second release,� Jake said. �Are you familiar with the piece?�

�Yeah, of course,� Obie said. �I�ve listened to all your CDs many times. They were recorded in my studio and my old lady sings on them, after all. It�s your tune about flying your plane.�

�Right,� Jake said. �Not one of my most popular tunes. Never got any real airplay and I never bothered trying to get it any. Just a deep cut that only people who bought the CD and listened to it a lot would appreciate. Still, a good, simple tune with heartfelt lyrics about my love of being a pilot�with, perhaps, more than a little innuendo about getting stoned. We extended out the solo from thirty-three seconds on the studio version to six minutes twenty live. I�ll do a conventional guitar solo to open it up...�

�The first solo that Jake himself shreds in the set,� G put in.

�You�re not doing all your own solos?� Obie asked, surprised.

�No,� Jake said. �Lenny is doing most of them. He�s a talented guitarist and he�s able to duplicate all of my solos pretty much to perfection. He�s handling most of the lead guitar duties, leaving me to play rhythm and acoustic.�

�Are you still hung up on the comparisons between you and Matt?� Obie asked. �I told you a hundred times, you ain�t got nothing to be ashamed of with your lead skills.�

�I�ve learned to accept that and embrace it,� Jake said. �If nothing else, publicly playing the lead on the tune that G and I did�I Signed That Line�convinced me of that. It�s just that Lenny can play the parts, can play them well, and it�s a lot easier on me as the lead singer to not have to concentrate on the lead guitar parts simultaneously. In the studio, recording those cuts is one thing. Being out on stage and playing them out while trying to sing at the same time is another. Matt can pull it off�and I salute him for that�and I probably could if I had more time to rehearse it up, but things will be much easier, and, I think more entertaining to the crowd, if I remain the secondary guitarist for most of the show.�

�I guess that makes sense,� Obie said.

�Besides,� G said, �that crowd will have no doubt that Jake can shred by the time he gets done laying down High. Even before he puts his mouth on that talk box, they�ll know they�re dealing with talent.�

�I certainly hope so,� Jake said. �Anyway, as I was saying, we�ll start the solo period with me shredding out the studio solo with an extension on it. I�m going to give them the best conventional guitar solo playing I know how to do. Nothing held back. After that, G comes in with a pretty ripping keyboard solo. Once that�s done, I do the talk box solo for another three minutes, running through various tempos and intensities with it.�

�Do you do some talking guitar shit with it?� Obie asked. �Like Frampton?�

�The whole tune is something of a tribute to Frampton�s Do You Feel Like We Do?� Jake said. �So ... yes, I do some talking guitar. Mostly the first line of the chorus hook, which just happens to be the title lyrics.� He sang a little, softly. �I am high... I am high... I am high up in the sky.�

Yolanda, who had been seemingly ignoring their conversation and just dealing, collecting, paying, and occasionally shuffling, looked up at him at this point, pausing in her collection of Jake�s chips (he had just busted hitting on a sixteen while she showed a ten, losing three thousand dollars). �I�m going to be at the festival tomorrow,� she said.

�Oh yeah?� Jake asked.

�Yeah,� she said. �I�ve always been a fan of yours. I can�t wait to hear what you were just talking about.�

�Well, I hope you enjoy it,� Jake said.

�I�m sure I will,� she said with a smile. She then looked at G, who signaled for a hit, got a face card, and busted himself. �Sorry,� she told him apologetically.

�Not your fault, baby,� he said. �Just the way the cards fall.�

�This is true,� she returned. �And I would like you to know, Mr. G, that I�m a big fan of yours as well. I�ve been listening to you since high school.�

�High school, huh?� G said with a grin. �And how long ago was that?�

�I graduated four years ago,� she said.

�You don�t look that old,� G told her.

�Thank you,� she said.

�What time you off shift, baby?� Gordon asked next.

�Eight o�clock,� she said.

�That�ll be right about the time we finish up dinner,� G told her. �Maybe you could meet me for a few drinks and we could get better acquainted.�

Yolanda smiled. �I think I would like that,� she told him.

�All right then,� G said. �How about we meet down on the floor, in that big-ass bar they got down there?�

�I�ll be there,� she told him. She then played out the rest of her hand for the benefit of Obie, who had stood on nineteen. She flipped her up her hole card, which proved to be a queen of hearts, giving her a twenty.

�Well, that sucks,� Obie grumbled, watching another four thousand dollars disappear.

�Sorry,� she said again as she collected his cards and got ready to deal another hand. As they were placing their bets, she looked over at Jake again. �I was just wondering...�

�What�s that?� Jake asked.

�The entertainment shows and the papers have been saying that you and Matt Tisdale are possibly going to take the stage together tomorrow and do some Intemperance tunes. Any truth to that?�

That rumor had, in fact, been floating around for the past month now. Pauline and Matt had both denied it vehemently but still it persisted. �No,� Jake said simply. �There is absolutely no truth to that.�

�Oh,� she said, visibly disappointed. �That�s too bad.�

Meanwhile, less than a mile away at the Mirage Hotel and Casino, Matt Tisdale was in his suite on the top floor, drinking a Jack and Coke. Jerry Stillson, the CEO of Music Alive and the driving force behind the TSF, was not an unintelligent man. He was not up there with Nerdly or even Jake in the smarts department, but he had been wise enough to know that housing Jake Kingsley and Matt Tisdale in separate hotels was in everyone�s best interest.

While Matt�s band and his paramedic were downstairs playing various casino games and losing a good portion of their recent earnings in the process, Matt sat alone. As someone who had always had more money than he knew what to do with (until now anyway), he had never quite understood the appeal of gambling, so he had no real urge to engage in the activity. To him, Vegas was about partying and gash, not about games of chance played for money. And even if he were into gambling, he likely would not have been in the mood. He and the boys had gotten in at nine this morning after a long, overnight flying marathon from Rio de Janeiro to Houston and then from Houston to Las Vegas. He was tired, jetlagged, and out-of-sorts despite the nearly eight hours of sleep he�d gotten since arrival. And, to top it all off, he was now getting some less than welcome news about his financial situation.

�Will you be able to come to Los Angeles for at least a day after your performances?� asked Wesley Brimm, his tax lawyer, shortly after Matt got him on the phone.

�I guess,� Matt said. �What for?�

�I have dozens of documents that need your signature,� Wesley told him. �And there are some aspects of the case that we should really go over in person, instead of on the phone.�

�What kind of aspects?� Matt asked.

�As I said,� Wesley told him, �most are things too complex to go into on the phone, thus the reason I am requesting a personal meeting. But, in any case, I now have preliminary numbers from both the IRS and California Franchise Tax Board as to what you will owe in back taxes, interest, and penalties.�

Matt took a deep breath. �I see,� he said.

�Would you like to hear them?� Wesley asked.

�Yeah, but ... uh ... give me a minute here. I�m going to put the phone down.�

�Uh ... okay, but...�

Matt did not hear the rest of what he said because the phone was now sitting on the bar. After putting the phone down, he picked up his drink and downed the rest of it and dumped the ice out. He then picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a healthy shot that filled the glass halfway. This, he downed in one slug, feeling the warmth exploding through his body. He took a few deep breaths and then picked up the pipe and the bag of genuine California greenbud he had scored from the hotel�s concierge. He pulled off a healthy pinch, stuffed it into the pipe, put the pipe to his lips, picked up the lighter next to his cigarettes, and then fired up. He took a long healthy rip of the pot, holding the smoke deeply for nearly thirty seconds before blowing it back out. He then repeated the procedure one more time. After this, he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit that up. He took two healthy drags. Only then did he pick the phone back up and put it to his ear.

�All right,� he said. �I�m properly braced now. Lay it on me.�

Wesley, who was by now used to dealing with Matt, simply laid it on him. �The California FTB has come to the figure of eight million, four hundred and sixteen thousand, two hundred and thirty-four dollars,� he said. �The IRS has come to the figure of twenty-six million, nine hundred twenty-seven thousand, three hundred and eleven dollars. Of course, the interest accrual on both of these amounts will continue to rise at the prime rate the longer you go without paying them.�

�Fuck me,� Matt said, shaking his head. More than thirty-four million dollars! It was worse than he had thought.

�As of this moment in time,� Wesley went on, �your yacht, your helicopter, and your Los Angeles domicile are all in escrow. When escrow closes and funding occurs, that will give you four million, sixty-three thousand, eight hundred and twelve dollars to pay toward the debt. In addition, we have firm bids on most of your guitar collection that will add another two hundred and eighteen thousand or so to that amount. And liquidation of some of your stocks, bonds, and certificates of deposit will add another two million, two hundred and twelve thousand to that, although you must remember that you will be responsible for capital gains taxes on the sale of the domicile and the investment gains on the stocks, bonds, and CDs.�

�That still leaves an assload to pay off,� Matt said.

�It does,� Wesley agreed. �And the IRS is already making preparations to garnish your royalty checks, your endorsement income checks, and to start seizing some of your other assets. Are you sure you won�t reconsider your decision not to put your house and property in Mexico up for sale?�

�I�m not selling my Cabo pad!� Matt insisted. �Christ, dude. Don�t you ever have anything good to say?�

�Well ... the income you�ll be receiving from this music festival you�re playing tomorrow will help pay the debt down even more.� He paused. �After taxes are considered, of course.�

�Yeah,� Matt said bitterly. �Of course.�

�And the judge has agreed to not allow the IRS to seize your primary guitar or any of the secondary guitars you use in the actual production or performance of your music.�

�Very fuckin� big of him,� Matt said.

�It was a her, actually,� Wesley said.

�Whatever,� Matt spat.

�I�m doing the best I can here, Matt,� Wesley said. �You didn�t give me much to work with though. You can�t just not pay taxes on income like yours for four years and not expect any consequences.�

�Yeah,� Matt said. �I guess I kind of understand that shit now.�

�Is there anything else I can answer for you at this time?� the lawyer asked.

�Naw,� Matt said. �I guess I�ll see you on Tuesday. Maybe I�ll have some shit to ask then.�

�I�ll look forward to the meeting,� Wesley told him. �Does nine o�clock work for you?�

�In the morning?�

�Uh ... yes, in the morning.�

�I don�t do nine o�clock in the fuckin� morning,� Matt told him. �How about three?�

�Three it is,� Wesley said.

�All right. Book it.�

�There is one thing I would like to ask, Matt,� Wesley said before Matt could hang up.

�What�s that?�

�Now ... I�m not a fan of your music. I told you that before, during our first conversation. I listen primarily to jazz.�

�Yeah? So what? I don�t see that shit as a problem. In fact, I�m not sure I would want a fan of mine working on my fucking legal problems.�

�Right,� Wesley said. �I understand that point of view. I�m not a fan of Jake Kingsley or Intemperance either.�

�What is your fuckin� point, dude?� Matt asked, more than tired of this conversation, particularly now that Kingsley�s name had been invoked.

�Well, a few of the paralegals that work in my department are fans of yours,� Wesley said.

�Is this about tickets to the TSF?� he asked. �You want to score yourself some paralegal gash and the way to make the deal go down is to give her a couple of VIP tickets to the show? Sure! I can make that shit happen. I�m all about helping my fellow man score some gash. How many you want?�

�Uh ... no, that�s not where I was going with that,� Wesley said.

�It�s not?� he asked, actually a little disappointed.

�No ... but ... well, now that you bring it up, maybe I could find good use for two VIP tickets.�

�Which night?� Matt asked.

�Both, if you can arrange it,� he said.

�They�ll be at will call under your name,� Matt promised. �Now, what were you actually talking about if it wasn�t tickets for gash?�

�I was just going to say that the paralegals were talking about this rumor going around. The one about how you and Jake Kingsley will do some Intemperance material at the show.�

�That fuckin� rumor?� Matt said in disgust. �There�s nothing to it. No way in hell it�s going to happen. That rumor got started by the media fucks who speculated that since Kingsley and I were both performing at the TSF then we might be reuniting. Those fuckheads at Music Alive have been encouraging the rumor because it�s helping them sell tickets at more than a hundred a pop. But it ain�t happening. That�s God�s fuckin� truth there, dude.�

�Oh, I see,� Wesley said. �That�s too bad.�

�Why would you give a shit if me and Jake were getting back together if you�re not a fan of either one of us?� Matt wanted to know.

�I really do not,� Wesley told him. �I was just going to suggest to you that if the rumor were true, you are not asking for nearly enough money. Any form of Intemperance reunion would be worth some serious bank for all concerned with it.�

And, approximately 1600 miles to the east northeast, at thirty-eight thousand feet above sea level and traveling at four hundred thirty knots actual, Laura Kingsley and Celia Valdez were in first class seats of a United Airlines 767 flying from John F. Kennedy International in New York to McCarran International in Las Vegas. This was the third aircraft they had been on since leaving their Warsaw Hilton hotel room well before sunrise, some thirteen hours before. From Warsaw International they had flown to Charles de Gaulle International in Paris aboard an Air France A-320. From there they had climbed aboard the Concorde and flown for three and a half hours across the Atlantic to New York City, actually landing forty-five minutes before they had left Paris thanks to the speed of the aircraft and the time zone changes. After a two-hour layover in New York, they boarded their current plane, which was now more than an hour into its journey.

Laura was awake at the moment, but only because they were eating their meal service. She had an uncanny ability to sleep on aircraft and had dozed away more than five hours of their journey so far. Even on the Concorde she had slept for most of the flight, nodding off shortly after the supersonic plane had leveled off at sixty thousand feet and shut down its afterburners. She had taken a few moments to marvel over the fact that she could actually see the curvature of the Earth out her tiny window and then out she�d gone. She woke up long enough to eat the meal service and then had gone right back out, sleeping until the flaps had come down for landing.

Celia was not blessed with such an ability. She was ragged and torn, with bags under her eyes, a headache that a Tylenol and Motrin combo had not been able to tame, and a thoroughly distorted sense of body rhythm. She only picked at her meal of braised beef tips in gravy and her glass of chardonnay had long since assumed room temperature.

�Bleah,� Laura said next to her. She had just taken a bite of her braised beef tips. �This food sucks compared to what they gave us on the Concorde.�

�That was about the best airline food I�ve ever had,� Celia agreed. The meal service that Air France offered had included caviar, fois gras, and pan seared veal served with a rich Bordeaux.

�For thirty-five hundred dollars a ticket, the food should be pretty good,� Laura said.

�You would hope,� Celia agreed. �And you know, though that takeoff and climb-out was kind of terrifying for someone like me who is not a fan of flying, at least the trip was fast. Paris to New York in just over three hours. That is truly amazing.�

�I liked it,� Laura said. �If Jake and I ever go to Europe I�m going to have him buy the tickets on the Concorde. He would really love it. Jill would yell at him about how much it costs, but he�s used to that.�

�We all are,� said Celia. As one of the owners of KVA, she had to deal with Jill on a regular basis as well.

�Anyway, I�m glad you came with me,� Laura told her. The rest of the band and crew were making their way home leisurely, stopping in London for a day and Atlanta for a day before making the final flight back to LAX.

�Are you kidding?� Celia said. �There�s no way I�m going miss Jake Kingsley live on stage. I�m looking forward to the show.�

�Me too,� Laura said. �I�m a little nervous about my part in it, but it will be the first time I�ve ever actually seen him perform an entire show.�

�You�ll do fine,� Celia assured her. �I�ve seen how much you�ve been rehearsing Blur.�

�Yeah, I have been working my butt off on it, but I�ve been rehearsing by listening to a CD of Blur with the sax track removed. That is hardly the same thing as a real rehearsal.�

�Actually, it�s not all that different,� Celia said. �As long as Jake and the rest of the band perform in the same key and tempo as the studio version and don�t put in any add-ons or fills, you�ll be fine. And the outro on the studio version ends with a finale, not a fade-out, so there shouldn�t be anything unfamiliar, right?�

�I suppose,� she said. �I�m sure I�ll do okay. Just having a little stage fright. It will be fun to be up on stage with Jake again though. The times he played with me when I was touring with Bobby Z are some of my fondest memories of performing.�

�I didn�t get to see any of those shows,� Celia said. �It�s going to be really cool to see the two of you up there together. Well worth this long travel day from one side of the world to the other.�

�Thanks, C,� Laura said, patting her leg. �And I�m sorry we couldn�t get you your own hotel room.�

�Things happen,� Celia said with a sigh. Thanks to the TSF, pretty much every hotel room in the Las Vegas area that Celia would be caught dead in had already been booked, either by ticket-holders, band crews, TSF staff, or the bands themselves. As such, Celia was going to stay in Jake and Laura�s suite at Caesars Palace. And she could not help but remember what had happened the last time she and Jake had shared a hotel suite. Of course, Laura had not been there for that one, but now there was a strange little history between her and Laura to add to the discomfort level.

�I hope you don�t think it will be awkward staying with us,� Laura said, picking up a little on her feelings.

�In all honesty, I am feeling a little strange about being face to face with Jake,� she said. �He knows what we ... you know ... what we did that night.�

Laura smiled. Her memory of that night in Celia�s room was a fond one. It had not been repeated, partially because Celia was uncomfortable with the rule that Jake be informed each time something like that happened, and partially because they had not yet returned to the line where such antics became necessary. �I told you, Jake is cool with what we did,� she whispered. �In truth, it really seemed to turn him on when I told him about it.�

�I�m sure it did,� she said with a chuckle. Especially since he knows that I have now dallied with both of the Kingsleys. �And I�m sure the awkwardness with pass. You don�t think he�ll ... you know ... make any little comments about it or anything?�

�I can�t guarantee that,� Laura said. �Jake is Jake.�

�Yes, he certainly is,� she said with another sigh.

�Anyway ... uh ... speaking of awkwardness,� Laura said. �I just want to warn you in advance that ... well ... this is kind of embarrassing.�

�What is it?�

�Jake and I haven�t seen each other in a while and we�re going to want to ... you know... do it.�

Celia smiled. �I have no doubt that is true,� she said. �Don�t worry. I�m not going to listen at the door or anything like that.�

�Well ... the thing is that you probably won�t have to,� Laura said. She was now blushing. �I tend to get a little ... you know ... loud at times while we�re doing it.�

�I know,� Celia said. �Remember, I was staying in the Coos Bay house with you two when you first started doing it. You were the very impetus for and a very frequent violator of Rule 17.�

�That is embarrassing,� Laura said. �I can�t help it though.�

�Then maybe you just shouldn�t have sex with him until you get home,� Celia said lightly.

A look of extreme alarm crossed Laura�s face at this suggestion. �I ... uh ... don�t think that will be an option,� she said.

Celia giggled. �I know,� she said. �I was just kidding.� She leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice. �And you don�t have to be embarrassed. I�ve watched you paddle your canoe while I sucked on your chichi, Teach. I don�t think you need to be worried about me hearing you come while Jake is fucking you. In fact, maybe I�ll be inspired to do a little paddling myself if you put on a good enough performance.�

Laura looked up at her, her look of discomfort turning to one of interest and arousal. �Now that�s kind of hot,� she said.

�It�s all a matter of perspective,� Celia replied.

The flight attendant came by a moment later and asked if she could take their trays away. They both said she could. She then asked if she could bring them anything else.

�How about a vodka and tonic?� said Celia.

�Very good. And for you, Mrs. Kingsley?�

�Nothing for me,� Laura said. �I think I�ll catch a little nap.�

�As you wish,� the flight attendant said.

And before she even returned with Celia�s fresh drink, Laura was reclined and sleeping soundly in her chair, a pleasant little smile on her face.

A stretch limousine, chartered by Music Alive, picked up Jake, Laura, Jake�s band, Celia, Obie, and the Nerdlys at 7:00 AM the next morning. They were scheduled for an 8:30 sound check on Stage 2 of the dual stage venue. A good portion of Jake�s bandmembers were hung over (and considerably lighter in their wallets) and everyone was tired (except for Laura, who had catalogued more than fourteen hours of sleep in the past 24 hours) due to the early hour.

They drove into the desert, leaving the Las Vegas area behind and traveled for more than forty miles before coming into Indian Springs. The town itself was very small and they passed through it in less than three minutes, emerging out the other side into even more desert, all of which was owned by the BLM. About five minutes later they began to near the brand-new venue that had been built specifically for occasions such as the TSF. The campgrounds came first. There were several of them and all were filled to capacity with RVs, campers, trailers, and even some tents. Next came the parking areas, which were already filling to their capacity. A line of cars more than half a mile long hugged the right shoulder of the road, creeping slowly along, waiting their turn to enter the parking lot. When they finally passed the main entrance to one of the lots, Jake saw that Music Alive was charging thirty dollars per car to park. Next, they passed the primary gate that admitted concertgoers to the show. The gates would not be opened until 10:00 AM, with the first band scheduled to start at noon, but already there were thousands of people waiting in lines that stretched out in both directions. And all of them had paid a minimum of ninety dollars for their tickets. Many had paid much more.

�I can see how Music Alive is making money on this gig,� Celia said as they took in the crowd.

�It kind of makes me think they should have paid me more,� Jake said.

The limo turned onto a gated road that had two armed security staff guarding it. The limo driver stopped, rolled down his window, and showed an access pass to one of the guards. They were then allowed to proceed. The drove along the smooth, recently laid pavement for another few minutes and then came out in a large areas where dozens of fifth-wheel trailers had been set up. The limo stopped in front of one of them and the driver got out to open the door. Everyone piled out. A gruff looking man with a pass around his neck was waiting for them.

�Welcome to Band Town,� the man said. �I�m Roger Wilson, head of band security and housing.�

�Jake Kingsley,� Jake said, shaking with him.

�We�ve been expecting you, Mr. Kingsley,� Wilson said. �You�ll be here, in trailer 13. You can access it by the keypad on the door. Your code is one four four one.� He handed out slips of paper with that code number written on it to everyone.

�Thanks,� Jake said.

�No problem, sir,� Wilson said. �Your sound check is scheduled for 8:30 on Stage 2. You will have twenty-five minutes to complete it.�

�Twenty-five minutes?� Nerdly and Sharon both cried in unison.

�Twenty-five minutes,� Wilson confirmed. �Matt Tisdale is scheduled for his sound check on Stage 1 at nine o�clock, so you must have yours completed by 8:55 so his crew can run their wiring to the sound board. Is that a problem?�

�Yes, it�s a problem,� Nerdly said indignantly. �There is no way we can complete an adequate sound check at a new venue in only twenty-five minutes. It�s impossible.�

He received no sympathy from Wilson. �You�re gonna have to make it possible,� he said. �We will disconnect your wires from the sound board at 8:55. That is a hard deadline, my friend.�

Nerdly opened his mouth to say something else, but Jake stepped up.

�It�s okay, Nerdly,� he said. �We can make it work. It�s an amphitheater, remember. There are no walls to absorb or reflect the sound. All we need to do is match levels on all the mics and instruments.�

�All we need to do?� Nerdly asked. �That is the most critical part of the process.�

�We�ll get it done,� Jake assured him. �I have confidence in you. You work well under pressure.�

�Well ... I suppose,� Nerdly said.

�Someone will come and get you around 8:15 to escort you to the stage,� Wilson said. �Be ready to go when he gets here.�

�Will do,� Jake said.

And with that, Wilson wandered off, heading for the other side of Band City, probably to get ready for the arrival of Matt and his band. If Jerry Stillson knew his stuff, and it certainly seemed as if he did, Matt would be housed as far away as it was possible to get from Jake.

�Are we going to have time to run through Blur at least once?� Laura asked. She was holding the case that contained her soprano sax, having carried it with her all the way from Poland.

�Sorry, hon, but I don�t think so,� Jake told her.

�Well ... that�s disconcerting,� she said nervously.

�It is, but I have confidence in you too. We�ve all been rehearsing the tune and will play it just like the studio version. And you�ve been rehearsing your part. We�ll pull it off.�

She nodded, unhappy, but determined.

�Come on,� Jake told everyone. �Let�s check out the accommodations.�

The accommodations were nice, but kind of cramped for thirteen people. There was power provided by a 220-volt hookup, air conditioning powered by large propane tanks, and a working refrigerator full of beer, bottled water, Gatorade, and soda. An ice machine was churning out cubes in the freezer in case anyone wanted to make a mixed drink from the supplies in the well-stocked bar. There were a few couches, a bathroom with a shower, and several beds. A television with DirecTV service was mounted on one wall. Everyone found a place to settle in and they began to wait. Ted told them a story about a call he had been on once in which a man in a trailer similar to the one blew the entire thing to pieces when he lit a cigarette while the propane system was leaking.

�Motherfucker looked like Wile E. Coyote after one of his Acme products went bad,� Ted said.

�He wasn�t dead?� asked G.

�Naw,� Ted said, �just singed. If you�re gonna be in an explosion, that�s the way to do it. The force radiates out from the ignition point, which was his cigarette in his mouth. Blew the fuckin� trailer apart but left him just standing there with flash burns.�

�That�s some shit,� G said respectfully. He, like Jake, had learned during the rehearsal sessions to morbidly appreciate Ted�s stories.

�The funny thing is,� Ted added, �is that he was smoking the cigarette when we got there. The explosion actually lit it for him.�

At precisely 8:15 AM, there was a knock on the door. One of the security team was there and he handed all of them all-access passes to wear around their necks. He then led them on the short walk to the backstage area of Stage 2. The temperature was warming up as they made the walk and they could hear guitar chords and vocalizations chopping through the air from Stage 1. It was Pantera, the band performing before Jake, finishing up their sound check.

�Dimebag Darrel,� Jake said with a shake of his head as a guitar riff sounded out. �He tries so hard to play like Matt and like Kirk Hammett, but he just can�t seem to pull it off.�

�Did you hear about Phil Anselmo?� asked Ted, referring to Pantera�s lead singer.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �He overdosed on heroin a couple months back. They say he was clinically dead for a few minutes.�

�I heard he still made the next gig though,� Obie said.

�You gotta respect that, I guess,� Jake said.

�The fuckin� show must go on,� G said.

They were led up onto the stage they would be performing on in twelve more hours. Their crew was already there, as were their instruments and equipment. Ted�s drum set was assembled and resting on its wheeled platform, all of the microphones positioned as they were in the rehearsal studio. Jake had three guitars, his Fender acoustic/electric, his black and white Les Paul tuned to standard, and his sunburst Les Paul tuned to drop-D. Lenny had four guitars, two Brogans, a Telecaster, and a Marshall acoustic. Ben had his Brogan bass. Natalie had her performance violin. G had a Marshall synthesizer with a dedicated electric piano keyboard. Pauline and Phil had dedicated microphones just to the left of the drum platform. And G had a microphone mounted at face level on his keyboard.

�I need your sax, Mrs. Kingsley,� said Jeff Parley, the man Jake had put in charge of the crew. �We need to get it miked.�

�Here you go,� she said, handing the case over. �And please, call me Laura or Teach.�

�You got it, Laura,� he said.

�Is everything wired into the Lux?� asked Sharon, referring to the Luxembourg 970 audio recorder that KVA Records had purchased for thirty-eight thousand dollars just for this occasion. It would sit at the head of the stage and all of their output cables would feed into it, recording everything they played on sixteen separate tracks on two separate and redundant digital drives and one analog backup that used magnetic tape. The output would then pass through the Lux and emerge unaltered out the other side for its trip to the primary soundboard out on the amphitheater floor. This way, KVA would have an exclusive digital recording of the band�s performance to do with as they pleased.

�We�re wired for sound ... literally,� Jeff told her.

�All right,� Jake said. �Let�s get this done. We don�t have much time.�

They made it, but just barely. They plugged in and played each instrument one by one, with Nerdly directing the volume and tone adjustments while Sharon made notes on the settings and offered the occasional suggestion. They then checked each microphone, blending them according to what they were transmitting and adjusting based on the output level of Lenny�s and Jake�s guitars. Last came Ted�s drums. He pounded each one individually and then played out some brief solos to make sure the mix was right. He then played simultaneously with Ben on the bass and Lenny on the lead guitar. Just as they got this at an acceptable level, their time was up.

�I am far from pleased with our final arrangement,� Nerdly said, �but I guess it will have to do.�

�It sounded good, Nerdly,� Jake assured him. �You did the best you could in the time you had.�

�I suppose,� he replied morosely. �I only hope the recordings we make will be usable in the studio.�

�They can be tweaked around even further in the studio,� Jake said. �Don�t worry. I�ll take you and Sharon for twenty-five minutes over any of these other sound teams for three hours. We got this.�

�I suppose,� he said again.

They marked all the instruments and dials with the proper settings and then Nerdly made a hard copy of all the levels for the soundboard. The crew began the task of clearing the stage of equipment so the second band to play�it would be Seavey Circle�would be able to set up their equipment just before the show started. Ted�s drums were wheeled down a ramp to a covered staging area just offstage. All of the guitars, other instruments, microphones, microphone stands, amplifiers, effects pedals, and the Lux joined them. Two armed guards were assigned to stand watch over the area to keep anyone from stealing more than two hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment.

It was as they were walking back to the trailer that another guitar riff suddenly filled the air from the direction of Stage 1. Jake recognized the style and sound immediately. It was Matt Tisdale. He was starting his own sound check. The group made it back into their trailer before Jake had to listen to too much of it.

The festival started exactly on time, with the first band�Backyard Dirt�laying down its opening number at exactly 12:00 PM. Everyone in Jake�s group had the ability to enter a special VIP area just in front of and between the two stages if they wished. This was an area that was separate from the official VIP area just in front of the soundboard where special guests and those who possessed the five-hundred-dollar tickets could sit in a shaded area with cocktail and food service (two of the people in this section had bought their tickets at an online auction website from Matt�s tax lawyer for fifteen hundred dollars apiece). Ben, Ted, Lenny, Phil, and Natalie all went to this section to watch the show. Jake did not have to warn them to avoid alcohol or any other intoxicant. They knew his rules very well.

Everyone else stayed in the trailer and lounged around. They watched television or read books. Just after noon, a catering truck showed up in Band City and provided them with sandwiches and tacos for lunch. Everyone ate well and then went back to waiting. Throughout this period, they could hear the frequent thumping of bass guitars, the occasional solo when it edged into the higher range, and the constant up and down roaring of the huge crowd that had assembled in the amphitheater. Jake had heard from one of the security guys that well over ninety-five thousand tickets had been sold for today�s show and only slightly less for tomorrow�s.

Another catering truck showed up just past five o�clock. This one provided hamburgers, French fries, and bratwurst. Jake ate lightly this time, knowing that he wanted his stomach and bowels empty when it came time to take the stage. His innate sense of mild stage fright ramped up slowly but steadily as the hours marched by. Ben, Ted, and the others all returned just past six o�clock, all declaring that had no desire to see Hole or Pantera, the next two bands to play.

At 6:30, everyone began to get dressed in their stage clothes. This was a bit of a process because there was only one bathroom in the trailer and the company was mixed. The problem was solved by having Pauline, Celia, Natalie, and Laura step out so the guys could get dressed and then having the guys step out so Pauline, Natalie, and Laura could get dressed. Jake dressed simply, as he always had when he had a choice in what to wear while performing. He pulled on a pair of denim blue jeans he had owned just long enough to be broken in, a black, button-up short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of black and white Nike tennis shoes. He combed out his hair, which was back to shoulder length these days, and hit it with a little hairspray to keep it from blowing about too much�they were outside and there was a fairly respectable ten knot wind blowing over the desert. He kept his wedding ring on as he had found it presented no problems with his guitar chording. He did some warmup exercises to limber up his voice as he got ready. Phil, who had had to be told what to wear because his sense of fashion was so terrible (those who knew him considered him the worst gay guy ever as he was a slob, had no sense of d�cor, and no sense of fashion) joined him in the voice exercises and they took the opportunity to practice up on their harmony a bit. All of the males dressed similar to Jake, leaning heavily on dark colored shirts to keep the sun and the stage lights from reflecting too much and making them indistinguishable to the audience. G added a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses to disguise himself. Natalie and Pauline dressed in pantsuits with dark colored blouses that accented their breasts. They put their hair in ponytails and used a considerable amount of hairspray for hold. Laura dressed in one of her summer dresses she had brought from the wardrobe of the Celia Valdez tour. It was the green and white one that fell to just above her knees. She wore white sneakers on her feet and dressed her hair in a tight braid that fell down to her mid-back. She wore no makeup but looked achingly cute all the same.

Once everyone was dressed, they went back to waiting. Jake, Phil, G, and Pauline continued their voice exercises and harmony practice, continuing to loosen up the cords. Everyone else simply sat around, fidgeting and watching the clock. Finally, at 7:30 PM, there came a knock on their door. It was the security guy again. It was time to report to the stage.

�All right,� Jake said to his group. �Let�s do this thing.�

Those who would be playing up on the stage or supervising the sound filed out of the trailer and followed the security guy single file, all with varying degrees of nervousness and trepidation spinning in their respective heads. Those who would be watching the show�Obie and Celia�stayed behind. They would make their way to the special VIP section right before Jake and the band took the stage.

Pantera was in the final throes of their biggest hit, Walk, when Jake and company made their way into the roped off walkway that led to their stage. Jake did not have a very good view of Dimebag and Phil and the boys because Stage 1 was at an angle to them and twenty yards away. But he could hear them just fine. In fact, their volume was ear-shattering, so loud that one could barely understand the lyrics, could not hear the bass as being separate from the guitar.

�No,� Jake said, giving a little shake of the head in response to the hook line of the song. �I am not talking to you.�

Nobody heard him over the music. He could barely hear himself.

Things got a little quieter as they entered the backstage area. Here, his crew and a few Music Alive technicians were working on what final preparations they could work on before being granted access to the actual stage. Pantera finally wrapped up the finale of Walk and their instruments went blessedly silent. The roar of the crowd washed over everyone for the first time and its sheer volume was remarkable in and of itself.

�Jesus,� Pauline said nervously as she heard it. �There�s a lot of fucking people out there.�

�Almost a hundred thousand,� Jake said, taking a peek out through a partition, which allowed him to actually see the crowd for the first time. It was an impressive sight. The amphitheater seating stretched backwards up a gentle incline for nearly a quarter of a mile and was nearly three hundred yards wide. �I have never played in front of this many before.�

�I have never sang in front of anyone before,� Pauline reminded him. �I�m a little nervous about this, little bro.�

�You�ll be okay, Paulie,� he reassured her, giving her a little one-armed hug. �Just imagine that all of them are naked.�

�A lot of them actually are naked,� said Phil, who had found his own partition to observe the crowd through.

This, of course, led to a mass rush for openings through which to peek by those with a penis. Except for Nerdly. He was in a bit of a titter. �Pantera had about the worst concert sound that I have ever heard in all my years in the industry! What were they thinking? Who set up their sound for them? It was atrocious!�

�I think they�re part of the school of thought that believes that louder is better,� Jake said.

�That is high school level thinking,� Nerdly said. �I am going to find out who their sound engineer is and have a little talk with him.�

�Could you do that after our show?� Jake asked.

�Well, yes, of course,� Nerdly said.

Pantera had now left the stage. One of the MCs took their place and stood at one of their microphones. �Let�s hear it one more time for Pantera!� he told the crowd. This produced another one of those roars that washed over everyone.

�I really just don�t get the appeal of that band,� Jake said, shaking his head a little.

�Some mysteries will never be solved,� said G, who was sipping from a bottle of water.

�Our second to last act of the evening,� continued the MC, �will be taking to Stage 2 on the left side of the venue in just twenty-five minutes. I hope everyone here is in the mood for a little Jake Kingsley!�

The roar rushed over them again, considerably louder this time than it had been for Pantera. It seemed like the crowd was in the mood for a little Jake Kingsley, this despite several articles in prominent music magazines over the past month questioning whether or not Jake Kingsley, with his alternative rock sound, really belonged at a heavy metal oriented festival like the TSF. Jake basked in the sound of the applause, feeling some of his doubts and fears slipping away.

�You hear that shit, Jake?� G asked, clapping him on the back. �That�s for you, brother!�

�Music to my ears,� Jake said with a smile.

The crew was given the go-ahead to access the stage and start setting up. They went to work, putting into practice maneuvers they had only rehearsed in the studio building to this point. But they were professional roadies and techs, and they were being paid well, and they did their jobs with efficiency, precision, and a teamwork ethic that professional sports teams would be envious of.

While the two primary sound techs and Sharon Archer made their way to the main soundboard out in the audience, Ted�s drum set was wheeled back up the ramp by four of the roadies and positioned near the back of the stage. The microphones and their stands were brought up next and positioned at the direction of Jeff, who had a schematic map of the stage with marks showing where everything and everyone was to be positioned. G�s keyboard was brought up next and assembled in his spot just in front of and to the left of the drum platform. And then the amps and the effects pedals were placed. Jake had two pedals and his talk box at the base of his microphone stand at the front center of the stage. Lenny did not have a microphone stand because he did not sing�at least not with Jake, he did do some backup singing for Lighthouse�so his were placed just behind and to the left of Jake�s position. Pauline�s and Phil�s microphone stands were placed just to the right of the drum platform.

Next, it was time to wire everything up. Boxes of cords were brought up, with each cord in question being tightly wound up and labeled for what it was for. It had become standard over the past few years to use wireless, belt mounted transmitters instead of physical cords but Jake was going old school. He had used the wireless tech playing with G, and Laura was used to it as well, but most of his core band members were unfamiliar with the technology and he had not had time to purchase the equipment and train everyone on it. The only one who had a wireless box was Laura, because having a cord trailing from her small soprano sax would be distracting, both to her and the audience.

It took about ten minutes to wire everything up and run the wires to the Lux. Once this was accomplished, the main wiring that led to the sound board where Sharon and the techs were stationed, were plugged into the back of the Lux. The Lux was powered up and then the amps were turned on and adjusted to the levels that had been established during the sound check. A hum briefly emitted from the main speakers of the venue, followed by a brief burst of feedback.

�All right,� Jeff said to his crew. �Let�s start doing the checks.�

He and Nerdly walked out onto the stage. No one in the crowd seemed to recognize Nerdly, which was not unusual. Of all the former Intemperance members, he was the one who had always been able to blend in in a crowd the best thanks to his crewcut hair, preppie manner of dressing, and his thick glasses. The two of them checked the mikes first, tapping each one and then saying �test test� or sometimes �testing, one two three� into them to evaluate the sound output, both audibly and on the board itself. Nerdly had a portable radio he used to communicate with Sharon and when something needed a minor adjustment�as it usually did when Nerdlys were involved�he would relay it to her, or she to him, and the adjustment would be made.

After finishing the mikes, they started on the drums. One of the roadies who was an accomplished drummer himself sat in Ted�s seat and pounded each individual drum while the Nerdlys checked the output of the mikes that picked up the sound. A few adjustments were made, and Nerdly would have loved to make more, but the clock was ticking. They were less than twelve minutes away from stage time. Nerdly declared the drum set operational within parameters and they moved on to the guitars.

Another of the roadies, this one an accomplished guitarist that Jake had known for years and who had served as Jake�s personal assistant on the last Intemperance tour, carried Jake�s black and white Les Paul�the one he would be playing for the majority of the tunes�and plugged it in. The tone knobs and the distortion levels on the amp were already pre-set from the sound check, but they needed to make sure the final output was good. He turned the volume knob all the way up pushed down on the far-left effects pedal, giving him standard distortion. He strummed out a quick chord on the low E and A strings, sending a blast of guitar sound out over the crowd, who cheered loudly when they heard it.

�I�m going up about two tenths,� Sharon�s voice said from the portable radio. �Give me another one.�

She was given another one. She then asked for something on the high end. The roadie played out a brief little solo using the G and B strings. This fell within parameters.

�Okay, next!� yelled Jeff.

The roadie took Jake�s Les Paul backstage and returned a few moments later with Lenny�s candy apple red Telecaster. He plugged in and they went through the process once again, the crowd cheering every time they heard a guitar chord played.

They did not have to check every one of the guitars, just the guitar stations since any guitar played would be set to the same level on the board. They did have to check Natalie�s violin, and G�s keyboard, and Ben�s bass, and Laura�s sax. This went relatively quickly except for the sax. No one in the crew knew how to play one except for Laura herself and they did not want her stepping out onstage where the crowd could see her because her appearance during Blur was meant to be a surprise. They actually agonized over this for a few moments, debating between having her just step out there for a minute and hoping no one would recognize her or having someone who did not know how to play just blow in the thing to check the volume. And then the blindingly obvious occurred to Jake.

�Wait a minute,� he said. �She�s wireless! Why does she need to step out there? Can�t she just blow a few melodies from back here?�

Nobody actually slapped their forehead, but everyone felt the need.

Laura blew out a few brief pieces in different ranges and the sound of her horn was heard by a hundred thousand people. A few cheered, but most did not. It was to be the only horn of any kind that would be heard during the TSF and they were not quite sure what to make of it.

�All right,� Jeff declared after getting the final approval from Nerdly. �We�re good to go. We made it under the wire.�

Everyone looked up at the clocks on the wall. One gave the current time. It was 7:56:32 PM. The other was counting down minutes and seconds until showtime. It read 03:28.

The crowd, meanwhile, was starting to get louder, realizing the show was about to start. They were stomping their feet and cheering.

�All right,� Jeff said. �It�s almost time. Let�s get in position.�

Not everyone was going to be in the first number. Natalie and Laura and G did not have parts to play for the opener so they would stay backstage. But everyone gathered at the stage entrance anyway. Jake was given his black and white Les Paul, which he slung over his neck. Lenny was given his Telecaster and he did the same. Ben�s bass was out on the stage, leaning against the drum platform, already plugged in. Ted had a pair of drumsticks in his hand. They gathered in a circle and waited. Jake felt the stage fright he always felt to some degree coming to a peak. Ninety-five thousand people out there, kept going through his mind. Can we really do this? Is my band really up for this?

He looked over at Pauline. She would sing backup on the choruses for this first number and she looked absolutely terrified. Her stage fright was probably fifty to a hundred times greater than what he was feeling.

�You okay, Paulie?� he asked her.

�I don�t know,� she said, chewing her lip a little. �I don�t think I�ve ever been this scared in my life.�

�Just go out there and do what we�ve been practicing,� he told her. �You know your parts. And I know you probably won�t believe me, but this is the truth: The fear is as great as it�s going to get at this moment, right before we go out. Once you step out there and start singing, once you realize that you�re not fucking anything up, that fear will drop away and be replaced by something that is right up there with sex.�

She nodded. It was unclear whether or not she believed him.

The countdown timer reached one minute. From seemingly nowhere, Adam Crowler, another of the MCs, appeared. He looked at the band and smiled. �Everyone ready?� he asked.

�We�re ready,� Jake said.

�Then let�s do it,� he said. He stepped out on the stage and walked up to Jake�s microphone. The crowd, seeing him appear, began to cheer again. �How is everyone doing out there tonight?�

They roared that they were doing pretty damn good.

�Good, good,� Adam said. �It�s now time for our second-to-last act of the night. This is an artist who has put out several best-selling CDs over the past few years as a solo artist but who has not toured or played a complete show of his material since his days playing with a little band called Intemperance. Have you heard of Intemperance?�

The crowd had heard of Intemperance and let him know this.

�All right,� Adam said. �Well, we have him here tonight to perform his solo material for us at the TSF. I give you the one, the only, the legendary, Jake Kingsley!�

The roar of the crowd was the loudest Jake had heard all night and he basked in it for a moment. They really do want to hear us, he thought happily.

�All right, guys!� he yelled to his band. �Let�s do it!� He held his right hand out, palm up.

G got the idea first. He slapped his hand down on Jake�s. Lenny followed. Laura then Ben then Ted then Natalie then Phil followed. Finally, Pauline realized they were all waiting on her. Still chewing her lip, still looking terrified, she slapped her hand down as well. They held that position for a moment and then broke apart.

�Let�s go!� Jake shouted. He turned and walked to the stage door. His band followed behind. It was showtime.

September 27, 1996

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers as Jake walked out onto the stage, guitar in hand. The applause and screams washed over him, the loudest he had ever heard in his career as a performing musician, not because of the enthusiasm of the crowd�though they were quite enthusiastic�but because of the sheer number of people. Ninety-five thousand voices screaming in unison is up there with standing near a jet engine on the decibel meter. The sun had set more than an hour before and the stage lights were shining brightly as he walked to the microphone, waving his right hand to the crowd the whole time. He could not see them�not beyond the first few rows of the special VIP section and the stagefront seats situated to either side of it anyway�since he was in brightness and they were in darkness, but he certainly could feel them.

He stepped up to his microphone stand and grabbed his guitar cord, which had been hung at the junction where the talk box tube was taped. He plugged it in and pulled a guitar pick from the holder on the other side of the stand. There were nineteen picks stored there, all of them navy blue (Jake�s favorite color) and each one stenciled with the words: JAKE KINGSLEY, Tsunami Sound Festival, 1996 in white. Lenny�s guitar picks were stenciled as well, although with his name and his picks were red. Ted�s drumsticks were also stenciled.

With a swipe of his middle finger, Jake turned the volume on the guitar all the way up. He was now live. He turned back to his band, who, by now, had all taken their positions. He looked at each one of them individually to make sure they were ready to start, doing it quickly, less than a half second per member. First Lenny, then Ben, then Ted, then Phil, then Pauline gave him a nod, indicating all systems go (though Pauline�s nod was markedly hesitant and unsure). He then looked back at Ted again and gave him a thumb�s up. Ted nodded once more and gave a four count by tapping his drum sticks together. On the count of four, they launched into their opening number: Can�t Keep Me Down, the hard driver from Jake�s first solo album.

The roar of the crowd picked up in enthusiasm and decibel level when they heard the distinctive intro chords being hammered out by Lenny and supported by strong strikes on the toms from Ted. They played the intro out to completion and then let the last note fade almost to silence before Jake jumped in with his part, strumming out the primary melody with mild distortion that was just a few steps above clean. They played this out through three repetitions, all of them moving with the beat and getting their groove going. The tune used the varying tempo technique that Jake employed so often on his material. After the third rep of the primary melody, they shifted to a slower tempo, but a more powerful melody and rhythm and Jake began to belt out the lyrics that declared he could be abused, could be knocked down and dragged out, but he would always get back up again and emerge stronger from the experience. The lyrics came out of his mouth naturally, with perfect timing and in key to the music, just as if he had practiced a thousand times over the past few months�which he had. He felt his stage fright slipping away as the dopamine and endorphin release that came from performing well began to surge through his body. In the stagefront seats that he could see, he saw nearly everyone singing along with him. His eye caught a particularly buxom and attractive young women who was probably not even old enough to legally buy beer. She gave him a smile and pulled her shirt up, revealing two gloriously bare breasts capped with huge nipples. He smiled as he saw this, thinking it�s been way too long since I�ve done this last.

They reached the first chorus and the tempo switched back up. Jake sang out the words:

You can�t keep me down, no matter how you try

I will stand back up, I will stand back in.

No, you can�t keep me down, you can�t take me out

I may lose a battle, but the war will still be mine

As he sang the chorus lines, Phil and Pauline joined him, giving him soprano and baritone support. Jake smiled again as he heard his sister�s voice mixing with his. She performed her part perfectly, just as she had on the original recording of the tune and just as she had during their rehearsals. Though she had never had any vocal training other than what Jake and Celia had given her, she sounded like a professional.

After the chorus, they switched tempo again for the second verse. Jake continued to play out his parts on his guitar, the fingers of his right hand strumming, the fingers of his left hand fretting automatically, without conscious thought, while he sang into the microphone. He expounded upon his theme of self-liberation and then they ran through the chorus once more. After the second chorus, they played out the bridge, Jake hammering out short, poetic diatribes about those who would try to keep him down while Phil and Pauline hummed angrily in key behind him. After this, there was a final verse, another tempo change, and then three repetitions of the chorus. After the third rep, the outro guitar solo began. On the studio recording, Jake had played the solo (Celia had actually played the guitar parts he was playing now) but had not taken credit for it. Lenny played it now, stepping forward to the edge of the stage and perfectly imitating Jake�s notes with just a little personal phrasing of his own. The crowd cheered for him as he played, most of them nodding their heads in time to the beat.

In the studio version of Down, the outro had faded out. That was obviously not an option when performing live so they had rehearsed up a new ending to put the tune to rest. They played it out now, Jake and Lenny both stepping up, shoulder to shoulder, and hammering out a blistering finale that was accompanied by the pounding of Ted on the drums before cutting off abruptly and letting Lenny�s final note fade out.

The roar of the crowd washed over them once again, the loudest they had heard so far. Jake and Lenny both flipped their guitar picks into the crowd, creating minor scuffles for possession of them where they landed. They walked back to their stations and pulled new picks for the next number, which would be Hit the Highway, Jake�s song about his breakup with Helen, another of his top hits. G came trotting out and sat down in front of his keyboard set, hat and sunglasses firmly in place. Since the cheers remained at the same level, it seemed reasonable to believe that no one had recognized him. If they noticed anything at all, it was just that�as G himself put it�some anonymous brother had come out to play a little keyboards for Jake.

Celia and Obie sat together in folding chairs in the third row of the special VIP section just in front of the stage. Both were drinking draft beer from large plastic cups and having quite a good time so far. The SVIP could accommodate about two hundred people and was pretty much full to capacity. All of the musicians and their special guests for the entire festival had access to it. Most of the other people in the section, Celia did not know. A few she had only met today. There was Jessie, Lenny�s girlfriend, sitting a few seats over. There were the two men that Phil had invited (she had already forgotten their names). There was Mark, Natalie�s husband, and their copilot on the first Celia Valdez Tour. He was sitting on Celia�s left. Suzie had been invited but had been unable to make it (which was a bummer because Celia was approaching the line again with her horniness). A few of Ted�s paramedic friends were sitting just in front of them and had been in those seats all day (and were quite intoxicated). Ben Ping�s wife was sitting just to the right of Obie (and seemed very awed to be in his presence) and, interestingly enough, Rabbi Levenstein, who had married the Nerdlys in Heritage and presided over Kelvin Archer�s circumcision, and his wife were present as well, sitting next to Ben�s wife, both of them dressed in ratty jeans and Intemperance concert t-shirts.

Celia was genuinely enjoying the show so far. She had, after all, played a major part in the production of all of Jake�s music, had played the rhythm guitar on the opening song in the studio when it had been recorded. She had sung along with the lyrics and swayed to the rhythm all throughout Can�t Keep Me Down. And now, as they launched into Hit the Highway, she smiled and began to sing along with that as well. Jake had played both rhythm and lead on the recording of the song, but she had played the lead parts throughout their initial workups of the tune and she knew every note intimately. She played air guitar as she sang along, her fingers fretting imaginary strings in perfect synchronicity with Lenny.

Obie was also enjoying himself. He was dressed in jeans and a tank top that showed off his upper arm tattoos. He had his signature cowboy hat upon his head and his full beard was neatly trimmed for the occasion. He sang along as well. Though his love was primarily country music, classic country in particular, he had a strong affection for any music that was well done and well-engineered. And Jake�s tunes most definitely fell into that category. He even liked the stuff that Jake had done with Intemperance, though only Jake�s tunes, not Matt�s. And, as he sang along and considered the huge crowd of the TSF and the amount of money that Music Alive was making for this shindig, the business part of his mind began to ponder if maybe a country music version of the show could be arranged and if maybe he had the balls to pull it off.

As Jake and the band finished up Hit the Highway and the crowd cheered and whistled and overwhelmed everyone�s eardrums once again, Obie took a little look around, trying to gauge just how the engineering of such a festival might be improved upon. It was then that he spotted a familiar figure standing by the small opening that led from the roped off access area into the SVIP section. He thought he was imagining things at first, but then realized that what his eyes were seeing was accurate.

He pulled on Celia�s shirt to get her attention. She looked at him to see what he wanted. It was far too loud at the moment for verbal communication, so he simply pointed. She squinted in the direction he was indicating for a moment, not understanding what he was trying to show her, and then he saw the figure as well.

It was Matt Tisdale. He was standing there and watching Jake�s performance.

While the crowd cheered the ending of Highway, Natalie made her first appearance on the stage, trotting out and taking her position just in front of the drum set. One of the crew came out and plugged her output cable into the box strapped to her waist. The box picked up the output from the microphone on the bridge of her violin. Meanwhile, another crew member came out to Jake�s position, carrying his Fender acoustic-electric in his hands. Jake turned the volume button on the Les Paul all the way down to nothing, unplugged the guitar cord, and unslung the instrument from around his shoulder. He handed the Les Paul to the crew member and took the Fender in its place. He slung the new guitar over his shoulder and plugged into it before twisting its volume button all the way up. As the crew member retreated backstage, Jake stepped forward to his microphone.

�How�s everyone doing out there in the desert tonight?� he asked the crowd. They roared back at him in a manner that suggested they were doing pretty good. �God damn, there�s a lot of you out there! I hope those of you in the back can see the show. Anyway, we�re really happy to be up here in front of you all to play our set. I hope you�re enjoying it so far.� Another roar of approval indicated they were, in fact, enjoying it so far. �We�re going to do a song now from my second solo CD, a little more mellow of a piece, called The Life I Lead.�

The crowd roared again�the song was the biggest hit from the second CD�and Jake began to play out the melody on the acoustic, strumming in the key of G major while Natalie provided backing melody with the violin and G added some gentle fills with the piano. It was a song about traveling through life, dealing with the bad times and enjoying the good times, about navigating around pitfalls when you could and driving straight through them when you couldn�t. Like Down, it was a piece that changed tempo throughout, slower on the verses, faster and with more distorted electric guitar during the choruses and the bridge. There was no solo of any kind in the song, just a brief instrumental portion between the bridge and the final chorus. They played it almost exactly like the studio version, only extending the outro for another twenty seconds or so and then transitioning that into a finale that ended with an drawn out note of the violin being allowed to finally fade.

The applause washed over them once again. Jake thanked the crowd for it, flipped his guitar pick into the seats, and then resettled his guitar and pulled out another pick while everyone except Natalie, Phil, Pauline, and himself left the stage. Jake was feeling very good, very confident now, knowing that he was doing his job and entertaining people. He could feel the energy and love from the audience surging through his soul. It was a very good feeling, right up there, as he had told Pauline earlier, with sex (but not quite better). He strummed a few open chords on the guitar and then grabbed a G chord and began to play the primary melody for Insignificance, his biggest hit as a solo artist. The crowd erupted once again as they heard it. They then settled in to watch, listen, and sing along as Jake waxed musical poetry about the essential meaninglessness of life. The song featured only the guitar and the violin for instruments. Natalie stood next to him as he played, her bow moving up and down and creating the sweet, melancholy accompaniment to the guitar melody. Phil and Pauline added their voices to the choruses, just as they had in the original studio version.

When they got to the violin solo, Natalie stepped forward to the edge of the stage and Jake stepped back, giving her the spotlight. The solo had been originally composed by Mary Kingsley, Jake�s mother (the first solo she had ever composed), and Natalie did it justice, reproducing it perfectly with only minor variations that could be attributed to individual phrasing. The crowd cheered her as the solo wrapped up and the two of them had to go through one full rep of the primary melody before Jake could start singing the final verse or they would not have been able to hear him. He sang out the verse and the final chorus and then he and Natalie played out the outro together, ending the song after Jake gave her his cue by adding a small flourish as he approached the end of the final repetition.

�Thank you!� Jake said. �We got Natalie Popanova on the violin! Let�s hear it for her!�

Another enthusiastic cheer erupted. Natalie smiled at the crowd and gave a nod of acknowledgment before stepping backwards and resuming her normal positioning. Once she was there, G, Ben, Ted, and Lenny all came back out, Lenny now holding his drop-D tuned Brogan. The crew member in charge of Jake�s guitars came out as well, letting Jake switch from the acoustic-electric to the sunburst Les Paul, which was also in drop-D tuning.

�How about we ramp things back up a bit?� Jake asked the crowd. �Does that sound good to you?�

It sounded just fine to them. Ted gave a four count and they launched into the extended intro for Put Me Out There, Jake�s second hit from his last CD, a hard-driving, complex, and somewhat cynical tune about how music was delivered to the masses by the sale of advertising to radio stations. In the original recording, Jake had played the lead guitar and the solo while Celia had backed him up with her drop-D tuned Stratocaster. Here, Lenny played lead and Jake played rhythm while Ted pounded out the complex beat, Natalie added fills and backing melody with the violin, and G kept up a steady secondary rhythm with the synthesizer. The crowd loved it, many of them standing up and waving their arms as he sang it out.

They love us, Jake thought warmly as more positive energy came flowing in. They fucking love us. We really do belong up here.

Forty-five feet away, Matt Tisdale was having much the same thought. He had come out to the special VIP section for one reason: because he thought that Jake was going to fail, was going to be booed off the stage for daring to play his mellow, alternative rock and easy-listening crap at what was primarily a heavy metal music festival. Matt wanted to see that happen, had been eagerly anticipating it, but he now realized that quite the opposite was actually occurring here.

They fucking love his shit, he thought in wonder. Not just like, not just �can get into it�, but fucking love! People were standing and dancing and waving their hands around. They were singing along with his tunes. Matt had even seen a couple of bitches crying when Jake had sung Insignificance. Fucking crying!

Matt could not help but acknowledge and respect how Jake had played the crowd and hooked them. He had opened the set with one of his hardest-driving tunes and one of his most powerful backbeats, thus giving the fans out there what they had primarily come to see�hard rock�before gradually transitioning down into the more mellow shit. And then, after hitting the very top of the mellow meter with Insignificance, just when it seemed like things might start getting cumbersome, he had kicked right back in with another hard-rocking number to reengage them. And, though Matt had not seen them, he smelled the Nerdlys in the background. No one else could have tuned in sound in a venue like this to such perfection. All of the instruments and mikes and the drum set itself were almost exactly in balance and adjusted so that every individual instrument could be heard, every word of Jake�s lyrics could be understood. Even the backup singers�who the fuck brings dedicated backup singers to a goddamn heavy metal festival?�could be perfectly heard and understood. And it was quite obvious that Jake and his band had rehearsed extensively for this performance. He could quite plainly feel the teamwork and camaraderie they shared as they meshed like a well-oiled machine.

Where did he even get these musicians? Matt wondered bitterly. He recognized Pauline as one of the backup singers, but he had no idea whatsoever who everyone else was. But goddamn if they couldn�t play. The dude on the lead guitar�Jake was apparently too pussy to play out his own solos and riffs�was talented, laying down the licks with mechanical precision and artistry. The bass player was solid as well, keeping the rhythm perfectly and transitioning seamlessly through the tempo changes. And the fat guy on the drums! He was pounding out some complex shit up there. Where the fuck had he been when Matt was looking for a percussionist? Who were these people and where had Jake found them?

Put Me Out There ended in a finale of distorted guitar riffs by Jake, a wind-down solo by the lead guitarist, and a flurry of pounding beats by the drummer. The crowd cheered again, the sound of it a physical thing that Matt could feel in his chest. When it began to die down a bit, Jake stoked it by stepping to his microphone and introducing the lead guitarist.

�Lenny Harris on the Telecaster!� Jake shouted. �Lenny Harris. Give it up for him!�

They gave it up. Matt still had no idea who the guitarist was. The name Lenny Harris meant absolutely nothing to him.

A stagehand that Matt now recognized from the last Intemperance tour trotted out on the stage and gave Jake back his black and white Les Paul in exchange for the drop-D tuned sunburst. The drummer gave another four-count and they launched into The Easy Way, which was the very first song that Jake had released and promoted in his solo career; the song with the heavy synthesizer melody, the one Matt had not thought much of upon first hearing it but that had grown on him considerably since (much to his chagrin). It still received fairly frequent airplay on the rock and pop stations, usually in the afternoons, early evenings, and early morning hours. They played through the slow intro part and then went up-tempo after the first verse, adding in the distorted drop-D guitar atop the synthesizer and Jake�s three-chord melody. But mostly what carried the tune was Jake�s most valuable weapon: his voice and the range he was capable of reaching with it. It was arguably the best voice currently singing in rock and roll and Jake knew how to use it. The crowd once again began to dance and sing along with the tune. To his surprise and near-horror, Matt actually found himself swaying his shoulders and singing along with the first chorus. He snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he was doing.

What the fuck is the matter with me? he thought, shaking his head at himself. I need to get the fuck out of here and start prepping for my own show. But he did not move from his spot. And, a few minutes later, during the bridge to final chorus transition, his shoulders started swaying once again and he began singing along with the lyrics, not even realizing he was doing it.

After Easy, Jake and his band raised the mellow meter once again, performing Nothing is Different Now, which used the piano for the primary melody and Jake�s Les Paul in the clean configuration for the rhythm guitar. The lead guitarist played only fills on the in-betweens and the drumming was a soft, repetitive beat that one barely noticed�a stark contrast to the earlier drumbeats. Still, the song was one of Jake�s more popular ones and the crowd enjoyed it. Matt spent the whole tune trying to figure out just who Jake was singing about. Was it Helen? Or that Mindy Snow bitch? Probably Mindy Snow, he figured. Jake always did have this weird habit of getting too emotionally involved with the bitches he fucked. The dumb shit had actually even married one of them. Fucking married! Matt certainly did not understand that.

Different ended and they dialed things up again. They played the song Domain of Eminence, from the latest CD, a tune that was just starting to get airplay across the nation. It seemed to be about greedy real estate developers using their shady connections on municipal councils to forcibly take land from people who had held it for generations just so they could slap down more tract homes, roads, and strip malls. The song hit a little bit home for Matt as he was someone who had recently lost one of his homes to The Man, not by eminent domain, but by tax arrears. Still, he could appreciate the emotion that Jake sung about in the verses and chorus.

When the applause from that song died down, the stagehand reappeared and Jake changed out his Les Paul for the Fender acoustic-electric again. The violinist and the lead guitarist left the stage. Jake walked up to his microphone and began to speak to the crowd again.

�Do you all mind if I introduce you to someone very special to me?� he asked them.

They cheered out their approval of this plan.

�All right,� Jake said, nodding. �I�d like to introduce my wife, Laura Kingsley. Come on out here, Laura!�

Another round of applause, louder this time, erupted as Jake�s bitch emerged from the backstage area, a straight soprano sax in her hands. Matt looked her up and down appreciatively. Yeah, her tits were kind of small, but she really was a hot piece of ass, all considered. He could see why Jake liked fucking her. She had a sweet, innocent face and a petite, rocking body. She was what was known in male circles as a spinner. He wondered if there was any truth to those entertainment rag stories about how she dyked out with female groupies out on tour. After a moment�s thought, however, he decided there probably wasn�t. A bitch that cute and innocent looking probably did not munch muff. And she certainly wouldn�t take it up the ass. Would she even slurp schlong? His instinct said no, but he had to figure that Jake wouldn�t marry any bitch unless she would suck cock and suck it well.

The ginger bitch came and stood next to Jake, a shy, nervous smile on her face. Jake used his right arm to give her a hug. She returned it and then they broke apart. Jake returned to the microphone. Laura continued to stand next to him, looking out over the crowd.

�Some of you may know this,� Jake told them, �and some of you may not, but Laura is a saxophonist. She plays on Celia Valdez�s first and third releases and has just come off a long tour playing for her in North America and Europe. In fact, she flew in from Poland just last night so she could be here to help me out with this next tune.�

Another round of cheers. Matt pondered this information. Yes, he knew that Kingsley�s bitch was that Mexican bitch�s sax player and had been touring with her. After all, the tabloid rags and the entertainment shows had been going on about the whole Celia Valdez and Laura Kingsley lesbian sex scandals for the past few months (Matt could kind of picture Celia Valdez sticking her face in some muff�and the mental picture was not unpleasant at all). But had he just said that she had flown in from Poland? And that she was going to perform with him right now? How the fuck was that possible? That would mean that they had had no rehearsal time for the tune they were about to play (it had to be South Island Blur, Matt realized. That was the only Jake Kingsley tune that had any sax in it at all. And it was soprano sax, the same instrument his bitch was now holding in her hands). Was the moment of Kingsley�s downfall now here? They seriously could not think that they could just step up and pull off a tune like that without prior rehearsal, did they? Even if they were already intimately familiar with the piece, shit like that just could not be done�not outside of a cheesy Hollywood movie or TV show anyway.

�Laura and I met each other,� Jake continued, �back when she first signed on to play the sax for Celia Valdez. You see, Celia and I have known each other for years and we were both rehearsing our first solo CDs in the same building and we both recorded those CDs in the same recording studio up in Oregon. Laura and I did not think too much of each other at first, did we, hon?�

She did not speak into the mic, but she did give a sideways smile and an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders, indicating he was correct. The crowd laughed at this revelation.

�But ... well ... as we got to know each other better, we realized we did have something fundamental in common: our love of making music and playing in front of people. We bonded over that, and that bond gradually became attraction and, eventually, love. And it was during this period, somewhere between bonding and love, that I realized one of the tunes I was working on was missing something, something I could not quite put my finger on. And then I realized what it was. I needed to throw in a little soprano sax to nail down the melody and the rhythm. And I just happened to know a badass sax player. I asked her to work with me on the tune and she agreed. It was during the composition and recording of this tune that we fell in love. The rest is history.�

The crowd cheered loudly again, obviously appreciative of the story, though Matt still did not understand the whole marriage thing. Why did he need to get married to keep boning the bitch? I�ve been boning Kim for almost ten years now and we�ve never even considered getting married, let alone actually gone and done it. What rationale, besides love, which Jake kept going on about (and that Matt did not think could possibly be the actual reason, even if it really did exist), could he possibly have? Was he just deranged? And, of course, he could not possibly be only boning her and no one else, right? No fucking way. Not Jake Kingsley.

�So, we�re going to play that tune for you here tonight,� Jake said. �It�s a tune that I wrote about one of the worst times of my life and I�m now going to play it for you here during one of the best times of my life. Life really is a wheel, people. Here we go now. Let�s do a little South Island Blur.�

A tremendous roar erupted as he said the name of the tune. Though Insignificance was Jake�s best charting tune, Blur was by far his most popular, crossing into nearly all demographics, enjoyed by millions of people who would not be caught dead listening to anything else that Jake or Intemperance had done. The song was regularly covered by bands playing at parties and weddings, was played over boomboxes on booze cruises and tropical pool parties. KVA received twenty to thirty requests a week for permission to perform the tune in live venues (they generally granted such requests for a nominal fee). And this heavy metal oriented crowd was quite eager to see it performed now.

They ran through it, playing it pretty much exactly the same as the studio version. Matt kept expecting Jake�s bitch to fuck up her parts, but she did not make so much as a single error. She played out her part of the melody exactly in key and with perfect timing and phrasing. Though Matt knew this was impossible if Jake had been telling the truth about her just flying in from Poland, she came across as if she had been rehearsing her part in the piece right along with the rest of them. And not only that, she had some pretty impressive showmanship as well�obviously gained by all of her time playing for the Mexican bitch. She stayed close to Jake�s side during the verses, moving her shoulders to the rhythm, her feet dancing a little as she played. And then, when it was time for the sax solo before the final verse, she stepped up to the front of the stage and played it out with style, her fingers moving confidently over her keys, her cheeks puffing in and out as she blew into the mouthpiece, occasionally swaying and turning at the waist. And again, she did not miss a single note, did not have a single moment of mistiming.

Matt felt disappointed that she did not fuck up, but he could not help but feel a strong measure of respect for Jake�s bitch. She really was a professional musician with talent and not some hacker that Jake let play for him because she was a hot ginger spinner and he was boning her.

They wrapped up Blur, ending it just like the studio version: with an abrupt finish and a final drawn-out saxophone note. The crowd cheered loudly, with more than a few wolf whistles directed at Kingsley�s bitch, who acknowledged with a little wave and that shy smile on her face.

�Laura Kingsley on the soprano sax!� Jake yelled into the microphone. �Do I know how to pick �em, or what?�

While the crowd continued to cheer for her, Jake gave her another hug and kissed her on the lips. She then trotted off stage, waving to the crowd and holding her sax high. The stagehand came back out and Jake switched out the acoustic-electric for the black and white Les Paul once again. The lead guitarist remained offstage, and the keyboard player and the backup singers trotted off as well. Jake stepped forward to the microphone once again and made a few adjustments to his effects pedals.

�And this next number is a song I wrote about my relationship with Laura,� he told the crowd. �It�s from the last CD. Maybe you�ve heard it. It�s called Teach Me.�

Another loud cheer. The crowd had certainly heard Teach Me, which had been the most popular cut on Jake�s latest CD, having spent twelve weeks in the top 5 on the charts. Matt had heard it as well, though he had never bothered analyzing the lyrics to any degree. He watched now as Jake began to play it out, finger-picking out the melody on the Les Paul all by himself, playing with light distortion that allowed the individual strings to be heard as they were played, and then strumming out the choruses. It was masterful guitar work, but then Jake always had been the best at acoustic-oriented playing. Once again, Matt found himself nodding to the rhythm of the tune and even singing along a bit. And now that he knew what the song was about, the lyrics actually took on some meaning for him and he began to feel appreciation for the message Jake was conveying�even if he still did not understand why someone would want to marry a bitch when she was giving up the gash for free.

After the applause following Teach Me, the keyboard player returned to the stage. The backup singers and the lead guitarist did not return, leaving just Jake, the keyboardist, and the rhythm section to play what came next. Matt glanced at his watch, seeing that Jake had about fourteen more minutes in his set.

I really do need to get back to the trailer and start getting dressed, he thought. He would, after all, be taking to his own stage thirty minutes after Jake finished. But he did not leave. And, though he told himself he was still hoping that Jake or one of his musicians would fuck up, deep inside he knew this was not true. He was staying because he was enjoying the show. He would never admit that to anyone, anywhere, even under torture, but he was genuinely enjoying the performance and wanted to see more.

Jake did not announce the name of the tune they were now playing, they just launched into it after a four count. It was played out with a moderately distorted three-chord riff that repeated over and over and was backed by the drums and bass, with a little piano secondary melody. Matt had heard the tune before�he had listened to all of Jake�s CDs a few times�and he recognized it was something off the first CD, but it was not one of the tunes they played on the radio with any frequency, so he had a hard time pinning down just what it was. The crowd also seemed to be not as familiar with the piece, as their cheers when it started to play were a little bit muted. It was only when Jake started to sing out the first verse that Matt finally remembered.

Oh yeah, he thought, nodding. It�s the tune about getting stoned but that he�s pretending is about flying his fucking airplane. It was a decent enough tune, with clever lyrics, but Matt thought it odd that he was playing it at the festival. His time was now running short, and he was performing one of his deep cuts instead of one of his popular pieces? What was up with that? Was he in the process of fucking things up after all? And where was the lead guitarist? Was Jake going to actually play his own lead on this one?

It turned out that Jake was playing his own lead. He drove through the first two verses, grinding out the riff and singing simultaneously with no problem whatsoever. It sounded like he had dialed up the intensity of the piece from the studio version, in fact, making the guitar parts louder and more authoritative. And then, when it came time for the solo, he launched right into it, his fingers moving up and down the fretboard, squeezing and releasing, sending rapid-fire notes out of the speakers and causing the audience to start cheering loudly as they were shown that Jake really could play lead and could play it well.

That�s why he put this song in here, Matt realized. So he could show off his lead guitar skills. And he was doing a pretty good job of doing it. Not as good as Matt could have done, of course, but still, it was a damn good shred.

But Matt hadn�t seen anything yet. Nor had the crowd. After winding up the guitar solo, Jake and the rhythm section transitioned back to a muted version of the primary melody, playing it over and over again while the black dude on the keyboards put out a lengthy and impressive piano solo that lasted more than two minutes. The audience began to clap along with the beat and were now fully into the number. Matt, in fact, had to resist the urge to clap along himself.

The piano solo wrapped up with a final flurry of notes. Jake stepped forward to the microphone once again and spoke into it: �Gordon Paladay on the keyboards! Gordon Paladay!�

Another cheer erupted forth, this one a bit more extensive and extended.

Gordon Paladay? Matt thought. Isn�t that the real name of that rapper that Jake hangs out with? The one he did those songs with? He was pretty sure it was. He peered closely at the black man in the hat and sunglasses and was finally able to resolve the facial features enough. It was Bigg G! Jake had a fucking rapper up there playing keyboards for him and nailing it! And he had not even mentioned who the man was! At least not until now. And who in this crowd was even going to know that Gordon Paladay and Bigg G were one and the same?

Jake sang out the final chorus of the tune and then transitioned into what seemed like it was to be an outro. He belted out the hook line for the tune over and over, changing up the wording and parts he sang as he did so.

�I am high ... I am high ... I am high up in the skyyyyyyyy. Yes, I�m high, yessss I�m high-yiiiiii, I am high up in the skyyyyyyyy!�

But it turned out, this was not an outro. After letting the last syllable fade out, the rhythm section and the keyboardist transitioned back into a repetitive playing of the main melody. Jake, meanwhile, had stepped up to his microphone and stepped on one of his effects pedals. He then reached forward and pulled on something, extending a tube out alongside his actual microphone, so it was sticking out about three inches beyond the head.

What the fuck? Matt wondered. That almost looks like ... no, it couldn�t be. Nobody does that anymore.

But somebody did. Jake did. He put the end of the tube in his mouth and began to pick out small isolated solo notes on his guitar. The sound of a talk box played out over the crowd and they cheered loudly and enthusiastically when they heard it.

Motherfucker, Matt thought in amazement. Can he really pull this shit off?

Jake�s solo fragments became louder, longer, more shaped by his mouth, and the sound was impressive. The crowd was clapping to the beat again, obviously enjoying Jake�s efforts. He picked up the pace and complexity of his playing, going into an extended and quite complex solo that he shaped with the talk box into something unique sounding, something with power. Soon, his fingers were blurring up and down the fretboard again while he picked rapidly with his right fingers and moved his mouth and lips. The cheering grew even louder, starting to compete with the speakers for dominance.

He wound down the tempo of the solo until he was once again just belting out brief successive notes while the band just kept putting down the repetitive rhythm in the background. He then began to make the guitar talk by playing out single G-chord strings and shaping the output as if he were talking. The words he was forming were quite plainly the hook line of the song once again: �Flying high, flying highhhh, flying high up in the sky.�

With each repetition of the phrase, the crowd cheered even more. He kept it up for a little more than a minute and then transitioned back to the short series notes once again. He went through this as the band gradually began increasing the tempo and the power of the rhythm behind him. He followed along with the tempo increase, making his own vocalizations louder until they reached an apparently agreed upon point (Matt had been unable to pick up if there had been a cue given, if there was, it had been very professionally subtle) and Jake removed his mouth from the tube, stomped down on the effects pedal (that Matt now knew was the talk box) and began to rip out a closing conventional solo while the drums and pass pounded behind him and Bigg G hammered along on the piano keys.

The ending solo was completely original for this performance and Jake played it masterfully, with careful use of the whammy bar and multiple trips up and down the fretboard while finger-tapping the strings with his right fingers. The performance did exactly what Jake had undoubtedly intended: it showed that not only could he sing and play rhythm, he could shred lead and solos with the best of them. True, he was not as good at it as Matt Tisdale, but he was not really even trying to be. He was up there with the best of the best and he had his own unique style and sound that could not be accused of Tisdale imitation.

When the solo and the song finally ended in a flurry of drum and piano and guitar, the roar from the crowd was deafening, clearly the loudest heard tonight. The crowd stood as one, offering a standing ovation for the performance they had just witnessed. Jake accepted their accolades humbly, simply standing at the front of the stage, nodding and waving.

�Thank you,� he said into the microphone. �I hope you enjoyed that.�

And, as the cheering continued, the rest of the band came back out onto the stage�all except Kingsley�s bitch. They took their positions and launched into what Matt had to assume was the closing number of the set since they only had three minutes left in their allotment.

Jake closed out the set as he had opened it: with one of his hard-driving tunes: Ocean View, which featured two dueling distorted electric guitars gradually increasing in intensity and power as the tune progressed. Matt actually smiled as he heard the tune and did not bother trying to keep himself from tapping to the beat and singing along. Ocean View was actually what he considered to be the best of Jake�s solo tunes and, though he would never tell anyone and would never do it if anyone else was nearby, he often turned up the volume when he heard the song on the radio.

They played the song out well�the lead guitarist playing the solo for this one�and then finished up with a final flurry of guitar and drums that lasted nearly thirty seconds. Once the last note faded out, the crowd once again gave a standing O after Jake thanked them and told them good night. The entire band put down their instruments and stepped to the front of the stage. Kingsley�s bitch trotted out from backstage to join them. They linked arms and took a few bows before heading off the stage. The crowd called for an encore, but that was not to be. The show was on a timeline and Matt, as the headliner, was the only one who was allowed to give an encore.

Matt waited until the applause and cheers died down�it took nearly three minutes�and then turned and walked into the narrow corridor that led back to guarded access gate for the SVIP section. The guards looked at the all-access pass around his neck, gave him a nod, and he started walking back to the trailer he and his band had been assigned to. He was troubled as he made the journey.

That asshole just put on one fuck of a show, he kept thinking. Did I really think he was going to step up there and bomb? Yes, he really had. How painfully na�ve that thought seemed now. This was Jake Kingsley, after all. Jake always had been the master of planning out performances, had been the driving force behind what had made Intemperance�s live shows so appealing to crowds with his witchlike sense of how to play to their emotions and psychology. He had been doing it ever since their days playing the clubs in Heritage, had perfected the art once the band had been given back control of their sets after the renegotiation of their contract granted them the power to use him in that role once again. How in the hell did I forget that? Did I think he just lost that when Intemperance broke up?

The most unsettling thought, however, was: How can I compete with what he just did? Me, with my standard set we�ve been playing all along, a set we haven�t played or rehearsed in more than three weeks now, and with a sound team that aren�t worthy to suck Nerdly�s dick?

The answer to that, he feared, was that he could not.

He entered the trailer to find his band extremely anxious and agitated.

�Jesus Christ, Matt!� Austin said. �Where the fuck have you been? We have to report to the stage in ten fucking minutes!�

�And you�re not even dressed yet!� added Corban.

Matt simply shrugged. �I was just out wandering around and checking out the gash,� he said.

�Checking out the gash?� Austin cried. �Now?�

�Yep,� Matt said simply. �I�m gonna get changed. Should only take me a few minutes.�

Corban was looking at him with concern. �Are you okay, Matt?� he asked carefully.

�Yeah,� Matt said with a nod. �Why wouldn�t I be?�

Jake�s band was elated and enthusiastic as they made their way back to their trailer after the show. They had nailed their performance and they knew it. High fives were exchanged spontaneously. G taught a few elaborate handshakes. With the exception of Laura, they were all drenched in sweat and parched, drinking from bottles of Gatorade to rehydrate as they made the walk.

�Did you hear that fucking crowd cheering us?� asked Ted, a huge smile on his face.

�I heard them,� Jake said, feeling quite fine himself. They had exceeded even his most optimistic expectations and this knowledge was giving him a dopamine rush that not even the finest cocaine, the most pungent greenbud could hope to compete with. After all the rehearsals and planning, after all the agonizing over the set list and what musicians he would end up with, they had pulled off their first show with style, absolutely wowing the crowd of ninety-five thousand at a festival they were said not to belong in.

�That was hell to the badass!� Ted said. �They gave us a standing O! Twice!�

�You absolutely nailed your solos in High, Jake,� Lenny said. �I am in fucking awe of you! I mean, I already was before we even started playing together, but that was ... that was ... I can�t even describe it.�

�That�s what lots of rehearsal and a badass sound team gets you,� Jake told him.

�Sure, that�s a big part of it,� Lenny said. �But rehearsal and a good sound team don�t mean shit if you don�t have the talent to take advantage of it. And you do. You shined out there, Jake. Absolutely fucking shined. I am so incredibly stoked that I was able to be a part of it.�

�You were pretty badass yourself,� Jake told him. �All of you were. That wasn�t just me up there, it was us, and we carried this off to perfection.�

�Beyond perfection, I think,� G said. �That was sublime, homies. Fucking sublime!�

Another round of high-fives and elaborate G handshakes were exchanged. This carried them all the way to their trailer, where the door was open and the party had already begun, partially spilling out into chairs that had been set up on the desert floor. Obie and Celia were there with Ben�s wife, Ted�s paramedic friends, Mark the pilot, the Rabbi Levenstein and his wife, and all the other specially invited friends and family. Beer, wine, and mixed drinks were flowing freely. Everyone greeted Jake and the band enthusiastically as they made their way into the circle, shaking hands and giving more high-fives and telling everyone how fucking badass that show had been. Nobody seemed to be faking or even exaggerating their enthusiasm. It all seemed quite sincere.

Jake was still feeling a little dehydrated, so he grabbed another quart bottle of Gatorade�the green kind was his favorite�and opened it up. He sat down on the couch and took a few healthy slugs of it, soothing his tired throat. Celia came and sat next to him. She had a glass of red wine in her hands.

�That was an amazing performance, Jake,� she told him. �I have never seen anything like that before.�

�Thanks,� he said, feeling another burst of pride at her praise. Celia, after all, was a professional performer who put on a damn good show herself. Her approval stood a few steps above pretty much anyone else�s. �We put a lot of work into that and there was some definite chemistry between us. Everything just clicked up there tonight. Hopefully, we can do it again tomorrow.�

�I have no doubt that you will,� she said. She raised her glass to him. �To chemistry. It can be a good thing.�

�Chemistry,� he repeated, tapping his Gatorade against her glass. They drank.

�And guess who was hanging out in the SVIP with us, watching your show?� Celia said slyly.

�Who?�

�Matt Tisdale,� she said with a smile.

�Matt was there?� he asked, quite surprised. �No shit?�

�No shit,� she said. �Obie and I both saw him. He stayed for the entire performance.�

�Really?�

�I wouldn�t lie to you about that,� she said. �Not only did he stay for the whole thing, but I saw him actually enjoying it. He was tapping his feet, nodding his head, and sometimes even singing along.�

Jake had a hard time believing this. �Are you sure it was Matt?� he asked.

�I am absolutely positive,� she said. �I once called Matt a cabron. If I call someone that, I will remember their face forever. It was Matt Tisdale, and he was getting down with your show.�

�Wow,� Jake said. �I wonder what brought that on?�

�Musical respect would be my guess,� she said. �He may not like you personally, but he has to respect you as a musician and a performer, right?�

�I suppose,� Jake said doubtfully.

�Anyway, I thought you would want to know that.�

�Yeah ... thanks, I guess,� Jake said.

Ted called first dibs on the shower. No one disputed this. After all, as the drummer, he was the one who had expended the most energy during the show (Ted had, in fact, lost fifteen pounds since they had started rehearsals just from the sheer aerobic exercise of daily drumming and was now in the best shape he had been in since his early twenties) and the one who had produced the most perspiration.

�Make it quick though,� Pauline told him. �We all need to be showered and ready for the limo to pick us up in ninety minutes. If we don�t leave before the end of Matt�s show, we�ll be stuck here until the crowd completely disperses. With ninety-five thousand people out there, that will literally take hours.�

�Understood,� Ted promised. He then squeezed himself into the tiny bathroom and closed the door.

�All right,� Pauline said, now in manager mode. �Who is going next? You, Jake?�

�Yeah,� he said, nodding. �I�ll go next.�

�Okay,� she said. �Get your clothes and stand by. The moment Ted gets out, you get in and make it quick.�

�Yes, boss,� he told her, giving a little salute.

He went and gathered the faded jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing prior to changing into his stage clothes. He also had a pair of clean underwear, clean socks, and a travel-sized container of Old Spice deodorant. Pauline handed him a laundry bag to put the stage clothes in. When Ted emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, Jake stepped in, wincing a little as his nose picked up the evidence that Ted had moved his bowels in the poorly ventilated room before stepping into his shower.

He turned on the tap, not bothering with the hot water at all, and quickly stripped naked, putting everything into the laundry bag and sealing it shut. He got into the small stall and felt the blessed coolness of the water rinsing the sweat and grime from his skin. He quickly soaped up with a bottle of body wash, rinsed off, and then washed his hair with a small bottle of shampoo. Once that was rinsed free, he resisted the urge to just keep standing under the refreshing spray a little longer and turned off the tap. He quickly dried off using a towel from a large stack sitting on a shelf. Once dry, he slathered deodorant into his armpits and then quickly got dressed.

�All right, Ben, go,� Pauline told the bassist as soon as Jake stepped out of the room.

�Going,� Ben said, stepping inside for his own shower.

Jake dropped his laundry bag on the floor in a spot Pauline had designated. It would stay there until the day after the festival ended, at which point they would collect it before heading home. Laura was sitting in one of the chairs, talking to Celia. She waved him over.

�What�s up?� he asked.

She hooked her finger, indicating he should lean down close to her face. He thought she wanted a kiss but that was not what she wanted. Instead of putting her lips to his face, she moved them near his ear.

�Tomorrow, after the show,� she whispered, �I want you to take me somewhere and fuck me before you take your shower.�

�Oh yeah?� he asked, intrigued.

�Yeah,� she said, her eyes shining lustfully.

He kissed her lightly on her nose. �We�ll make that happen,� he promised.

�What are you two whispering about?� Celia asked with a smile.

�Oh, just household things,� Laura said, blushing a little.

�Yeah,� Jake agreed. �She wanted to know if we should move the entertainment room sectional over to the south part of the room to avoid the afternoon sun glare.�

�Of course,� Celia said, shaking her head. �That is certainly something to whisper about.�

�Hey,� Jake said seriously, �a couple�s sectional orientation is not something that should be discussed in polite company.�

Celia laughed and shook her head a little more.

�Anyway,� Jake said, sitting down to put on his shoes, �I�m going to take a little walk.�

�A walk?� Laura asked. �Where are you going?�

�I thought I�d stroll back to the SVIP and catch the first part of Matt�s show.�

Both ladies gave him a strange look. �Why would you want to do that?� Celia asked.

Jake shrugged. �He watched my show,� he said. �The least I can do is go take a look at his.�

�Well ... okay,� Laura said. �Do you want me to go with you?�

�You haven�t taken your shower yet,� he said.

�I don�t really need a shower,� she said. �I was only up on the stage for five minutes and twelve seconds. That wasn�t enough time to get all sweaty and gross.�

�Oh ... yeah, I guess not,� he said. �But do you really want to see Matt�s show?�

�No,� she said simply. �Not at all.�

�Then stay here,� he told her. �I just want to check out his first few numbers and I�ll be back long before it�s limo time.�

�Please do,� Celia said. �I do not want to be stuck here until two in the morning.�

�I promise,� he said.

He left the trailer and made the walk back to the SVIP. On the way, he heard one of Matt�s roadies blasting out a few chords as he checked the volume on one of the guitars. The crowd gave its requisite cheer as they heard it. Jake noted that the volume was markedly higher than what he and his band had just performed with, but not nearly as loud as what Pantera had used.

The SVIP section was still quite crowded, though the crowd was a bit different now than it had been when Jake had been up. There was a small kiosk where complimentary beer and wine could be obtained. Jake headed over and got a thirty-two-ounce plastic cup full of icy cold Fosters on tap and then he wandered over and parked himself in pretty much the same place that Matt had parked himself during Jake�s show (though Jake did not know this). Many people in the SVIP, if not all, recognized Jake but no one came up to talk to him. It was an unwritten but well-understood rule that you did not talk to or even approach any famous person in the SVIP unless they spoke to you first.

The roadies finished up their final volume checks and retreated from the stage. The stage lighting was turned off and the house lights, which were mounted on poles around the perimeter of the audience section of the amphitheater, were turned on, which meant only the vague outlines of the drum set and the microphone stands was visible. The clock continued to click onward. The crowd began to get louder and more enthusiastic as showtime grew nearer and nearer. Finally, the house lights slowly dimmed down and faded away, leaving the entire venue in near darkness. Overhead, the stars and a few blinking aircraft lights were plainly visible. The crowd began to cheer louder.

A single spotlight came on, illuminating the front and center microphone stand. One of the MCs stood there.

�Are you ready to hear our headliner for the first night of the Tsunami Sound Festival?� he asked the crowd.

The crowd roared out their approval, that high decibel, ear-splitting wave of applause and cheers.

�I can�t hear you!� the MC told them. �I said, are you ready to hear our headliner for the night?�

Another roar, louder this time.

�That�s better,� the MC told them. �Since you all seem to be ready, let me introduce him. I give you the one and only Matt fucking Tisdale!�

While the crowd roared even more, the spotlight went out, returning darkness to the stage. Jake could see the dim outline of the MC retreating, could see the even dimmer outline of four other figures moving into position. Once they were there, there was a long pause while the crowd continued to cheer. And then suddenly the stage lights clicked on, revealing Matt standing at the center microphone stand, his iconic black Stratocaster in his hands, his right foot making adjustments to a long chain of effects pedals at the base of the stand. A secondary guitarist stood on his left. A bass player stood on his right. The drummer sat behind a ridiculously large set just behind them all. An uncomfortable amount of time passed as Matt continued to stomp on pedals to get the sound he wanted while the others just stood there in silence. Jake was close enough to see an expression of clear annoyance on Matt�s face. Someone had not waited for their cue and turned on the lights too soon, before the band was entirely ready.

No rehearsal time, Jake thought, not without a certain amount of sympathy. And Matt probably doesn�t trust his crew to configure his guitar correctly. A minor flub, true, but glaring enough that the audience surely noticed. It�s the little things that will get you.

Matt finally got the configuration he wanted and fired out an open chord on the low E and A strings�a common show-opener he had used ever since their first performance in Heritage all those years ago. He let that blast out and then fade almost all the way to silence before launching into a brief solo that he then transitioned into a complex power riff. Jake, as well as most of the audience, recognized the riff instantly. It was from Early Grave, Matt�s biggest hit from his latest CD. After a few reps of the primary, the drums, bass, and secondary guitar kicked in. They went through a few more reps together and then switched over to a faster tempo, with the backup guitarist playing out a more simple four-chord progression while Matt laid out a melodic solo. From there, the two of them switched to playing in unison while the drummer pounded out a complex beat. They then switched to yet another tempo, this one slow, but slowly building in intensity.

It was nearly three minutes into the tune before Matt actually started singing. This was common in Matt Tisdale solo efforts, which focused primarily on the guitar and not the vocalization. Still, his voice was solid and he knew how to use it. His range was limited to a narrow field at the high end of baritone, but he kept in time and in key and he was not unpleasant to listen to. And the lyrics of the tune were somewhat poignant and thought-provoking. True, it was a variation on the old Matt Tisdale Intemperance formula of writing about living fast and hard, but it was more dark and complex than what he had penned in the Intemperance days.

Jake nodded his head to the beat and was man enough to admit that he was enjoying the performance so far. Matt truly was a master with his guitar�particularly during solos, which he could lay down with a speed and complexity that Jake could only dream of�and watching him play was impressive. Always had been.

At the same time, however, Jake could not help but notice the flaws he was seeing. Chief among them was the sound output. It was not terrible by any means but for someone who was used to having the perfectionist Nerdlys dial him in, it grated on him a bit. The low end and the midrange were simply too loud, the high end too low. This meant that everything was overwhelmed by Matt�s guitar and the bass and that the vocals were distorted to the point that if you did not already know what the lyrics of the tune were, you would not be able to understand most of what he was singing. It also made it difficult to differentiate the distinction between the lead and rhythm guitars.

Matt, of all people, should know the value of getting the best sound people to set up your performances, Jake thought.

Another thing that was obvious to Jake was that lack of rehearsal time. They were just a little bit off up there, not quite in perfect synchronicity. That came primarily from being out of practice. True, they had been touring for months together and he could sense their camaraderie and familiarity with each other, but it did not take much of a break for all of that to start to deteriorate. Jake�s understanding was that Matt and his band had been in Rio since their last European show more than three weeks ago. It was obvious they had not found a way to do a couple of dress rehearsals before taking the stage. And, on that same note, everyone except Matt was probably using unfamiliar equipment since their primary equipment had to be in a shipping container out on the ocean currently.

He set himself up for a mediocre performance, Jake thought, part of him sad about this, but part of him actually gleeful as well.

Jake�s mental criticisms turned back to awe again, however, when Matt played out the primary solo for the piece. It was a blistering shred that lasted well over two minutes and went through three separate tempo changes and two changes of distortion level brought about by manipulation of the effects pedals.

Goddamn, Jake thought, impressed. He has done nothing but gotten better since we parted ways. His fucking fingers are moving so fast I can�t even see them.

The solo wound down to a climax in which all of the other instruments stopped playing, letting Matt finish it out as a true solo. The last note faded nearly to nothing and then the drums kicked back in, pounding out the authoritative beat of the song. The bass kicked back in and then Matt began to hammer out the primary riff once more. After a few reps of this, the secondary guitar kicked back in and took over the primary riff, allowing Matt to play out some fills while he sang out the last verse and chorus combo.

How easily he can play solo notes while singing at the same time, Jake thought. He was doing what Jake had avoided through most of his show and doing it well.

The song came to an end and the crowd cheered loudly and enthusiastically. Jake could not help but notice, however, that it was not quite as loud and enthusiastic as they had been at the end of his first number.

This gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, made him feel like he had won.

The limousine sent by Music Alive arrived just as Matt reached the halfway point in his set. Jake had stayed in the SVIP long enough to watch three numbers and drink two thirty-two-ounce beers. Now, he and the members of his band, plus Obie, Celia, and the Nerdlys, climbed in the back for the trip back to Caesars in Las Vegas. Their special guests, none of whom were interested in seeing Matt�s show, had already left to avoid the rush.

Laura was cuddled up against Jake�s right side, her eyes now red and half-lidded, a faint odor of Humboldt County skunk bud radiating off of her. She, Nerdly, Pauline and the Levensteins had shared a fatty while Jake had been watching Matt�s performance.

�I never got high with a rabbi before,� Laura said with a giggle. �Kind of a strange experience.�

�He assured me that he does not imbibe regularly,� Nerdly said. �In fact, he says tonight was the first night he has smoked cannabis since he was in college.�

�Why did he decide to fire up tonight?� Jake asked.

�I think it was kind of a when-in-Rome thing,� Pauline said.

�He was very impressed with the horticultural advances made in cannabis production since the last time he smoked some,� Nerdly said.

�He was talking some cool metaphysical shit after we burned,� Pauline said. �I think everyone should get high with a man of God at least once in their life.�

�I�m going to add that to my list,� Jake said, sorry now that he had missed out on the experience.

�How was Matt�s show?� Celia asked.

�They were a little rusty,� Jake replied. �They had a miscue at the opening and their timing was just a bit off at first. They seemed to get their shit together by the time they started the third number though.�

�His sound was atrocious,� Nerdly said righteously. �Not as bad as Pantera�s, of course, but he truly needs to provide more training to his sound engineer.�

�I agree,� Jake said. �Not everybody can have the Nerdlys though.�

�Perhaps I�ll offer to set up his sound for him tomorrow,� Nerdly suggested.

�I�m not sure that�s a real good idea, Bill,� Pauline warned.

�The worst thing that can happen is that he says no,� Nerdly said.

�No, the worst thing that could happen is that he beats your face in,� Jake said.

�I don�t think Matt would do that,� Nerdly said. �Not after I informed him of the existence of internet pornography. I am going to make the offer. My mind is made up.�

�All right,� Jake said doubtfully. �Just be sure you finish our sound check before you ask him so if he puts you in the hospital, we�ll already be dialed in.�

�Will do,� Nerdly said, in all seriousness.

�What about Pantera�s sound guy?� asked Obie. �Were you able to hunt him down and give him a piece of your mind?�

�I tried,� Nerdly said with a sigh. �The band and their crew had already left the venue by the time I was able to go look for him.�

�That�s too bad,� Obie said with a chuckle.

�There�s always tomorrow,� Nerdly said. �I will seek him out just before they perform what passes as their sound check and explain to him that proper balance of volume and ranges does not mean you simply turn all the knobs, switches, and levers to ten.�

�I�m guessing that will be news to him,� Jake said, making a mental note to accompany Nerdly on that particular mission in case of violence.

They arrived back at the hotel/casino at 11:30 PM. The casino floor was still crowded with gamblers and the cafes were still open. No one wanted to eat or gamble though. They had eaten catered food before leaving Indian Springs and they all had to get up at 6:30 for the next full day of waiting around and then performing.

They said their good nights to each other and headed upstairs to their rooms.

There was another show to do tomorrow.

Indian Springs, Nevada

September 28, 1996

Matt was tired and moderately hungover as he and his band reported for their morning sound check on Stage 1 at 9:00 AM. He had been up until nearly 4:00 AM and had been awakened at 7:30 to get ready for his 8:00 AM pickup. He and the boys had not even made it back to the hotel room until nearly 2:00 AM and had partied it up in Austin�s room after finally making it there.

We�ll do the sound check and then my ass is climbing into that bed in the trailer and getting some sleep, Matt thought as he mounted the stage. He was wearing a tattered pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt. He long hair was uncombed and somewhat ratty in appearance. He wore a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes from the brutal glare of the desert sun off to the east. The rest of the band were dressed pretty similarly, except for Corban, who had taken the time to dress in a fashionable shirt and spike his hair with gel.

Roland Argyle was the head of concert sound for Matt�s crew. He and his team of three technicians had been flown to Vegas at Music Alive�s expense along with a team of six roadies (Matt had negotiated that into his contract). Argyle�who like to be called Rollie�was short, chubby, and sported a full beard and long hair, which made him look a little bit like a short, chubby version of the traditional Jesus. He was not someone that Matt had hired to be in charge of his sound on the road, but someone that National had assigned. He was adequate at his position, but that was about it. He certainly could not hold a candle to the Nerdlys.

�Hey, Matt. Hey, boys,� he greeted as they took their positions on the stage.

�Hey, Rollie,� Matt said unenthusiastically, walking over to where his microphone stand was situated. The rest of the band offered similar greetings.

�I still have all the settings marked from last night�s performance,� Rollie told them. �This shouldn�t take long at all. It�ll be mostly a verification process.�

�Well ... yeah, about that,� Matt said. �Last night�s sound kind of sucked.�

�Sucked?� Rollie said, clearly taken aback by this suggestion.

�Sucked,� Matt repeated. �As in it slurped the big fuckin� schlong. It wasn�t as bad as Pantera�s, but it sounded like a pile of dogshit when held up against how Kingsley�s sound team had him dialed in.�

�But ... but Kingsley has the Nerdlys,� Rollie said, nearly whispering their name, speaking it the one does when talking about a worshiped deity.

�Yes, he does,� a voice said from the stage left entrance.

It was a familiar voice and Matt knew who it was even before he turned to look. Sure enough, Nerdly and Mrs. Nerdly were both standing there. Both were dressed in jeans and baggy pullover t-shirts. Two of the security guys were flanking them, obviously distressed that they had made it up here. They had not put their hands on them yet, but they would if Matt gave them the nod. Matt did not give the nod�at least not yet. He noticed that Nerdly had a bruise on his cheek and some swelling under his left eye that would soon become a pretty decent shiner. He also had some sort of brace on his right wrist.

�Nerdly,� Matt said, taking a step toward him. �What the fuck are you doing here?�

�I�m sorry, Matt,� the lead security guy told him. �They used their all-access passes to get past the first layer and then they just strolled up here like they belonged. We didn�t notice them until they were actually at the door.�

�Well, it�s a good thing they weren�t a couple of crazy-ass psychos with a gun, isn�t it?� Matt asked.

�It won�t happen again,� the man promised. �Shall we eject them?�

�In a minute,� Matt said, stepping a little closer. He stopped just in front of the skinny, nerdy sound genius and his wife. �What the fuck happened to you?�

�The bruises and the wrist brace?� Nerdly asked. �I had a bit of a fisticuff with Pantera�s sound engineer and two of their roadies.�

�A fisticuff with Pantera�s roadies?� Matt asked incredulously. �Three of them? You?�

�It started off just with me,� Nerdly explained. �You see, I went to try to advise their sound team on how they might better perform their duties and make the band sound like something other than incomprehensible noise that does nothing but blast everyone�s eardrums. Jake came along with me just in case things led to violence, which, as it turned out, they did.�

�What the fuck happened?� Matt asked.

�You know how it is,� Nerdly said in a wise-to-the-ways-of-the-world voice. �The lead engineer did not appreciate my suggestions. I wanted to appeal to Dimebag Darrel or maybe Vinnie Paul�you know, his brother who plays the drums for the band�but they were not even there. Apparently, they do not attend their own sound checks.�

�Yeah, listening to how they sounded last night, I can believe that shit,� Matt said.

�Anyway,� Nerdly went on, �I persisted in explaining how they could improve their basic sound, but the lead engineer did not want to hear it. He became downright hostile. Words were exchanged. And then he said something extremely insulting to Sharon and I was obligated to defend her honor using physical violence.�

�You started the fight?� Matt asked.

�And finished it,� Sharon said, her eyes shining a little. �He put that engineer on the ground in five seconds flat. And then two of the other roadies came over to get in on it and he knocked one off the stage and dropped the other one with a very impressive back kick.�

�A back kick?� Matt nearly screamed. �You? You put down three fuckin� roadies?�

�I have been studying Renbukai karate for nearly fifteen years now, Matt,� Nerdly told him, pronouncing it �ka-rot-ay�, with a distinct roll on the R. �It is a particularly good method of obtaining discipline and focus as well as aerobic exercise. I�ve never had occasion to use it outside of sparring practice in the dojo, but when Sharon�s honor required defense, it came in quite handy, although I did sprain my wrist quite badly when I punched the first roadie in the face. I did not have time to properly stretch out and limber up before engaging in combat.�

�Son of a bitch,� Matt said in wonder. Nerdly actually knew how to fight? It was like the universe did not work as he had always thought it did. �What happened to your eye? Did one of them get a shot in?�

�Not the roadies or the sound tech,� Nerdly said, �but their head of security sucker-punched me and knocked me down. Before I could get back up, Jake jumped in and knocked him out with a punch to the face. Then one of the other security men�a huge brute who looks like a football linebacker�tackled Jake and started to punch on him. I was able to dislodge him with a side-kick to his ribs, but by then, the rest of roadies were moving in on us. Things were starting to look a little worrisome for a moment, but then, before we could go any further in the scuffle, the venue�s security team arrived in force and broke it up.�

�No shit?� Matt asked, shaking his head as he pictured it. Nerdly kicking ass? Jake punching out a head of security (those people obtained that position because they knew how to kick some serious ass)? Nerdly kicking a football linebacker sized man off of Jake? Astounding!

�No shit,� Nerdly said matter-of-factly.

�It would seem that the gentlemen did not wish to be advised on their sound adjustments,� Sharon said.

�God knows they could use some advice,� said Rollie, who had listened to the story with the air of one who had been around rock bands his entire career: completely unfazed by it.

�How is Jake?� asked Matt, part of him hoping that Jake would not be able to go on, part of him feeling a strange emotion that was similar to concern.

�He claims he is within acceptable parameters,� Nerdly said. �He has a bruise on his cheek and some sore ribs. He also hurt his hand when he punched the security head, though he says he�ll be able to play for the performance tonight.�

�I see,� Matt said, unable to think of anything else.

�Anyway,� Nerdly said. �That is how I came by these injuries.

�A very interesting story,� Matt said with complete sincerity. �But why are you here, right now, telling me about it?�

�We did not come here to tell the story,� Nerdly said, �but you did ask, so I shared the tale. The reason we are actually here is to extend the same offer to you that we offered to Pantera.�

�What do you mean?� Matt asked.

�We are here to offer our services with your sound check,� Nerdly said.

Matt�s eyes widened. �You want to help us with our sound check?� he asked, just to make sure he was hearing correctly.

�That is correct,� Nerdly said. �I heard your performance from the band city last night and it is clear you could use our help.�

�Now wait just a minute here,� Rollie suddenly spoke up. �I am the head of concert sound for Matt and his band, and I do not require any assistance, even if it is from the Nerdlys.�

�I disagree,� Nerdly said simply. �Your levels last night were maladjusted and detracted from the proper enjoyment of the performance.�

�What?� Rollie yelled.

�He said your sound sucked,� Matt interpreted. He was still capable of translating Nerdly-speak into English. �And I agree completely with that fuckin� assessment.�

�Exactly,� said Sharon. �Your midrange and your low end were far too loud. Your high range was far too low. The net effect of this is to drown out the vocals and make it impossible to differentiate between the stringed instruments.�

�People want Matt�s music to be loud,� Rollie insisted. �He�s a heavy metal guitarist. His instrument has to be the primary source of output.�

�I disagree,� Nerdly said again. �It is possible�quite easy in fact�to balance the ranges so that all instruments and vocalizations can be heard and enjoyed�even if they are loud. That should be what any sound engineer strives for.�

�The recording studio is the place for that shit,� Rollie said. �We have twenty-five minutes to make things the best they can be here. And speaking of that, Matt, three of those minutes have already ticked away. Can we please get rid of these people so we can get to work?�

�We do need to get to work,� Matt agreed, looking at his sound engineer. He then looked back at the Nerdlys. �But I don�t want to get rid of them. I�m taking you up on your offer, Nerdlys. You�re in charge of the sound as long you can dial my shit in in twenty-two minutes.�

�Matt! I most protest this!� Rollie yelled.

�Protest noted,� Matt said. �Now get on that fuckin� walkie-talkie and tell the guys on the soundboard that Sharon is coming over there and they will follow her directions.�

�This is not how I do things,� Rollie insisted. �I am in charge of sound.�

�You�ve just been demoted, asshole,� Matt told him. �Now get on that walkie-talkie and fuckin� talk! And if you can�t obey the Nerdlys� orders, get the fuck off my stage.�

Rollie, fuming with anger, his face red, did as he was told. He keyed up his radio and told the lead board tech that Mrs. Nerdly was on her way and that they needed to do what she told them. They agreed to do so.

�Very good,� Matt said. �Now give that radio to Nerdly here and let�s get to work.�

Silently, Rollie handed over the radio.

�All right,� Nerdly said, taking it. �We have twenty-one minutes left. Get Matt�s Strat out here and let us dial that in first.�

�You heard the man!� Matt barked. A moment later, a stagehand came running out with Matt�s beloved guitar in hand.

�Plug in and we�ll dial in the basic distortion level first,� Nerdly said.

�Right,� said Matt, nodding. He slung the instrument over his shoulder and plugged in the guitar cord. He turned the volume knob all the way up and then pulled a pick from the microphone stand. Before he strummed out the first chord, however, he turned back to the Nerdlys. �I appreciate the help,� he told them.

Nerdly nodded. �I assumed that you would,� he said.

Approximately four hundred yards away, in the band city, Jake was sitting in a chair outside the trailer. He was munching on a breakfast burrito from the catering truck with his left hand, which was awkward for him. He could not use his right hand, however, because it was currently wrapped in an ice pack. His knuckles were throbbing and his middle and fourth fingers were swollen and painful from the punch he had delivered to Pantera�s security guy. Every once in a while he flexed the hand a few times to make sure he could still move it with the limberness required to play his guitar. It was uncomfortable, but he could do it. The show would go on. It had to. And then, after the show, he might find his way to one of the Vegas emergency rooms to have a little x-ray taken.

The sound of a guitar chord rolled over the band city and then cut off. It had been short, but Jake could tell it had been Matt playing it. Another one rolled out, this one a riff that Jake was not quite familiar with, though he had heard it before. The volume and the range were audibly adjusted while the riff was being played and Jake smiled. He was familiar enough with the Nerdlys and how they did business to tell that the adjustment was being directed by them�Nerdly on the stage, Sharon on the soundboard relaying his instructions to the crew. That crazy nerd had actually gone and convinced Matt to let him help.

�That sounds like the Nerdlys in action,� Laura remarked from the chair next to him. She too was quite familiar with how they did business.

�Yep,� Jake agreed.

She reached up and touched the purple bruise and swelling on Jake�s right cheek, the result of a blow by that three-hundred-pound bouncer while he had been on his back on the stage. The brute packed a pretty good punch.

�How is it looking?� Jake asked her.

�It looks like the swelling has stopped,� she said. �Does it hurt?�

Jake shrugged. �I�ve had worse,� he said. And this was true. The beating he had received from the truckers in Texarkana and the police in New York City had been considerably worse.

�I still can�t believe that Nerdly started a fight with Pantera�s crew,� she said.

�Well,� Jake said, �one could make the argument that it was Pantera�s sound guy who started the fight when he called Sharon a �dick sucking kike cunt� and then grabbed his crotch and told her to drop down and start sucking.� Jake chuckled. �And man, did he laugh when Nerdly told him that was going to have to �engage in honor-defending hand to hand combat� with him for making that remark. And then Nerdly did one of those straight punches right to the asshole�s forehead. He didn�t laugh anymore after that.�

�Who would�ve thought that Nerdly could do that,� she said. �I mean, I knew he went to karate classes and all, but I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined that he could take on three guys at once.�

Jake nodded. �I never would�ve believed it if I hadn�t seen it with my own eyes,� Jake said. �I mean, I�ve seen him take on three girls at a time before, but never three guys.�

Laura shook her head and rolled her eyes as another riff came blasting out over them, this one the riff from Early Grave. More adjustments could be heard as it played out.

�Adjusting down the midrange,� Jake remarked. �Just like it should be adjusted.�

�He really is doing them a big favor,� Laura said.

�I only hope Matt appreciates it,� Jake said.

�What about you?� she asked. �Does it bother you that the Nerdlys are helping them. You�ve got this competition thing with Matt, after all.�

�Yeah, we�ve got this competition thing going, I guess,� Jake said. �But no, it doesn�t bother me. Music should be as good as it is possible for it to be, even if it�s not my music. All Nerdly and Sharon are doing is following that rule.�

She nodded slowly. �I guess that makes sense,� she said.

The second and final day of the Tsunami Sound Festival rolled on. The lineups of the earlier bands were a bit different from yesterday�s show, but the last four bands were the same. The crowd was a little less than yesterday as well, but there were still nearly ninety thousand people out there. Jake and Laura were able to get a little bit of sleep after lunch was served, climbing into the main bed in the trailer and cuddling together under the blanket. When he woke up, his hand was throbbing so badly that he needed to pop some ibuprofen and Tylenol just to be able to keep flexing it.

�Are you sure you�re going to be able to go on?� Laura asked him, worried.

�I�ll be okay,� he assured her.

She looked very concerned but made no further mention of it.

Pantera took to Stage 1 on schedule. Their head of security was sporting a pretty spectacular bruise on his forehead and the large bouncer type, who was in charge of stagefront security, was forced to perform his role with a tight restraining band wrapped around his ribcage where Nerdly had kicked him. The band itself played as usual and made no mention of the event. Their sound, also as usual, was overly loud and atrocious. Still, their fans cheered them enthusiastically, maybe even more so than normal. By this point wildly inaccurate rumors had spread about the physical confrontation that had occurred. In all the stories it had been Dimebag Darrel and the boys who had had the confrontation with Jake and his boys. The Pantera fans all heard that Dimebag and Vinnie Paul had beaten the shit out of Jake and his drummer. And the Jake fans all heard that Jake and his bass guitarist had been the ones to beat the shit out of Darrel and Vinnie Paul (they had heard that martial arts had been involved and, since Ben was Asian, it had to have been him that practiced it). Nerdly�s name never came up in the discussion at all.

Jake popped another eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen and another thousand of Tylenol just before they reported to the stage. Once again, Pantera�s final number, Walk, was winding down as they made the journey.

�Yeah,� Jake said with a smile as he heard the hook line for the tune, �we were talking to you, motherfuckers.�

Jake continued to flex and unflex his right hand as the crew worked their way through the volume checks again. It hurt each time he did it, but he determined he was loose enough to play and not fuck up. The medications started to kick in about five minutes before showtime, bringing the throb down to a dull ache. I got this, he thought confidently.

And he did have it. He stepped out onto the stage with his band and he played and he sang his songs. His hand throbbed the entire show, the pain growing worse with each song that he played, but his fingers kept doing what he told them to do and he put on another flawless performance. The crowd was just as enthusiastic as they had been last night and they were once more given a standing ovation after finishing up I Am High and another after the final number itself.

�Thank you, and good night!� Jake told them after flipping his final guitar pick into the crowd. A sharp stab of pain shot up his forearm to his elbow when he did it. He looked down and saw that the entire back of his right hand was quite swollen and purple now. By the time they finished their final bow and walked off the stage, he could barely move his fingers at all and could not grasp anything with his right hand.

�Good heavens!� Laura exclaimed when she saw the condition of his hand. �Are you okay, sweetie?�

�I think I might need to go see a doc about this,� he said.

�Absolutely,� she said. �We�ll go right now.�

�Not just yet,� Jake said. �I am drenched in sweat and need to take a shower first.�

�Well ... I guess you can do that,� she said.

�And you and I have a little business to take care of before I shower,� he said slyly.

She shook her head. �I don�t expect you to do that in this condition,� she said. �There will be other times.�

�I can�t think of when that might be,� he said. �We�re doing it. The show must go on.�

�Are you sure?� she asked.

He smiled. �I�m sure. I even scoped out the perfect spot.�

�Really?� she asked, that lustful look coming back into her eyes now.

�Really,� he assured her.

�Okay,� she said. �If you�re sure it�s safe.�

�It�s safe,� he said. �Come on. Let�s go.�

They broke away from the others and Jake led her to another section of band city. They went to the trailer that had been assigned to Seavey Circle. The band itself had cut out long before Pantera had even taken the stage, leaving the trailer empty. Jake had slipped one of the venue�s security guys a picture of Ben Franklin to provide him with the access code and not ask any questions. The security guy�who was a hard-core Intemperance fan, hated Pantera, and had heard a firsthand report of what had gone down earlier�thought this an acceptable business deal.

�I want you to leave your sweaty shirt on while we fuck,� Laura told him, her face now flushed with sexual excitement.

�You got it,� Jake said, feeling himself starting to stiffen despite the pain in his hand. �As long as you leave that dress on.�

She smiled. �Great minds think alike,� she said.

They coupled lustily and frantically. Laura pulled her panties off and then sat on the table with her legs spread. Jake embraced her, his feet still on the floor, his pants and underwear down around his ankles, his sweaty shirt and his shoes still on. They kissed passionately, without the least bit of tenderness or affection, tongues driving deeply into each other�s mouths, Laura�s hands running over his sweaty skin, beneath his sweaty shirt, Jake�s good hand touching her inner thighs and her bare ass. He slid himself inside of her. She was extremely wet and ready. As he began to thrust in and out, she alternated between kissing his neck and rubbing her face into the sweat stains on his shirt, particularly around his armpits, inhaling deeply through her nose while her hands squeezed his ass and pulled him deeper inside of her body. She came quickly and he was right behind her.

�Oh my God, that was fucking hot!� she breathed as they finally broke their embrace.

�Yeah,� Jake commented insouciantly, �it was all right.�

They made their way back to their own trailer where, once again, the party was in progress. No one commented on where they had been, but they got quite a few knowing looks, particularly among those they passed close enough to to catch a whiff of them.

�I�m going to need to be in the shower rotation tonight, Paulie,� Laura told her, blushing furiously.

�Understood,� Pauline said. She was, after all, close enough to catch their aroma.

�And I�m going to need to get out of here as soon as possible and get to an emergency room,� Jake told her.

�An emergency room?� Pauline asked, alarmed. �What is it?�

Jake smiled. �It�s a part of the hospital where they see emergent patients who need immediate care,� he said, �but that�s not important now.�

Pauline shook her head and rolled her eyes. �I guess I walked into that one,� she said. �Is it your hand?�

�Yeah,� he said, showing it to her.

�Jesus fucking Christ, Jake!� she exclaimed. �That looks like a cartoon hand!�

�It kind of does, doesn�t it?� Jake replied.

�Okay,� she said. �Ted�s in there right now. You go next, Jake, and then you after him, Teach. While you�re showering, I�ll get the security guy to break loose a car of some kind to get you back.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �Let me go dig out some clothes.�

It took Jake a little longer than normal to shower as he was hampered by being unable to use his dominant hand. It proved impossible to get dressed using only his left hand, so he had to call Laura into the tiny, cramped shower room to assist him with buttoning and zipping his pants and putting on his belt. And then, once she was finished showering and dressing, she had to help him put on his shoes and socks as well.

�Are you going to be able to fly tomorrow?� Pauline asked as she watched all of this.

�I guess we�ll find out,� he replied.

A driver in one of the smaller limousines picked them up five minutes later and they headed back to Las Vegas.

�Do you want a drink, sweetie?� Laura asked him.

�I�d love one, but I�ll pass for now,� he replied. �I don�t want to go into the ER smelling like booze.�

�I�m sure they�re used to it in there,� she suggested.

�True, but I�ll pass just the same.�

They were taken to Mountainview Hospital, a new facility that had only been open a few months. Jake noted there were several Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department patrol cars parked in the parking lot as he and Laura made their way from the limo to the ED entrance but did not think too much about it. Police cars in an ER parking lot were a pretty normal thing. They went in the door and found the waiting room was all but empty.

�Thank God this happened on a Sunday,� Laura said.

�Yep,� Jake agreed.

They followed the signs to the registration desks, where a young, cute woman in her early twenties was sitting at a computer terminal behind a layer of bulletproof glass. She gave them a professional smile and asked if Jake was here to check into the emergency room.

No, I�m here for you to suck my dick, Jake thought in irritation at the blindingly obvious enquiry. Why the fuck else would I be walking up to your desk which is labeled: Emergency Department Check-In?

He kept his thought to himself, however, and politely agreed that yes, he was here to check into the emergency room.

�And what is the problem today?� she asked.

�I have an injury to my hand,� he said, showing her his swollen and discolored extremity.

�I see,� she said, looking at it without expression. �And your name?�

He gave her his name. As soon as she heard it, she looked up at his face, seeing it for the first time. �The Jake Kingsley?� she asked, seemingly in awe.

�That�s right,� he said. �The Jake Kingsley.�

�Oh my God,� she said. �You must be the one who...� she stopped, seemingly catching herself. �Never mind. Almost did a HIPAA violation there. Your date of birth?�

�March 7, 1960,� he said.

She quickly checked him in and then told him to have a seat in the waiting room and that the triage nurse would be with him shortly. They barely had time to sit down before a door was opened and a chunky middle-aged woman dressed in blue scrubs called out his name. He and Laura entered the little room and took seats where directed. The woman who had called them in had on a name badge that identified her as Annabelle Simmons, RN. Her face had the cynical, seen-it-all pose that Jake associated with long-term police officers. She had a clipboard with a complex, preprinted sheet upon it. At the top of the sheet was the word: TRIAGE ASSESSMENT in bold letters.

�Tell me why you�re here tonight, Mr. Kingsley,� she said.

�I injured my hand,� he said, showing her the extremity.

She looked at it for a moment, neither impressed or unimpressed with it. �Yep,� she agreed. �It certainly looks like you did. What happened?�

�I was uh ... well, in a bit of a scuffle with some people earlier today,� he said. �I punched one of them in the face. I think I might have a broken hand.�

�I see,� she said. �And what time did this happen?�

�Around seven-thirty,� he said.

�Seven-thirty this evening?�

�Seven-thirty this morning,� he corrected.

She raised her brows a bit. �Why did you wait so long to come in?� she asked.

�Well ... I�m a musician and I had to perform at the Tsunami Sound Festival tonight. Not going onstage was not an option. In fact, I think my performing is part of the problem. I did a sixty-five-minute set playing guitar up there and that�s when it really started to throb and swell. My punching hand is also my strumming and picking hand, you see.�

Her eyes looked at him, a certain understanding suddenly appearing there. �You�re the Jake Kingsley,� she said. �The musician.�

�That�s right,� he said. �This is my wife, Laura. She�s a musician too.�

Her eyes shifted over to Laura for a moment, looking her up and down. �I see,� she said. �And was a police report made about this incident you were involved in?�

�Not by me,� Jake replied.

�Do you wish to make one?� she asked.

He shook his head. �No, I don�t think that�s necessary,� he said.

�I understand,� she said. �And I hope you understand that we will be required to report this injury to the police and they may wish to speak to you about it, particularly in light of the fact that we have two other crewmembers here from the TSF that have fight injuries as well.�

�Oh yeah?� he asked. �Did those assholes from Pantera�s crew show up here too?�

�I am not authorized to tell you that,� she said. �Now, how about we get some vitals taken and then get you to x-ray?�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �But if those dudes are here, you should probably keep us away from each other.�

�I will take that under consideration,� she said. She pulled a thermometer out of a holder. �Under your tongue, please?�

She took his vital signs and wrote them down on the triage form. She added in his height and weight�allowing him to self-report the figures instead of actually measuring them�and then went over his medical history (he did not really have one), what prescription medications he was taking (none) and what medications he was allergic to (again, none). She then wrote out a brief summary of what had happened to Jake and where he was injured.

�All right,� she said. �I�m going to order an x-ray of your right hand. Go ahead and pop back out into the waiting room and someone will come get you and take you over to diagnostic imaging. Once the films are read, we�ll get you in a room and go from there.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said.

It took about thirty minutes for Jake to be x-rayed and placed in one of the rooms in the ER. A young male technician housed him and Laura in one of the enclosed rooms near the front of the department. It was one of the big rooms, with a cardiac monitor on the wall and all the bells and whistles as far as equipment went. Jake wondered if there was some reason they had put him in here instead of a smaller room. This looked like the room they dealt with serious shit in�heart attacks and CPRs and things like that. Was it just VIP treatment because he was Jake Kingsley, or was there another explanation?

They sat in the room for almost twenty minutes before the door opened and a tall, trim Asian featured woman of about Jake�s age came in. She wore grey scrubs and had the letters MD after her name on her name badge. She wore an expensive looking stethoscope around her neck. Her face was completely expressionless.

�Hi, I�m Doctor Wei,� she introduced, without a hint of accent. �What is your emergency tonight?�

�I got in a scuffle this morning and punched someone in the face with my right hand,� he said. �I think I broke something.�

�Yes, you did,� the doctor told him. �You have fractures to the third and fourth metacarpal bones of your hand. Those are the bones between your knuckles and your wrist. This is what is commonly known as a boxer�s fracture, although most of the time it is the fourth and fifth metacarpals that are fractured.�

If you already knew why I was here and that my bones were broken, why the hell did you ask? Jake wondered but did not say aloud. �How bad is it?� he did say.

�You did a pretty good job of it,� she said. �Both bones are displaced by more than eighty degrees. We�re going to have to put them back together and you�re going to have to be in a splint for some time. I�m not sure if surgery will be needed�it usually is not with this injury, although you did a better than average job of breaking them�so you�ll need to follow up with an orthopedist.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �What does putting them back together entail?�

�We�ll do what we call a procedural sedation,� she said. �The nurse will start an IV on you and we�ll give you propofol through it so you go to sleep for a bit. I�ll then reduce the fractures the best I can and we�ll put a splint on the hand to keep the bones immobilized.�

�Okay,� Jake said carefully. He had never had surgery or been anesthetized before and the thought of being put to sleep was a bit disconcerting. But he had to trust modern medicine, right? �What about functionality?�

�What about it?� she asked.

�I�m a musician,� he said. �I play guitar for a living. Will I still be able to do that?�

�Not until the injury heals,� she said, �but I do not see any reason why you should not be able to play guitar after that.�

Jake breathed a little sigh of relief. �That�s good,� he said. �I�m also a pilot. Will I be able to fly my plane with this splint on?�

Dr. Wei�s expression changed for the first time. It darkened. �You are a pilot?� she asked.

�That�s right,� he said. �My plane is currently parked at Henderson Airport here in Vegas and I was planning to fly it home to Los Angeles tomorrow. And then I need to fly to Oregon from there a few days later. Will I still be able to do that?�

�Uh ... well ... I�m not really sure,� she said. �If I make a good reduction and the splint is applied correctly, you will have some basic movement and function of the distal joints of your fingers, but no grasping ability. Will you be able to operate the controls of your plane under those circumstances?�

�I don�t know,� Jake said. �I guess we�ll find out.�

�I would strongly suggest that if you have any doubt whatsoever, that you refrain from flying until you have full use of the appendage again.�

�I understand, doc,� he said. �Trust me, if I don�t think it�s safe, I won�t do it.�

Dr. Wei looked a little dubious about this but said nothing. �Let me make an examination of the hand,� she said.

Jake showed it to her, and she seemed impressed. �It is extremely swollen,� she said. �This was just from one punch?�

�Well ... only one punch, but I probably did not help things by playing out my set after it happened.�

�Your set?� She was unfamiliar with this term.

�I was at the Tsunami Sound Festival,� he explained.

�Ahh yes,� she said. �We�ve had a number of people come in here from there this weekend. The nurses tell me that you were one of the musicians playing there tonight?�

�Yeah,� he said, realizing that the doctor had no idea who he was�even after being told. �Laura and I�Laura here is my wife, by the way�we both played last night and tonight. It was a sixty-five-minute set and on every number I played the guitar with this hurt hand. It started to hurt more and more as the night went on.�

This time her expression became something that almost looked like respect. �You played guitar for sixty-five minutes with his injury?� she asked incredulously.

�That�s right,� he said.

�We�re you taking any analgesic medications? Opioids, perhaps?�

He shook his head. �I wouldn�t even know where to get opioids. Wouldn�t want them even if I could get them. I just took Motrin and Tylenol,� he said. �That helped a little�at first anyway.�

�Wow,� she whispered as she palpated his hand gently. �That is probably how the fractures ended up so displaced. Going out to play after this injury was not a very good idea.�

�I had to,� Jake said.

�You had to?�

�The show must go on,� he said simply, the way she would have said �brain perfusion is life�.

�Even when it is detrimental to your health?� she asked.

�I didn�t know it was going to be that detrimental,� Jake said. �But even if I had, a whole bunch of people paid good money to see me there tonight and there would have been wide-reaching repercussions if I had not been able to play, not to mention that I would have been out more than half a million dollars.�

She raised her eyebrows a bit at this. �They paid you half a million dollars just to play your guitar?�

�And sing,� he said. �And it was actually six hundred thousand ... per show.�

�Per show?� She shook her head. �I think maybe I picked the wrong profession.�

�Trust me, doc, I paid some serious dues to get where I am. And besides, I don�t get to keep all the money. I have to pay my band members and my road crew and my sound people and, of course, the good old IRS and state franchise tax board.�

�Interesting,� she said, finally releasing his hand. �Are you injured anywhere else? I see you have that swelling on your face. Is that from the same incident?�

�Yeah,� he said. �I got tackled and punched by a guy who was about the size of a refrigerator/freezer combo you might have in your kitchen. He tagged me in the face and a couple of times in the ribs.�

She examined his face and then his ribs. She told him she was going to order x-rays of the ribs and a CT scan of his facial bones and brain. She then asked him if he would like some pain medication.

�I�ll pass on that,� he said.

�Are you sure?� she enquired. �It�s going to be a little while before we�re able to do the sedation and reduction. A little Demerol will take the edge off for you and get you more comfortable.�

�I�m cool, doc,� he said. �A good friend of mine started taking that Demerol shit once. It didn�t work out too well for him in the end.�

�I see,� she said slowly. �Well ... let one of the nurses know if you change your mind. I�m going to put these orders in and we�ll hopefully get you out of here in a few hours.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said.

She left the room. The little stool she had sat her butt on did not even have a chance to return to room temperature before the door opened again. This time it was a uniformed Las Vegas Metropolitan police officer. He was tall, looked to be in good shape, sported a mustache, and had a reasonably friendly expression on his face. He carried a metal clipboard in his left hand. He introduced himself as Officer Levitt and asked if he could come in and have a few words.

�Sure, why not?� Jake replied.

Levitt came in the room and shut the door behind him. He did not sit down. �I just want to tell you, Jake,� he said, �that I�m a big fan of yours. I was at the TSF last night and you put on an incredible show; the best live performance I�ve ever seen, and I�ve been to quite a few in my time.�

�Thanks,� Jake said. �I�m glad you enjoyed it.�

�I enjoyed your playing as well, Mrs. Kingsley,� he told Laura. �It was a pleasant surprise when you stepped out there with him to do South Island Blur. Did you really fly in from Poland the night before?�

�I really did,� she confirmed. �The last show of Celia Valdez�s tour was Thursday night. I got on a plane in Warsaw the next morning and made it here by eight o�clock the night before the show.�

�That�s a lot of traveling,� he said.

�It�s part of the life we choose,� she said, using a Jake-ism.

�Well, I�m glad you made it. I just wanted the two of you to know that before we get to why I�m really here.�

�The fight I was involved in,� Jake said. It was not a question.

�That�s correct,� Levitt said. �My partner and I just got done interviewing two of the other parties involved in the confrontation you had this morning. They named you and Nerdly Archer as the primary aggressors in the fight.�

�Did they now?� Jake asked. �Are they planning to press charges against us?�

�They do not wish to do that,� Levitt said. �However, one of them has fractured facial bones and a concussion.�

�I�m guessing that would be the one I punched,� Jake said with a smile.

�Uh ... Jake, before you say anything else,� Levitt said, �I think I need to advise you of your rights.�

�My rights?� Jake asked. �You just said they�re not pressing charges.�

�They�re not,� he said, �but, as I said, one of them has fractured facial bones and a concussion. The other has several broken ribs and is being checked for internal injuries or a collapsed lung. These injuries are on the border of what we call �great bodily harm�, which elevates a simple misdemeanor assault up into the land of a felonious assault. If the assault is classified as a felony, they have no choice in the matter. The state of Nevada will then pursue prosecution.�

�I see,� Jake said. �This same shit happened to Coop a few months ago in Bangor.�

�Coop?� Levitt asked. �The drummer for Intemperance?�

�Yeah, he�s Celia Valdez�s drummer now,� Jake said. �He punched a copilot in the face and broke his jaw. Ended up with the same fracture I have now�life really is a wheel, isn�t it? The Bangor PD charged Coop with felony assault, but the DA ended up reducing it to a misdemeanor. And then they eventually just dropped the whole thing because Njord the copilot didn�t want to come back to Bangor to testify against him.�

�That is a remarkably similar parallel,� Levitt said. �And that is undoubtedly exactly what will happen in this case, assuming we even decide to charge anyone with a felony. I am, however, still obligated to read you your Miranda rights at this point in the interview.�

�Read away,� Jake said. �I�ll answer your questions.�

Levitt read him his rights. Jake agreed to waive them for the time being and signed a piece of paper attesting that he was voluntarily waiving those rights. Levitt then began to ask him questions, walking him through the entire incident. Jake, as he had promised, answered everything truthfully.

�So ... Nerdly Archer threw the first punch?� Levitt asked incredulously.

�He did, but only after the guy he punched called Nerdly�s wife a �dick-sucking kike cunt� and then ordered her to drop down and start sucking his dick.�

�Did he make any threatening move toward Mrs. Archer?� Levitt asked next.

�No, but Nerdly believed�and I agree�that he was obligated to defend her honor at that point.�

�Under the law, mere words are not considered justification for assault,� Levitt pointed out.

�Perhaps,� Jake said, �but if someone had said that to your wife right in front of you, would you have punched him out?�

Levitt nodded. �I very likely would have,� he admitted. He, after all, was Jewish as well.

They went through the rest of the story, Levitt making notes in his little book all the while. Finally, he summarized everything Jake had said and asked him of that was a fair representation of his statement.

�Yes,� Jake said. �That is a fair representation.�

�Okay,� Levitt said. �I will confer with my partner and we�ll see what we�re going to do with this information. I will tell you that the Pantera crew members in question are telling pretty much the same story�though they did not mention exactly what was said to provoke Nerdly�s assault. In any case, it�s kind of refreshing for us cops when people actually tell us the truth. We�re not accustomed to that.�

�No reason to lie,� Jake said. �It was a brawl. It�s over now and we�re dealing with the consequences.�

�I�ll let you know what we decide,� Levitt said.

A moment later, he left the room. A few minutes after that, a male nurse named Robert came in, introduced himself, told Jake that he was a fan, and then started an IV in Jake�s left forearm. After taping it down, he offered Jake some Demerol for pain, telling him that Dr. Wei had put in an order for it if Jake wanted some. Jake turned him down and then Robert personally wheeled Jake on his gurney over to the diagnostic imaging department, waited around until the imaging was done, and then wheeled him back to his room.

It took almost an hour before the imaging was read. It turned out that Jake had two cracked ribs but no signs of internal injury or lung involvement. He had no broken bones in his face and no signs of bleeding in his brain. It was now time for the procedural sedation.

Dr. Wei and another ER doctor came into the room, followed by Robert the nurse, a respiratory therapist, and an ER technician with an armful of splinting supplies. Jake eyed the group nervously.

�Is all this really necessary?� he asked.

�It is the standard of care when doing a procedural sedation,� Dr. Wei told him. �Dr. Jones will administer and monitor the sedation while I perform the actual reduction. The respiratory therapist will keep an eye on your breathing and oxygen levels and respond as necessary. Robert will document everything and keep overwatch on your general condition. And Kelly here will put the splint on once the reduction is done.�

�I see,� Jake said, feeling his nervousness ramp up a little bit. �And I won�t remember any of this?�

�Not a thing,� Dr. Wei assured him.

And she was right. Jake remembered them escorting Laura out of the room and telling her she could come back once he started to come out of the sedation. He remembered Dr. Jones drawing up a milky white substance into a big syringe and injecting it into his IV line. After that, he remembered nothing else until he woke up with Laura back by his side and his right hand encased and immobilized in a fiberglass splint wrapped in an ace wrap. The hand was throbbing steadily and insistently, much worse than it had been before.

�Are you sure I can�t talk you into that Demerol?� Robert asked him.

�I�m sure,� Jake said through gritted teeth.

Shortly after a portable x-ray was done to evaluate how well Dr. Wei had put him back together, Officer Levitt came back into the room.

Jake was still groggy from the propofol, but he was lucid. �Well,� he asked, �am I under arrest?�

�You are not,� Levitt informed him. �We talked to our sergeant, and he talked to the lieutenant, who actually called the on-call deputy DA at home, and it has been decided that none of this rises to the level of a felony assault. Not your assault on the security guard, not his assault on Nerdly Archer, not even Nerdly Archer�s assault on the sound engineer. And, since none of you want to press charges on each other for misdemeanor assault, the entire matter will be dropped.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said, relieved. Although he had no doubt he never would have actually been convicted of any crime, it was nice to know he did not have to deal with the matter any further.

They kept an eye on Jake for another hour just to make sure he was having no delayed effect from the sedation and then he was put up for discharge. Dr. Wei told Jake he was going to be uncomfortable for the next few days and tried to push a prescription for Vicodin on him.

�No way, doc,� he said. �I don�t need any of that stuff.�

She tried to get him to at least take the prescription with him in case he changed his mind, but he assured her that he would not. He thanked her for her care and did the same for Robert after he pulled the IV out of his arm and read off his discharge directions for him.

They then made their way out front, to where the limousine that had brought them here was still patiently waiting.

�Back to the hotel, Jake?� the driver asked.

�Please,� Jake said gratefully.

They arrived back at Caesars Palace fifteen minutes later. It was now nearly three o�clock in the morning. They went directly to their room where they found the message light blinking on the phone. Laura listened to the message and told Jake it was from Pauline, who wanted an update from them as soon as they arrived, no matter what time it was.

�Can you handle that?� Jake asked his wife.

�Sure,� she said. �What are you going to do? Go to bed?�

�Soon,� he said, �but first I need a little painkiller.�

�But you didn�t take that prescription,� she said.

�Not that kind of painkiller,� he said, walking over to the bar.

�Ohhh, I see,� she said.

And so, while Laura called Pauline and let her know what was going on, Jake poured himself a quadruple Macmillan single malt over ice and went to work killing the pain. It worked pretty well.

It turned out that Jake could fly. He had just enough maneuverability of his fingertips to be able to manipulate the switches and dials that he needed to manipulate. As for the yoke, he could use his left hand only on that without any problems. As for the throttles, it was a bit clumsy, but he could push and pull them well enough to achieve control for those periods of flight�takeoff, landing, and taxiing�where he was not using the auto-throttle. The most awkward parts were filling out his flight plan�he was right-handed and could not write with a pen in his current condition�and programming the flight plan into his flight director screen, as he was used to doing this by punching the buttons with his right index finger and now had to switch to the left.

The Avanti roared into the sky at one o�clock the next afternoon and climbed to twenty-one thousand feet. Jake sat in the pilot�s seat and Nerdly sat next to him in the copilot�s seat (Jake had disabled the controls on that side). Sharon and Laura sat behind them (Laura had fallen asleep shortly after they had passed ten thousand feet). Obie and Pauline were sitting in the rear facing seats. G and Celia were sitting on the side seats in the rear.

�So ... how did Matt�s sound come out?� Jake asked Nerdly as they bumped and bounced a little over the mountainous terrain below. Nerdly now had a very respectable shiner going on, but he seemed rather proud of it.

�It was not our best work,� Nerdly admitted, �and I only listened to his first three numbers before it was time for us to board the limo for the ride back to the hotel, but I believe it was exponentially better than the Saturday night performance.�

�I concur,� Sharon said from behind them. �I could actually understand his lyrics and hear his guitar and the backing guitar as two distinct instruments.�

�And the volume was not as ear-shattering,� Nerdly put in. �It was still louder than your performance by a considerable margin, but not overwhelming. He and the band also seemed to be considerably more in synchronicity last night.�

�Well, I hope that asshole is grateful for what you did for him,� Jake said.

�I believe he is,� Nerdly said. �Remember, he actually shook my hand and thanked me for helping them after we completed the sound check.�

�That is very unlike Matt,� Jake pointed out.

�True, but he did also make a point to let me know that he still considered me complicit in Darren�s death and that he would never forgive me for it.�

Jake chuckled a little. �Now that sounds like Matt.�

�Indeed,� Nerdly agreed.

JAKE KINGSLEY STEALS THE SHOW AT THE TSF read the headline in the LA Times concert review on Tuesday morning. The article that followed was a ten-thousand-word piece, of which about five thousand were dedicated to Jake�s performance and two thousand to Matt�s. All the other bands� performances were encompassed into about a thousand words (Pantera was particularly lambasted, mostly because of the ear-shattering volume, which made the set almost completely incomprehensible), while the remaining two thousand words was dedicated to the event as a whole.

Matt�s review was not a bad one by any means. The author of the article, who was enjoying his dream job of doing nothing but attending regional concerts so he could review them, commented that Tisdale�s set was �hard driving and full of emotion� and that �the former Intemperance guitarist proved to all that he is the best heavy-metal artist currently slinging an axe�. He did call Matt out for using the same setlist as his tour shows and for the initial miscues and lack of synchronicity during the first night�s performance. He did report, however, that the second night was far superior both in sound and group cohesion.

As for Jake�s performances, he flat out stated that even Tisdale could not hold a candle to them, declaring them to be two of the best live shows he had ever had the privilege of attending. He made note that Jake�s first solo performance since the Intemperance breakup was well put together and obviously extensively rehearsed. The band members were all talented, though unknown musicians who had come through for Jake exquisitely and had been the prime movers in making the show what it was. Though there were some who had suggested that Kingsley did not belong at the TSF with his progressive rock sound and his ballads (the article�s author had made such a suggestion himself only a few weeks before), he had proven them wrong by focusing heavily on his harder-driving tunes that served to compliment the more mellow pieces instead of contrasting them. He went on for a bit about Jake�s previously unrealized lead guitar skills and the use of the talk-box on I Am High. �In one extended song near the end of the show,� the reviewer reported, �Jake Kingsley stepped fully out of the shadow of Matt Tisdale in playing lead guitar, while simultaneously bringing back an icon from the seventies with a distinct modern flair that bordered on musical genius�. He even mentioned how touching it was for Laura Kingsley to join her husband on stage and lay down an impressive performance during South Island Blur. He had no real criticisms of Jake or his band and he did not mention anything about the fight between Jake and the members of Pantera�s crew.

As for the festival as a whole, he gave it four stars, citing, once again, Jake�s and Matt�s sets as the reason for such a high rating. He could not, however, give it five stars due to a few shortcomings that had nothing to do with the performers. The biggest was the lack of video screens, which made it very difficult for those sitting in the back of the venue to see the performers as anything but tiny little figures who could have been anyone. There had also been long lines at the portable toilet clusters and the concession stands. The food sold had been bland and uninspiring. And, lastly, it had been quite warm during the daylight portion of the shows, as this was the Mojave desert in autumn. Perhaps moving subsequent TSFs to November or even early December might be more comfortable?

Jake had the LA Times delivered daily to the mailbox outside his gate. He read the review the morning it came out while sipping his Jamaica Blue coffee out on the deck of his home and waiting for Elsa to bring he and Laura their breakfast. Reading the paper was awkward because he had trouble turning the pages with his right hand and there was a slight breeze blowing in off the ocean, blowing the pages about, but he got through it, smiling as he absorbed the sentiment being laid down.

�Good review?� Laura asked, watching the expression on his face.

�It is,� he said. �It even mentions you. Do you want to read it?�

�Yes, please,� she said.

He handed the paper over to her so she could see her name in print in a favorable light for once.

Meanwhile, about two hundred miles to the south, on a stretch of oceanfront property just outside of San Juan Capistrano, Matt Tisdale had just finished reading the same article out on his deck. His instinct was to be angry at the suggestion that Jake Kingsley�s performance had �stolen the show� from him, but his instinct could not stand up to cold, hard reality. Jake had put on a better show. He could not even begin to deny it. And he and his band had had shitty sound and had been out of synch the first night. The reviewer was not being biased. He was speaking the truth.

At least I had the fucking Nerdlys to help us through the second night, he thought.

He had mixed emotions about that as well. He had vowed multiple times since the death of Darren Appleman that he would never speak to or share a stage with any member of Intemperance again. And he had now broken that vow twice�the first time when he had accepted a ride home from Jake after the suits at National conspired to put them together, and now by allowing Nerdly and his wife to actually take over their sound check and dial in their sound.

But goddamned if we didn�t sound good up there, he mused. The Nerdlys didn�t care about the things I�ve said in the past, the bad blood between us. They just wanted to help me sound good. They had even offered to help train up his sound team the next time he went out on tour. Matt had not agreed to that, but he also had not yet disagreed to it.

Is it maybe time to let some of this shit go? he wondered. There�s been a lot of water under the fuckin� bridge now. Why am I still holding onto this grudge?

He did not know. And he did not want to think it about it right now. So, he did what he always did when doubt started to creep into his mind. He crunched up a couple lines of cocaine and made them disappear.

Schweitzer Mountain, Idaho

December 2, 1996

Jake and Laura, both dressed head to toe in skiing gear, came tromping into the resort�s lodge just after four o�clock in the afternoon after spending their first full day out on the slopes without the assistance of their instructor. They were both tired and a little bit sore from the day�s adventure as well as from the previous three days of falling multiple times while learning the basics of allowing gravity to pull them down steep snow-covered slopes with a couple of slick boards strapped to their feet. In addition to the normal muscle soreness that came with overexertion, Jake had a moderate twinge in his left shoulder and a swollen right knee while Laura had a rather spectacular bruise on her right hip, pain in her tailbone whenever she sat down, and a minor sprain to her right wrist. Still, they were having a wonderful time on their first true vacation in more than a year and they were happy as they took off their jackets and found seats in front of the large picture window that looked out over the town of Sandpoint and Lake Pend Oreille far below.

Since it was a Monday afternoon early in the season the lodge was not terribly busy. There were only a dozen or so customers currently patronizing the establishment. None of them were paying attention to the famous couple in their midst�a minor miracle in and of itself. A fire was burning in the large fireplace, sending out radiating warmth and the nostalgic smell of woodsmoke. They sat close enough to feel the heat on their skin and faces, allowing it to drive away the late autumn chill in their bones. A waitress immediately approached and asked them if they would like to order drinks and/or appetizers.

�Are you done skiing for the day, hon?� Jake asked his wife.

�I am,� she confirmed. �I don�t think I�m quite up to trying night runs just yet.�

�Agreed,� Jake said with a nod. Since they would not be skiing anymore, it was time to start building up a little therapeutic alcohol level to help with the aches and pains. He turned back to the waitress. �I�ll have one of those hot buttered rums. A double if you please.�

�Of course,� she said. �Would you like that made with glacier water or the pressed Washington apple cider?�

�The cider,� Jake said. �Definitely the cider.�

�Very good, Mr. Kingsley,� she said. �And for you, Mrs. Kingsley?�

�I�ll have the same,� she said.

�I will have those right out for you,� she promised. She then headed over to the bar.

Laura leaned back in her chair and looked out the window. �It really is pretty today,� she remarked. �I see now why Steve went on and on about the view from this place.� Steve was Stephen Williams, a multimillionaire real estate developer and one of Greg�s primary investors in the Oregon golf links project. Jake had played golf at the oceanfront resort with him and Greg about a month before�right after Jake had finally been able to shed the wrist splint on his broken hand�while Jake had been in Coos Bay to help finalize the mixing and mastering of Brainwash�s latest CD. Steve was a likable enough guy (for a second-generation rich prick, anyway) and Jake had mentioned to him out on the links that he and Laura were thinking about taking up skiing as a new hobby. As chance would have it, Steve�s investment group was one of the primary owners of Schweitzer Ski Resort. He had offered to set Jake and Laura up with a complete vacation package including lessons, five-star lodging at the resort�s hotel in the ski village, any and all equipment needed, and all meals and drinks comped if Jake would just allow him to publicize the visit for advertising purposes. Jake had agreed and now, here they were, enjoying the hospitality during their break between finishing Brainwash II and starting the recording of Ben, Ted, Phil, and Lenny�s debut CD in early January.

�It is impressive,� Jake agreed. �Especially from the top of the run.�

Though they had been here for four days now, this was the first day the sky had not been overcast and spitting snow flurries at them. It was now a brilliant blue, the sun shining brightly (though not making it very warm up here at 4700 feet of elevation, and certainly not up at the top of the lifts, which was 6400 feet) and letting them see the entire landscape below. The town of Sandpoint was spread out from the base of the mountain to the shore of the lake. The lake itself was a cobalt blue, darker and richer in hue than the sky, except along the edges, where ice had formed and would not melt until spring. A long roadway bridge paralleled by a railway bridge could be seen crossing one of the arms of the lake and Jake could even see the airport where he had landed after the ninety-minute flight from Cypress airport, where the couple had stayed with Jake�s parents for a few days prior to embarking on the ski trip. The Avanti was now parked in a rented hangar at that airport.

They admired the view until the waitress brought their drinks over. They then turned to face each other over the table, using the beverages to warm their cold hands.

�It�s been fun spending all this time with you,� Laura told him.

He smiled. �Yes, it has been,� he agreed. Since Laura had flown back from Poland for the TSF back in late September, they had been together at some point every day and had slept in the same bed every single night. Some of those nights had been spent in Las Vegas, some in Los Angeles, a few in their home in Oceano, a few in Cypress, most in the house KVA owned in Coos Bay, and now, here halfway up Schweitzer Mountain in northern Idaho just 45 miles south of the Canadian border. The constant togetherness had allowed them to reconnect with each other and realize how much they actually liked being together.

�I�ve been thinking a lot about Z�s offer,� she said.

�Yeah?� he asked. Bobby Z and Dexter Price, his primary saxophonist, had just completed a new release that was due to hit the shelves in late January. And, of course, a nationwide tour, starting in Florida and working its way through the south for the first leg, would follow right behind the release. Dexter and Z enjoyed a rich and productive professional relationship but a volatile and occasionally toxic personal relationship. In keeping with their usual pattern, the two of them had broken up shortly after the new CD had been mastered and had mutually agreed that touring together was not an option�again. And, as had been the case with the last CD, Laura had been invited to take up touring duties as the sax player. If she accepted the offer�she still had not made up her mind about it�she would need to report to the rehearsal warehouse on December 10.

�I don�t want to do it,� she said now.

�No?� Jake asked. �How come?�

�Several reasons,� she said. �A big one is that Squiggle will be the trumpet player again and I think it would be ... you know ... awkward, not to mention that I don�t want you worrying constantly about my being out there with him.�

�I�m not worried about that at all,� Jake said casually, though this was a bit of a white lie. Though he trusted his wife, she had admitted to having feelings for Squiggle in the past and to the two of them sharing a certain �chemistry� between them. He did not believe that she would actually act upon that chemistry�especially now that she had found a viable relief valve for her sexual frustration�but the thought of them touring together for months was still more than a little disconcerting; especially in light of Laura�s revelation that she knew Squiggle would act upon his feelings for her without compunction if given the chance.

�That�s just one reason,� Laura said. �The biggest one is that I just don�t want to go back out on tour. I don�t want to have to report to rehearsal every day, I don�t want to have to learn new material right now, and, mostly, I do not want to go back out on the road anytime soon. I loved having the experience of being a traveling musician. I love stepping up on stage and playing for people and having them cheer me. But I�m not ready to go back to staying in hotel rooms night after night, to waking up in a different city every morning, and to being away from you. I just got back a few months ago. I�m not ready to go back out. I�m not sure if I�ll ever be ready to go back out.�

Jake actually felt a strong measure of relief at her decision. In truth, he did not want to go for months without seeing her, touching her, enjoying her company, and regularly fucking her. They had proven to themselves and each other that their marriage was strong and could accommodate such absences, but that did not mean they enjoyed it.

�I understand,� he told her. �And I support you completely.�

�Are you sure?� she asked timidly. �I mean, if you think I should go out again, I will, but...�

He was shaking his head. �I do not think you should go out again,� he assured her. �Especially not with Z and his low-budget tour funding. You�ve been traveling with an A-lister. You don�t really want to go back to traveling in a bus from venue to venue and sleeping in cheap motels after flying private air and staying in luxury suites, right?�

�No,� she said immediately. �I�ve definitely been spoiled by touring with C.�

�Then it sounds like the decision is made,� he said. �The only question is whether or not it is a permanent decision.�

�A permanent decision?�

He nodded. �Are you ever going to want to tour again?� he asked. �Maybe for Celia�s next CD?�

�I don�t know,� she said after a moment�s thought. �It�s kind of a moot point right now, isn�t it? Neither you nor Celia is working on anything new right now.�

�That is true,� he agreed. �I�ll be far too busy getting Phil and the boys recorded and promoted to work up any new material of my own. And Celia seems like she just wants to take a little break and live a little before she starts a new project.�

�So, there is nothing really for me to decide on right now except the Bobby Z offer, right?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �And it seems like you�ve already made you decision on Z.�

�I have,� she said. �I want to be with my husband now. I�ll help you and Celia out when you decide to start your next CDs, but I�ll hold off an any commitment beyond that.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said happily.

They drank two hot buttered rums apiece and then decided to go up to their third-floor suite, fuck, and then take a little nap before dinner. But when they got up to the room the message light blinking on the phone derailed their plans.

�I gotta pee first,� Laura told him.

�By all means,� Jake said, kicking off his ski boots. �I�ll just see what this message is about and meet you in bed.�

�Don�t make me wait too long,� she said with a smile. She stepped into the suite�s bedroom and began to undress.

Jake watched her until her shirt and bra came off and then reluctantly turned his back to her and sat down at the writing desk. He picked up the phone and pushed the message button, which automatically connected him to the hotel phone operator.

�How can I help you?� the nasally female voice enquired politely.

�This is Glenn Sutter,� Jake told her, giving his hotel name. �I understand you have messages for me.�

�Yes, we do, Mr. Sutter,� she said. Of course, she knew that Glenn Sutter was really Jake Kingsley�especially since Steve the real estate developer had made it well-known in media and publicity circles that Jake and Laura were current guests at the resort�but this was how the game was played. �I have a request from Pauline Kingsley in Los Angeles for you to call her as soon as possible on her private, home number.�

�Okay,� Jake said, wondering what this was about. �Thank you for the information.�

�Would you like me to connect you?� she asked.

�Uh ... sure,� Jake said. �That would be cool.� He recited the area code and number for her.

The phone beeped and booped in his ear for a moment and then began to ring. It was picked up on the second ring and his sister�s voice spoke. �Pauline Kingsley.�

�Hey, Paulie,� Jake said. �It�s me. Just got your message. What�s up?�

�Hey, little bro,� she said. �How goes the skiing?�

�It�s a little painful at times,� he admitted. �A lot of fun though.�

�Maybe I�ll give it a try one of these days,� she said. �Obie used to be into it back in the days before me, but he lost interest after breaking his leg and his arm in Aspen.�

�I can see how that would dissuade one,� Jake said. �Anyway, what�s up? Do we have new shit hitting the fan, or do you have some good news for me?�

�I�m not exactly sure what kind of news this is,� she said. �Is Teach there?�

�Yeah, she�s in the other room changing. We just got back from the slopes.� The fact that what she was changing into was her birthday suit, he did not mention.

�I fielded a call earlier today at the studio,� she said. �It was from a gentleman by the name of Joseph Best ... the second.�

�Joseph Best the second?� Jake said, pondering that. Best was Laura�s maiden name. Joseph Best, he had been told a few times during their relationship with each other, was the name of her father, the staunch, conservative, rigidly orthodox Mormon who had disowned her back when she had taken up residence with Phil and stopped contributing ten percent of her meager income to the tithe. Joseph Best II would have to be one of her two brothers, likely the oldest, the one who she had once told him had not moved to Los Angeles from Idaho with the rest of the family and was not in a state of grace with the rest of the Bests for reasons that were never explained to him.

�He says he�s Teach�s oldest brother,� Pauline confirmed for him.

�What does he want?� Jake asked carefully.

�To speak to her,� she said. �He gave me no details as to what it was about, only that it was important.�

�I see,� Jake said slowly, his mind automatically going to the worst-case scenario. There must be a death or an impending death in her family. Why else would the man suddenly make contact after all these years of silence? He sighed as he thought about this, wondering how it was going to change their plans; specifically, their immediate-term plan of getting laid and their intermediate-term plan of continuing their much-needed vacation. True, Laura had not spoken to anyone in her family in years�they most certainly did not approve of her choice of husband and the lifestyle she lived with him�but family was family and they inherently had plan-derailing power. �Did he give a number he could be reached at?�

�He did,� Pauline said. �Do you have something to write with?�

�I do,� Jake said, picking up a pen from the writing desk and pulling the little complimentary tablet over. �Fire away.�

She read off a number that started with area code 208. He wrote it down and then read it back to her to confirm he had written it down correctly.

�All right,� he told his sister. �I�ll give her the message.�

�Let me know if there�s anything I need to do or if there is any help I can offer,� Pauline said. She had obviously gone to worst-case scenario as well.

�Will do,� he told her. �Talk to you later.�

He hung up the phone and then turned back toward the bedroom. A moment later, Laura emerged from the bathroom. She was now dressed in the aforementioned birthday suit and looked like she was quite ready to put Part A into Slot B. Jake felt the familiar tingle of arousal he always got when he looked at her in such a state. Though the bruise on her hip was purple and brown and dark blue and it was roughly the size and shape of the surface of a clothes iron, though she had a scattering of other bruises on her arms and legs, though her hair was in complete disarray from being worn under a ski helmet all day, she was still able to get his motor running. He considered whether or not it would be a marital faux pas to tell her about the call from her brother after they fucked, but she inadvertently beat him to the punch.

�What was the message about?� she asked.

�Uh ... well ... it was from your ... uh ... your brother,� he said.

Her eyes widened a bit. �My brother?� she asked. �Which one?�

�Joseph Best the second,� Jake said.

�Joey called me?� she asked, alarm starting to appear now. It seemed she was going worst-case scenario as well. �Did he say what he wanted?�

�I didn�t talk to him,� Jake said. �The message was from Paulie to let us know he wanted to talk to you. He left his number.�

�She has no idea what this is about?�

�No,� he said. �Just that he wants you to call him. The number has the Idaho area code.�

�He still lives in Pocatello where we grew up,� she said. �The last I heard from my mom he was still working for the city driving a garbage truck.�

�A garbage truck?� Jake asked.

�Somebody has to drive the garbage trucks,� she said. �He got the job way back in the late seventies, back when ... uh ... well...�

�Back when what?� Jake asked.

She sighed. �Back when he got his girlfriend pregnant and had to cancel his mission for the church and find a job to support them,� she said slowly, a clear expression of familial shame on her face.

�Wow,� Jake said. �That shit is kind of frowned upon by Mormons, isn�t it?�

�To put it lightly,� she said. �Mom and Dad didn�t disown him like they�ve done to me, but they never let him forget that he brought shame to the family. I don�t know for sure, but I strongly suspect the scandal is a big part of why Mom and Dad packed us up and moved us to Los Angeles. We did that about two months after the baby was born.�

�And your brother stayed behind,� Jake said, trying to wrap his mind around the story.

�He did,� she said. �Dad made it pretty clear that he wanted Joey and Sarah and Brian�that�s my nephew�s name�to stay behind. And so, they did. He and Sarah got married and got a place of their own and started their own life. Mom and Dad have stayed in touch with him over the years, but only on the phone, and usually only to berate him about how he turned out and to tell him he will never be allowed admission into the Kingdom of Heaven. None of us have been back to Pocatello since, and he�s never visited us in Los Angeles. I haven�t seen Brian since he was a tiny baby. He has to be�God, nearly twenty years old now. And they have two other kids too. I�ve never even met them at all.�

�All this because he knocked up some chick back when he was ... what, twenty years old himself?�

�He was nineteen then,� Laura said. �And Sarah was eighteen, just graduated high school. She was the daughter of the Bishop of our ward. The Bishop stepped down after it became known that Sarah was pregnant. He and the entire family disowned her. As far as I know, they�ve never spoken to her again. As for my family, we were forbidden to talk about Joey to anyone in the Los Angeles ward or even at school. Mom and Dad have lived in constant fear that the new ward would find out about him and the whole thing would start over again. At least ... they used to worry about it until I started being mentioned in the papers for living in sin with you. I�m pretty sure their shame of me overrode their shame of Joey.�

�Wow,� Jake said again, shaking his head. �This is a level of intolerance that I cannot even begin to wrap my mind around. Do your people really believe that disowning family just because they dipped their wick and a little miracle happened is what God wants?�

�They really believe that,� she assured him. �You can see now why I want nothing to do with that religion�or any other religion, for that matter.�

�You don�t have to explain it to me,� Jake assured her. �I�ve always felt that way. Are you going to call him?�

She sighed. �Yeah, I guess I need to just so I can find out what this is about. It has to be bad news of some kind. I cannot think of a single good reason why Joey would want to talk to me now, after all these years.�

�Did he disown you as well?� Jake asked.

�I don�t know,� she said. �I haven�t talked to him at all since we moved to LA. Mom would give me updates on him from time to time, but they were always negative updates, I think as a warning of what happened when you went against the teachings of the church. And it�s sad, really, because Joey was the sibling I was closest to when I was little.�

�Really?�

She nodded. �He was my big brother,� she said whimsically. �I mean, Aaron was my big brother too, but he was only eighteen months older than me, and he and I never really got along all that well. Joey was eight years older. He used to babysit me and Aaron when Mom and Dad had to go to some church function or to work. He used to walk me and Aaron to school. He used to ride me on his handlebars around the neighborhood. He really liked having a baby sister, I think.� She giggled a little. �I helped him meet girls. They would flock to him when they saw that I was with him.�

Jake nodded reverently. Laura�s brother had employed a tried-and-true method of using a known chick-magnet to further his cause. And Laura must have been adorable as a youngster, with her red hair and her freckles and her cute face. They surely would have gathered in force around the big brother that showed such a nurturing instinct. Perhaps that was a factor in his attraction of the Bishop�s daughter. Hmm, Jake thought respectfully. A Bishop�s daughter. I ain�t never had me no Bishop�s daughter. This dude has done something in the sack that I haven�t managed to accomplish.

�It sounds like you had a good relationship with him,� Jake offered, deciding�wisely, no doubt�to keep his speculations and observations to himself.

�I really did,� she said, her expression melancholy. �Well ... I guess I�d better see what this is all about.�

�Here�s the number,� Jake said, picking it up and offering it to her.

�In a minute,� she said, turning back toward the bedroom.

�Where are you going?� he asked.

�I need to put something on,� she said.

�Why?�

�I can�t talk to my brother while I�m naked,� she said simply. �Eww.�

�Okay then,� Jake said slowly.

She disappeared and then came back a few minutes later wearing a long, loose-fitting white t-shirt that came down to just above her knees. It was apparent to Jake that she had not put on a bra or even panties beneath it. Apparently, it was okay to talk to one�s brother with no panties or bra on as long as there was outer-wear involved.

�I think I�ll go get out of these clothes and take a quick shower,� he told her.

�Okay,� she said absently. She now had the piece of paper with Joseph II�s number on it. She was staring at it but making no move to pick up the phone.

He went into the bedroom and quickly stripped off his clothes, putting the ski wear in one place while putting his undergarments in the laundry bag. By the time he was done with this and walked back to the bathroom, Laura was on the phone and talking to someone. She had no expression on her face and he could not hear what she was saying. He left her alone and went to take his shower and take account of his own bumps, bruises, aches, and pains.

Once he was toweled off, he threw on a pair of sweatpants and walked back out into the sitting room. Laura was still at the writing desk, her expression one of deep thought. She did not look particularly upset.

�Well?� he asked her carefully. �Was it bad news?�

�No,� she said softly. �It was actually good news�kind of, anyway.�

�Do tell,� he said.

�He just had his first grandchild,� she said.

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. �Grandchild?� he asked. �How old is he?�

�Just a little over two months old,� she said. �Everett Ryan Best. He was born on September 27, the first day of the TSF. Isn�t that wild?�

�Uh ... yeah ... very wild,� Jake said. �But ... uh ... I meant how old is your brother? Isn�t he a little young to be having grandchildren?�

�He�s thirty-nine,� she said. �And yes, he is a little young for grandkids, but he has one anyway. Brian, the baby he and Sarah had back when I was twelve years old, is now nineteen himself. He got his high school sweetheart pregnant back in January. They got married in April�on my birthday, if you can believe that�and she had the baby while we were at the TSF.�

�Wow,� Jake said for the third time that night. �Talk about family traditions.�

�I know, right,� Laura said. �He wanted me to know about Everett and he figured that Mom and Dad would not reach out to let me know about him, so he wanted to tell me himself.�

�He told your parents about it?� Jake asked.

�On several occasions,� she said. �He told them when he was told about the pregnancy back in March, back when Brian and his girlfriend got married in April, and again when Everett was actually born. He says that they are far from supportive and far from happy to be great grandparents. In fact, they told him not to call or contact them ever again.�

�You�re not giving me any warm fuzzies about your parents here, hon,� he told her. �I hope that wasn�t your intention.�

She smiled a little. �It was not,� she assured him. �In truth, I�ve lost what little respect I still had for them over the past ten minutes. Joey said it wasn�t even the out-of-wedlock pregnancy that upset them the most, it was the fact that Brian�s girlfriend is not a member of the church and has no plans of converting. Anyway, Joey apologized for not responding to the wedding announcement I sent him back when you and I got married. He says he was still trying to maintain a relationship with Mom and Dad back then and they told all the brothers and sisters not to acknowledge my existence or they would be dead to them too.�

�But he�s changed his mind about that?�

�Joey has, yes,� Laura said. �And I believe him. He says that the way Mom and Dad treated him and talked to him after Brian�s girlfriend got pregnant was beyond atrocious. Especially that last conversation after the baby was born and they were finally told that she wasn�t Mormon. Everyone else in the family has broken ties with him now. He said it made him realize what I had been going through all these years and made him want to reach out to me. He tried to call me and write to me at the address and number I had put on the wedding announcement�he kept it�but that was for the Nottingham Drive house and we don�t live there anymore. And then, just a few days ago, he read in the Pocatello newspaper that you and I were visiting up here at Schweitzer for a ski vacation. He tried to contact me directly at the hotel, but, of course, we�re not checked in under our real names. So, he dug a little deeper using the internet and found out that Pauline is my manager. He dug up her number and gave her a call. And that�s how he finally managed to get in touch.�

Jake nodded. �Nerdly would be proud of their use of the internet in that manner,� he said.

�I�m sure he would,� she said.

�Well then,� Jake said, �this has all been very interesting. I�m glad you were able to talk to your brother after all these years and learn about your new ... what is it ... grandnephew?�

�That would be the correct term,� she said.

�Grandnephew ... right,� Jake said. �And now, how about we find our way into the bedroom there and have ourselves a little...�

�Joey invited us to visit,� she interrupted.

He looked at her. �Did he now?� he asked carefully.

She nodded. �I told him that we�ll be here in Schweitzer for another two days but after that, we have no firm plans.�

�You told him that?�

�I did,� she said.

�Well ... I mean ... I thought that we were thinking about flying over to Jackson Hole and trying out the whole snowmobiling in Yellowstone Park thing.�

�We were just talking about that,� she said. �We haven�t actually booked anything.�

�That�s true,� Jake said, �but...�

�I�d like to go see him, sweetie,� she said quietly.

�You would?�

She nodded. �I would,� she said. �I�d like to see Brian and Sarah and Joey�s other kids. I�d like to meet my new grandnephew. Mostly, I�d like to reconnect with a part of my family. I don�t have any family right now, Jake. Can you appreciate what that is like?�

�No, not really,� Jake admitted. �But there�s a reason why you don�t have contact with your family, right? They�re intolerant and judgmental. It was they who broke contact with you, not the other way around.�

�I understand,� she said. �But now, Joey has reached out to me. I�d like to reach back and see where it goes.�

Jake suppressed a sigh. He had absolutely no desire to go to Pocatello, Idaho and meet members of Laura�s estranged Mormon family. On his scale of desirability, such a thing rated only slightly above traveling to Zaire during an Ebola outbreak. But ... his wife wanted to do it and she did not ask for much from him. �All right,� he said. �If you�d like to go, we�ll go.�

She smiled, clearly very happy about his decision. �Yay!� she said, clapping her hands a little. �I�ll call Joey back and let him know.�

�You do that,� he said, fighting (and generally succeeding) to keep the false enthusiasm in his tone. �I�m going to make a drink.�

�Make me one too,� she said, picking up the phone.

While she chatted excitedly with her brother, Jake mixed up a couple of rum and cokes at the bar. By the time he carried them back over, Laura had finished her conversation.

�He�s very excited to see us,� she told him.

�Uh huh,� Jake said. He was starting to wonder if this was about money. Maybe Joey II thought he could score himself a little �loan� from his now rich sister and her rich husband? This did not seem an unreasonable assumption at all. If it turned out to be the case, he decided right then and there, he would just give Laura�s brother whatever he asked for and write it off as gone. After all, the man drove a garbage truck for a living. How much would it even occur to him to ask for? Twenty grand, maybe? Fifty at the most?

�Thank you so much for this, sweetie,� Laura said, giving him a big kiss on the lips. �I told him we�ll be there sometime Thursday afternoon. Does that sound right? How long does it take to fly to Pocatello from here?�

�I haven�t looked into it yet,� Jake said. �I can�t imagine it�ll be more than two hours though.�

�So, if we check out of here around eleven, we should be able to get to Pocatello by three o�clock, right?�

�That sounds reasonable,� he allowed. �I�ll give you a more specific timeline when I look at the charts and run the numbers. In the meantime, I�ll get us a hotel room booked. I don�t suppose you know what they have in Pocatello for first-class accommodations?�

�We ... uh ... won�t need a hotel room,� Laura said, a little hesitantly.

Jake looked at her sharply. �We won�t?�

�No,� she said. �Joey wants us to stay with him while we�re there.�

�Stay with him?� Jake asked. �There is no reason to do that.�

�There is a reason,� she insisted. �We�re family. And in our family, family stays with family when visiting. To stay in a hotel room would be insulting.�

�Insulting?� Jake asked incredulously. �Who came up with that shit?�

�I don�t know who came up with it,� she said stubbornly, �but we�re going to do it. I will not be insulting to my brother and his family when they�ve reached out to me. He�s already told Grace and Chastity that we�ll be using their room while we�re there.�

�Who are Grace and Chastity?� Jake asked.

�My nieces,� she said. �They are fourteen and sixteen and they share a room. They will sleep on the couch while we�re there.�

�We�re going to sleep in a teenager�s room in a Mormon household and make the two teens in question sleep on a couch, just so we don�t insult your brother?�

�That�s right,� she said sternly. �That is exactly what we�re going to do.�

Jake sighed and nodded. �All right then,� he said, mentally putting the trip to Ebola-ravaged Zaire a little higher on the chart than Pocatello after all.

As it turned out, the flight from Sandpoint airport to Pocatello Regional Airport took ninety-four minutes from wheels-up to touchdown and it passed over some rather incredible scenery on the way. They bumped and bounced over a large expanse of snow-covered mountains that defined the terrain of northern Idaho and western Montana, mountains with steep canyons, breathtaking gorges, and lots of evergreen trees. As they got further into the main body of Idaho, they passed over the Snake River plain and could see the rugged waterway twisting and turning below, cutting deep gorges and canyons through the rock. Laura actually stayed awake for the entire flight, a rarity for her, though probably it was because of the impending meeting with her brother and not the scenery that kept her from her normal midair slumber.

The weather was clear and calm, though a frigid 28 degrees Fahrenheit, when Jake touched down on Runway 17 at 3:22 PM, local time. Snow berms could be seen off to the sides of the runway and taxiways as he made the journey to the general aviation terminal near the main airport entrance.

Three days, Jake thought sourly as he parked in front of the terminal and went through the engine shutdown checklist. I can put up with anything for three days, right? This thought did not give him much solace.

Jake left the aircraft locked but did not secure it to the tie-down rings. As had been the case in Sandpoint, he had rented a hangar to park the plane in during his stay so it would not be left out in the snow and sub-freezing temperatures. He and Laura walked into the terminal, which was virtually deserted except for the two people working the counter. While Laura worked on getting a shuttle to take her over to the passenger terminal and its rental car counter, Jake worked on securing the hangar and arranging for a couple of rampers to push the aircraft into the hangar for him. He was capable of performing this procedure himself, and he generally did so when home, but he did not have access to a tug here in Pocatello and their rules forbid him from simply borrowing or renting one.

Laura went off on her mission to secure the Jeep Cherokee that Jake had rented for the stay here (he always rented four-wheel drive vehicles in places where snow was a possibility). Jake went back out to the Avanti and fired up the engines once again. He taxied over to hangar row and stopped in front of number 27, positioning the plane so he was not blocking the access taxiway, but was aligned for easy, unpowered movement into the hangar. No sooner had he shut down than a Chevy pickup pulling a small trailer with the tug on it rolled in and parked just in front of him. The rampers had arrived.

Two young people got out of the Toyota. Both were dressed in jeans and thick beige sweaters with the name of the airport services department and their first names stenciled on them. Both wore fur hats that covered their ears. The tall skinny one had long hair that spilled out the bottom of his hat and a baby smooth face that was so effeminate in nature that Jake had to look at him carefully for a moment to determine that he was, in fact, a male and not a female. The short, chubby one, on the other hand, was unmistakably male. He had even longer hair but a full mustache and beard combo. He also had bad teeth. He was chewing on a large wad of tobacco and spitting the juice on the ground with disgusting frequency. Their names were Ron (the tall, skinny, effeminate one) and Dallas (the short, chubby, bearded one). They appraised Jake and his aircraft as he walked up to meet them.

�Goddamn,� Dallas proclaimed. �That�s one fuck of a plane you got there, dude.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �It gets me from place to place.�

�It�s an Avanti, right?� asked Ron. Even his voice was effeminate, but he seemed to know his airplanes.

�That�s right,� Jake said with a nod.

�I�ve heard about them,� Ron said, seemingly in awe. �Seen pictures on the internet too. But I�ve never actually seen one with my own eyes.�

�There�s not all that many of them around,� Jake said. �I got lucky and managed to score a used one.�

�It�s your plane?� Dallas asked him. �As in, you own it?�

�Well,� Jake said, �the bank still owns most of it currently but yes, it�s my plane.�

�Holy shit!� Dallas proclaimed. �What�s something like that cost?�

�An assload,� Jake assured him. �Anyway, you�ll be able to park it for me?�

�No problem,� said Ron. �Would you mind if I took a picture of it though?�

�Uh ... sure, why not?� Jake said with a shrug. �You have a camera with you?�

�Always,� Ron said. �I�m a photographer. Aviation is one of my favorite subjects. Let me just grab it out of the truck.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said with sincerity. After all, anything that delayed his trip to Laura�s brother�s house was okay in his book.

While Ron trotted back to the Chevy, Dallas was staring at Jake with an expression Jake knew well. Though Jake was still wearing his aviator sunglasses and had his own shoulder-length hair tucked up under a billed hat with ear flaps, the ramper was starting to realize who this rich guy with the fancy airplane actually was.

�Dude,� he said, the awe in his voice now quite apparent, �you�re ... you�re ... like Jake Kingsley, aintcha?�

�Yeah,� Jake said simply. He had learned over the years that denial in such a circumstance usually did not work. �Just popping in for a little visit to Pocatello.�

�I heard about that!� Dallas said.

�You did?� Jake asked, surprised.

�Fuck yeah! There was an article in today�s paper about how you and your old lady was gonna be visiting here. I didn�t really believe it, but goddamn!�

�That was in the paper?� Jake asked incredulously.

�Of course,� Dallas said. �This is a small fuckin� town. Everyone knows your old lady grew up here. We�ve known that shit since you got married to her. Some reporter got word you were comin� in so she could visit and they wrote an article about it. I heard the fuckin� mayor is hopin� to give you a tour of city hall or some shit like that. But then there�s a bunch of other people�Mormons, most of them�that want him to tell you and your old lady you ain�t welcome here because you�re a Satanist.�

�Wow,� Jake said, now placing this visit to Pocatello a few notches lower on his list of desirability. It was now ranked just below hanging out in summertime Baghdad during an ongoing bombing campaign that took out the electrical grid and all of the air conditioning.

Ron came trotting back over. He now had a battered looking Nikon 35-millimeter camera hanging from a strap around his neck.

�Dude!� Dallas said to him. �Do you know who this dude is?�

�No,� Ron said. �Who is he?�

�Jake Kingsley, dude! Can you believe that shit?�

Ron looked over at him, his expression neutral. �The singer, right?� He asked. �The one who snorts cocaine out of girls� butt cracks?�

�I don�t really do much of that anymore,� Jake said.

�Probably a good idea,� Ron agreed. �I read in the paper that you might be here today. I guess that explains how someone your age can afford an Avanti. They didn�t say you�d be flying here in your own plane.�

�I guess your local reporters aren�t up to speed on celebrity stalking,� Jake said.

�I guess not,� Ron said. �Anyway, I�m gonna grab a few shots of the plane now if that�s all right.�

�Snap away,� Jake said.

�Dude!� Dallas said. �You gotta get a few shots of me and Jake together too. Is that cool, Jake?�

�Yeah, sure, that�s cool,� Jake said with a shrug. Being asked to pose for photos with someone was a depressingly common occurrence. He generally acquiesced as long as he did not have some pressing piece of business to attend to. It was all part of that �life we choose� thing.

�All right,� Ron said, �but only a few. Getting film developed is not cheap, you know.�

And so, after taking about ten shots of the Avanti, capturing it from every angle, Ron then snapped a few of Jake and Dallas standing together in front of the aircraft and then to the side of it. Just as Jake started to feel they were finished, an obnoxiously blue Jeep Cherokee pulled up and parked just in front of the hangar next to Jake�s. The door opened and Laura stepped out. She was looking quite cute in her winter parka, her jeans, and her white, ear covering beanie with the little tassel ball on top. Both rampers became tongue-tied as Jake introduced them to her.

�Can we get a shot of me with both of you?� asked Dallas.

�I�ve only got three more shots on this roll,� Ron complained.

�Then use them up right now,� Dallas said, �and I�ll go in halves with you developing the roll.�

�Okay,� Ron said. �I guess that�s fair, as long as Jake�s wife is okay with it.�

�Sure,� Laura said good-naturedly. �In front of the plane?�

�Yeah, that�s a good spot,� Dallas said.

They stood in front of the plane, Laura in the middle, Jake to her right with his arm around her waist, Dallas on her left, looking awkward and making a point not to stand too close to her�as if he were afraid he might get burned if he accidentally touched her. Ron took two shots and then hesitated.

�You know,� he said. �Maybe I could be in the last shot.�

�Yeah, sure,� Jake said. �Why not?�

�Here, Dallas,� Ron said, stepping over. �Take the shot for me.�

Dallas was agreeable enough. He listened to Ron�s explanation about how to take the shot�basically just point the camera and then push the button though Ron managed to make it sound more complicated than that�and then walked over and stood on Laura�s left. Laura and Jake smiled for the camera. Ron did as well, showing a well-taken-care-of set of teeth. Dallas pushed the button and the camera cycled once and then began automatically rewinding the film cartridge.

Once the camera was done, Ron stowed it back in the truck. He and Dallas went to work and moved the plane into the hangar, doing it easily, with the skill of people who performed such a task a dozen or more times every day. They then unloaded all of the luggage from the plane and stowed it in the back of the Cherokee.

�Thanks, guys,� Jake told them when they were done. He gave each of them a twenty-dollar bill for their trouble. They seemed very appreciative of the gratuity and were soon driving off in their Chevy again.

�All right,� Jake said. �Do you know where we�re going?�

�We have the address,� Laura said.

�Yes, we do,� Jake agreed. �Do you know how to get there?�

�No,� she said. �I�ve never heard of the street before. And when I lived here, I was still too young to drive so I never really learned how to get around.�

�I see,� Jake said.

�I can call Joey on my cell and get directions,� she suggested.

�That�s okay,� Jake said with a sigh, picturing the thought of his navigationally challenged wife trying to relay secondhand directions to him on the fly. �We�ll just find a local gas station and buy ourselves a map of Pocatello. I�ll be able to get us there with that.�

�That�s probably a good idea,� she agreed. She was quite aware of her shortcomings in this area of life as well.

It turned out that Joey�s house was not that far from the airport. He and his family lived in north Pocatello, in a well-established neighborhood full of postwar single stories on decent sized lots. Most of the lawns were covered in snow with shoveled walkways and there were small berms built up in the gutters where the plows had pushed it. Best Manor was on a corner lot and therefore had a bit more land to play with than most of the other houses. The structure itself was quite small by Jake�s standards�even his pre-fortune and fame standards�with peeling gray paint and a roof that looked like it could use some major repairs. An old Ford F-150 4x4 that had undoubtedly been built during the Carter administration was parked at the curb and a Reagan era Ford Bronco was in the driveway. Both were covered in road grime and had rust spots in various places. A boat on a trailer that was covered with canvas tarping sat next to the Bronco, leaving just enough room for one more vehicle to fit.

�This is the place,� Jake said, spotting the address numbers next to the garage door.

�Looks like it,� Laura agreed. �Pull into the driveway.�

�Are you sure?� he asked. He had been brought up to believe it rude to park in someone�s driveway unless specifically directed to do so.

�I�m sure,� she said. �In our family, guests always park in the driveway.�

�Okay then,� he said doubtfully. He wheeled in and put the vehicle in park and then set the parking brake. He took a deep breath. He was a little nervous about meeting Laura�s family for a reason he could not quite put his finger on. It was a little like stage fright before a show, but without the anticipation of the dopamine and endorphin release that would follow.

They stepped out onto the driveway and headed along the recently shoveled walkway, their breath puffing out visibly in the cold air. The front porch had a mat that featured two angels playing horns on either side of the words �WELCOME FRIENDS�. The mat appeared to be at least as old as the Bronco.

�I�m a little nervous about this,� Laura said as they stood in front of the door.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �Me too.�

She smiled at him and then knocked gently on the door. The sound of footsteps from within appeared and then grew louder. The doorknob turned and the door opened, letting a blast of warm air from inside wash over them. Standing in the doorway was what Jake assumed was Laura�s brother, though he looked nothing like what Jake had been anticipating. He had expected a clean-cut, serious-looking man, probably balding, probably wearing a white dress shirt and dark pants. Instead, he found a stocky man, about four inches shorter than himself, with a thick mop of light brown hair, an unruly mustache, and a carelessly trimmed goatee. He was wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and a loose-fitting pullover shirt that was stretched a little tight over a moderate-sized beer belly. He looked at the two of them, his expression one of nervousness as well.

�Joey?� Laura asked questioningly. �Is that really you?�

A smile formed on his face. �Little Bit,� he said, using a nickname for her that she had not heard in many years. �Yeah, it�s really me. A little older and fatter than you remember, huh?�

�Oh my God,� she said. �It�s so good to see you again!� She held her arms out to him. He stepped to her and they embraced warmly, holding the hug for a considerable amount of time. When they finally broke apart, Laura had tears running down her face and Joe II looked like he was desperately trying to keep his own tears in check.

Once she had herself under control, she introduced Jake. �This is my husband, Jake. Jake, Joey.�

Jake shook hands with him. Joey�s grip was good, strong, but not overwhelming. �It�s nice to meet you,� Jake told him.

�Likewise,� Joey said. �I�m so glad the two of you were able to come visit.�

�Me too,� Jake lied, though he did it smoothly and professionally.

�Come in, come in,� Joey offered, waving them to the door. �Meet the rest of the family.�

�Sure,� Jake said. �Is our stuff safe out in the car for now?�

�It�s safe,� Joey assured him. �This is a good neighborhood. Probably not like where you two live, but safe all the same.�

�We don�t actually live in a neighborhood,� Laura told him as they entered the front door. �We live on top of a hill all by ourselves.�

�No kidding?� he said, seemingly impressed by this notion. �It must be nice.�

�It really is,� Laura said.

�Although we do spend a lot of time living in hotel rooms as well,� Jake pointed out.

�Yeah,� Laura said sourly. �Especially this last year.�

The living room was not huge, but it was clean and well-decorated. There was a sectional couch that sat along two of the walls and a recliner. A thirty-six-inch television set�currently tuned to the Oprah Winfrey Show and muted�was mounted on the wall. There were several mounted deer and elk heads. There was a locked glass cabinet that contained six rifles, a shotgun, and a variety of pistols. The paintings on the wall were all outdoors themed, with scenes of lakes and rivers and waterfalls. There were three people in the room, all of them female, all of them looking nervous to varying degrees.

Sarah was Joey�s wife�the former Bishop�s daughter. She was short, a bit on the chunky side, but still pretty. Her hair was dark blonde in color and she wore glasses. She was dressed in jeans and a button-up blouse. When she saw Laura, her face lit up.

�Oh, good lord, Little Bit,� she said. �The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl. Look at you! You�re beautiful!�

�Thanks,� Laura said, smiling, stepping forward for a hug. �You look great too.�

�I look like what I am,� Sarah said. �A fat mom.�

They hugged warmly and then Jake was introduced. �It�s nice to meet you, Jake,� she told him. Her voice was considerably more reserved than it had been when she was speaking to Laura and Jake was catching a vibe of watchfulness coming off of her.

�Nice to meet you as well,� Jake told her, shaking her hand demurely.

The other two people in the room were teenage girls, both of whom looked considerably more wholesome and innocent than the LA teens that Jake was used to seeing. Joey made the introductions to both Jake and Laura since she had never met them before. Grace was the older of the two, her hair red, though a softer shade than Laura�s copper-colored red. She was full-figured, tall, and very pretty. She was blushing as she shook Jake�s hand and seemed unable to speak at all. The younger girl was Chastity. She was blonde, like her mother, and more petite, like Laura. Her facial features showed a definite family resemblance to Laura and overall, she was very pretty as well. She was not as shy as her sister.

�Dad says that you guys know Celia Valdez,� she said.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Celia and I and Laura are all good friends. Laura was on tour with Celia and played saxophone for her during her concerts and on two of her CDs.�

�That is so cool,� Chastity said, looking at her aunt with new respect now. �I love Celia�s music.� And then, as an afterthought: �Your music is pretty good too, Jake.�

�Thank you,� Jake said with a smile. It was always good to be validated by the teen demographic.

�Where�s Brian?� Laura asked.

�He and his family will be here for dinner,� Joey said. �He�s at work right now. He has a job as an apprentice meat-cutter down at the butcher shop in old town. He doesn�t make much now, but it�s a good paying profession once he learns the trade.�

�Interesting,� Jake said, with sincerity. It had not occurred to him that there were still butcher apprentices in the modern world.

�We�ll get to meet the baby?� Laura asked.

�Of course,� Joey said. �That�s the purpose of the visit.�

Is it really? Jake thought cynically as he heard the words. Or is it that you need some money to buy a new car or to put a new roof on the house? His plan remained unchanged. If Laura�s family asked for cash, he would simply give them whatever they asked for. Anything to get this trip over with so they could go back to their normal lifestyle.

�All right then,� Joey said. �Now that we�ve got the introductions made, how about a beer?�

Jake looked at him, positive he had heard the man incorrectly. �A beer?� he asked.

�Yeah,� Joey said. �You just flew in from up north. What did that take you? A couple of hours?�

�About that,� Jake said.

�I like to have a cold one after I travel,� Joey said. �What do you say?�

�Uh ... sure,� Jake said. �I�d love a beer, but ... uh ... I thought you were ... you know ... Mormon.�

Joey laughed. It was a pleasant laugh that had a lot in common with Laura�s. �We�re what you call Jack Mormons, Jake,� he told him.

�Jack Mormons?� Jake asked. He had never heard that term before.

�It means we believe in the Heavenly Father and were raised Mormon, but we don�t really follow all of the ... you know ... the rules, like not drinking beer or coffee, and like giving ten percent of our hard-earned money to the church.�

�You don�t participate in the tithe?� Laura asked, seemingly more surprised by this than the fact that her brother drank beer.

�Are you gonna start lecturing me like Mom used to, Little Bit?� he asked.

�Not at all,� she said. �I�m just surprised. I haven�t given money to the church since I moved out on my own.�

�Ten percent is a lot of goddamn money,� Joey said. �And if it means I�m not a member in good standing, that I�m not welcome at worship services, so be it. I like to spend my Sundays watching football and drinking beer anyway.�

Jake smiled again, his respect for Laura�s brother creeping up a bit. �I like the way you think, Joseph,� he said.

�Please, call me Joey,� he said. �Mom is the only one who calls me Joseph.�

�Joey it is,� he said. �And I would love to have a beer.�

The beer turned out to be Budweiser in the can, something that Jake had not consumed in well over ten years now. And he was not offered a glass to pour it into. Oh well, he thought, pulling the pop top and releasing the pressure, when in Pocatello, do as the Pocatellons (or whatever they call themselves). Though it was almost completely tasteless compared to the brews he normally drank (the strongest flavor was the metallic aftertaste caused by the can itself), it did bring back rather nostalgic memories of high school kegger parties and after-gig drinking during the club days at D Street West. Laura, Sarah, and Joey all had one as well. They sat on the sectional as they drank, putting the cans down on old and mismatched wooden coasters. Grace and Chastity joined them, sitting in the recliners and drinking cans of Pepsi.

�You�re still working for the city?� Laura asked her brother.

�That�s right,� he said. �Coming up on twenty years workin� for Pocatello waste management. It�s a much easier job these days than it was when I started.�

�The automation?� Jake asked.

�Yep,� he confirmed. �Back when I started, there was three of us to a truck. The senior guy got to drive and the two juniors had to heft every can from the curb by hand and dump it in the back. We could only do two hundred stops a day workin� like that. Then, back in 88, we got the trucks with the arm. Since then, one man workin� all by himself can easily do four hundred a day and never have to move his butt from the seat. Of course, that comes with a price.� He patted his large belly. �You get fat and you get hemorrhoids and you get back problems.�

�That�s too bad,� Jake said.

Joey simply shrugged. �It is what it is,� he said. �The city pays a decent wage�enough we were able to buy this house and Sarah didn�t have to work when the kids were little. We have good benefits and retirement too.�

�Those are good things to have,� Jake said, though he really could not relate.

�Enough about garbage,� Sarah said. �Tell us the story about how you two met. We�ve all seen the gossip column stories. Tell us how it really was.�

Laura handled this part. She told the tale of how she had played in the jazz band in college and one of her former bandmates�Ben Ping�called her up out of the blue years later and asked her if she might be interested in auditioning for Celia Valdez. She told of the audition and how she had wowed them with her sax at first, only to disappoint them when she tried to play Celia�s material.

�I was a bit of a music snob back then,� she admitted.

�Back then?� Jake said, raising his eyebrows up.

�Shut up, you,� she said, slapping at him playfully. �I�m nowhere near as bad now.�

He smiled and waved his hand in the see-saw fashion, earning himself another playful slap.

�Anyway,� she said, �Jake and Celia were working closely together on their CDs. Jake was playing the guitar parts and mostly directing the sessions. We didn�t get along too well at first, did we, sweetie?�

�We did not,� he agreed. �She thought I was a Satan-worshipping, girlfriend abusing, cocaine from the butt crack sniffing freak.�

�Don�t forget that I thought your music sucked too,� she added helpfully.

�Oh yeah,� he said. �Almost forgot about that part.�

�Did you really snort cocaine from a girl�s butt crack?� asked Chastity.

�Chase!� Sarah said, aghast. �You don�t ask a guest something like that!�

�It�s okay,� Jake said. �No, I did not snort cocaine from a girl�s butt crack. Like the Satan worshiping and the girlfriend beating and most of everything else I�ve been accused of over the years, the media pretty much fabricated that on their own.�

�Oh ... I see,� Chastity said, apparently disappointed by Jake�s little white lie.

�Anyway,� Laura went on, �I finally learned to drop my music snobbery and get into what Celia was producing. Once that happened, I kind of became one of the team. I learned that Jake really was a talented musician and a good guy to work with. We became friends as we worked together in the rehearsal studio day in and day out. And then, when we went up to Oregon to actually start the recordings, that�s when we started to get closer and started having romantic feelings for each other.�

�It happened gradually?� Sarah asked.

�In a way,� she said. She told of how she had come out to the hot tub one night and found Jake already in there. She joined him (�you don�t know how close I came to not getting in there with you,� she shared with a giggle) and that led to the musical challenge in which they listened to each other�s favorite music and tried to get into it. And then came the trip home to visit her �fianc�, Dr. Dave the dentist. She did not share that he was married, just that he was neglectful and unreliable and that he had bowed out of a plan to visit his timeshare and had left town on other business without even notifying her in advance. And if they had read or heard about the articles that came out after the gossip rags had broken the story about Laura and Dr. Dave, they prudently did not mention it.

�He sounds like a dick,� Chastity opined.

�Chase!� Sarah admonished. �Your language!�

�Sorry,� she said, seeming anything but.

�That�s actually a good word for Dave,� Laura told her. �That�s exactly what he was. And it was Jake who was able to open my eyes to that realization.� She then told about the need for a soprano saxophone that was only available in Portland, about the flight there to acquire one, and about the heart-to-heart talk they had on the flight back to Coos Bay. And then she told about them sharing their first kiss in the hot tub later that night. She left out the part about how that first kiss had come about because she had accidentally gotten a feel of the erection he had sprung from having her in close proximity. She also left out the part about how they had gone upstairs and gotten naked together and fucked for the first time a little more than twenty minutes later.

�And that was when we fell in love,� Laura finished up. �During the recording of South Island Blur.�

�That�s a beautiful story,� Sarah said, beaming.

�And he proposed to me in that very same hot tub three years later while we were watching the sunset,� she said.

Chastity and Sarah both nearly melted when they heard this.

�And you said yes right away?� Chastity asked.

�Uh ... yes, of course,� Laura said, fudging the truth a bit. In actuality, a little bit of discussion had to be done first�discussion about lesbian bartenders and female groupies out on tour�but it had been that same night, so that could be construed as �right away�.

At this point, Sarah declared that she needed to get dinner started. Jake and Laura both offered to help but she enlisted the two girls instead. Joey got them all another round of canned Budweiser and they resumed their places.

�Who do you think will be going this year, Jake?� Joey asked.

�Going?� Jake asked. �Going where?�

�To the Super Bowl,� he said. �I think this just might be the year that Green Bay goes all the way. They�re my team, you know and I�m here to tell you, it�s been a challenge the last twenty years, but Favre has been on fire this season. And the defense! I�m sure I don�t have to tell you about their defense.�

�Uh ... well ... the fact of the matter is, Joey, that I don�t really follow football that much.�

He looked at him suspiciously. �You don�t follow football?� he asked. �What are you, a communist or something?�

�No, not a communist,� he said. �I used to like the Oakland Raiders back when I was a kid. They were the closest pro team to Heritage, where I grew up. But ever since I got into music and made it my life, I just haven�t had the inclination to follow sports. I�ve just been too busy.�

�Hmm,� Joey said. �You don�t watch any sports then?�

He shrugged. �Sometimes I watch the Olympics when they�re on,� he said.

�And you�re not a faggot?� he asked.

Laura chuckled. �I can assure you, Joey, he is most definitely not gay.�

�I see,� Joey said. �Well, what about hunting and fishing? You do that?�

Jake shook his head. �Never been hunting in my life,� he said. �I went out deep sea fishing with Matt Tisdale a few times back in the Intemp days�that was kind of fun�and my dad has recently gotten into stream and lake fishing and wants to teach me how to do it, but again, there�s that issue of not having much time. This is actually the first real vacation Laura and I have had in quite some time.� And I�m spending a good chunk of it here, in a tiny little house with a man who just accused me of being a communist faggot.

�Have you ever even shot a gun before?� Joey asked next.

�I never have,� Jake admitted. �My dad was an ACLU lawyer and my mom was a symphony musician. We didn�t have guns in the house.�

�Never fired a gun before,� he said in wonder. �You�re not one of those anti-gun nuts though, are you?�

�No, not really,� he said, doing a little truth-fudging again. In reality, he believed that letting everyone who wanted a gun have one had been a mistake back in the beginning, but there wasn�t much that could be done about it at this point�not with a couple hundred million of the things circulating around the country. He was pretty sure that Joey would not be sympathetic to that point of view, however, and he did not want to debate the issue upon first meeting the man.

�Maybe we�ll go hit the range while you�re here then,� Joey suggested. �I�ve got two AR-15s, an AK-47, and a .44 Magnum in addition to all my hunting rifles. You up for that?�

�Uh ... yeah, sure,� Jake said, actually finding the idea of firing guns appealing on some level. �I�d appreciate it.�

�We�ll do it then,� Joey promised. �And then, when we�re done, I�ll teach you how to clean them.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said.

After finishing their second beers, Jake, Laura, and Joey went out to the Jeep and carried in all of their luggage.

�I see you brought your guitar with you,� Joey said as he hefted the case.

�Yeah,� Jake said with a sigh. �I was hopeful about maybe working on some new material while we�re traveling, but ... well ... so far I haven�t even opened the case a single time.�

�If playing your guitar is your job,� Joey suggested, �then maybe you shouldn�t be bringing it with you. I don�t go looking to drive a garbage truck around when I�m down in the city or out in the woods.�

�That is a good point,� Jake had to admit.

The room they were to stay in was tiny, smaller than the smallest guest bedroom in any of their houses. There were two twin beds and a dresser. There were a few posters on one wall�Celia Valdez was one, New Kids on the Block was another�and some watercolor paintings of landscapes and animals on another. There was a single window that opened out to the back yard. A bunch of stuffed animals were piled at the foot of one of the beds.

�I�m sure it�s not quite what you�re used to,� Joey said, �but it�s a place to lay your head.�

�It�ll be fine,� Jake said, wondering if they would be able to push the beds together. They sure as hell were not going to both fit in one of them. He then pointed to the watercolors. �Who did that?�

�Gracie painted those,� Joey said proudly. �She�s always been real good with sketching and drawing and painting.�

�They�re very well done,� Jake said.

�They should be,� he said. �She spends about all of her free time working on them. She�s very shy, our Gracie, as I�m sure you noticed.�

�I did,� Jake said. Grace had, in fact, not said a single word in their presence since they arrived.

�This is how she expresses herself,� he said. �I guess there�s worse ways to find an outlet, huh?�

Jake agreed that this was very true.

Joey�s oldest child, Brian, arrived a few minutes later, his new wife and baby with him. Brian looked like a younger version of his father. He had brown hair, wore a mustache and a goatee, and was dressed in jeans and a pullover shirt. His wife, Julie, was a tiny little thing, even smaller than Laura. She had reddish-brown hair and a pretty face. She too wore jeans and a pullover shirt. In her arms was a baby boy dressed in a warm, cozy onesie. Everett was his name and he had a dusting of copper hair that was almost as bright as Laura�s.

�Oh my god!� Laura exclaimed when she saw Brian walk into the room. �Look at you! All grown up and married now. The last time I saw you, you weren�t even walking yet!�

�I don�t actually remember you,� Brian said apologetically. �I�ve heard about you all my life, especially these last few years.�

�I used to change your diapers,� Laura said with a giggle. �Come here, give me a hug.�

He gave her a hug and then introduced his wife and child. Laura immediately asked to hold the baby and Julie handed him over without hesitation. Only then did it occur to Laura to introduce her husband to the newcomers.

�Nice to meet you,� Jake said, shaking hands with Brian.

�It�s incredible to meet you, Jake,� he said. �I�ve listened to you all my life. I�ve known that you were part of our family�you know, in a way�but I never thought I�d get to actually be face to face with you.�

�I�m just an ordinary person like everyone else,� Jake assured him. �Laura too.�

�He does put his pants on two legs at a time though,� Laura said, getting a laugh from all assembled.

�You�re not supposed to tell people that,� Jake replied.

Jake then shook hands with Julie. She did not seem quite as awed to be in his presence as her husband, but she did seem intimidated to some degree. Jake eased her mind with a little humor. �I think you might want to make it clear to Laura that she does have to give the baby back at some point.�

�No way,� Laura said. �He�s mine now. Look at these chubby little legs!�

They ate dinner a few minutes later, all of them gathering around the dining room table. Sarah had prepared a pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a medley of roasted squash. There were fresh baked biscuits to go with everything. There was no wine to pair with the meal. Instead, everyone except the teens drank Budweiser from the can. Before they dug in, everyone bowed their heads and Grace said Grace, her voice hesitant and unsure, but she finally was able to spit it out. And then they ate. Jake found the food to be absolutely delicious. He had seconds of everything, including the Budweiser.

After eating, all of the females, including Laura, collected the plates and went into the kitchen to start cleaning up. None of the males made any move to help and when Jake asked if he could, he was given some strange looks and firmly told �no�.

�Okay then,� he said, nodding his head.

The men retreated back to the living room. Jake took his turn holding little Everett, who really was a cute and chubby baby. He had some experience with the procedure, as he�d done his time holding Tabby and Kelvin when they had been this age. For his part, Everett seemed to enjoy being in Jake�s arms and did not fuss.

After the women finished the cleanup, Joey asked Jake if he was up for a little smoke out in the backyard.

�Uh ... it depends on what you mean by that,� Jake replied.

�Cigars,� Joey said. �What did you think I was talking about?�

�I wasn�t sure,� Jake said. �Sure, I�ll have a smoke.� He turned to Laura. �How about you, hon?�

Again, the strange looks were cast upon him.

�Uh ... no,� Laura said. �I�ll sit this one out. You go hang out with the boys. I�ll stay in here with the girls.�

�Oh ... okay,� he said. Interesting.

He, Joey, and Brian put on their sweaters and walked out into the large back yard. There was a decent sized patio out here with an overhead cover. A large firepit was the centerpiece. The makings of a fire had already been laid out. Joey used a lighter to get the fire started and then they all sat down in chairs around it, cold Budweisers in their hands. Joey produced a package labeled Backwoods and pulled three small cigars out of it. He passed them around. Jake looked at his dubiously and then took a quick sniff. It smelled like a cigar�not like one of the Havanas that he habitually smoked, but a cigar, nonetheless. He took the lighter when it was passed to him and fired up. It wasn�t bad.

�I�ve got to ask you, Jake,� Brian said as they puffed away and drank their beer.

�What do you have to ask me?� Jake replied.

�Did you really snort cocaine out of a girl�s butt once?�

Joey just shook his head. Jake gave his standard answer to the question, the same he�d given Chastity earlier. Brian, like his sister, seemed disappointed.

They sat out there for more than an hour, drinking beer, smoking Backwoods cigars, and talking. Jake was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying the experience. Laura�s brother and nephew were good conversationalists and had interesting points of view on such things as politics and popular entertainment. Both were very conservative and saw things through that prism. They were of the opinion that Slick Willie was the worst president since Jimmy Carter and that his policies would bring about the ruination of the American way of life. They were of the opinion that coming off the gold standard back in the day was what had caused all of the nation�s financial problems. Jake did not agree with much of what they were saying, but they presented their points articulately and with some intelligence.

�Does anyone in the family play music?� Jake asked at one point.

�Well ... yeah,� said Joey. �Little Bit does.�

�I mean besides her,� Jake clarified.

�Not as far as I know,� Joey said.

�Interesting,� Jake said.

�How so?� asked Brian.

�Well, I�ve always kind of assumed there was a genetic component to musical talent,� he said.

�A genetic component?� Joey asked.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �You see, my parents were both musicians to some degree. My mom was a professional violinist and my dad plays a pretty mean guitar himself, though he gave up on doing it professionally when he got into law school. Both myself and my sister have natural musical abilities; me as a singer, songwriter, guitarist, and producer, Pauline as a singer. And my best friend, Nerdly, who played the piano with us during the Intemperance days, his mom was a professional pianist as well. And Matt Tisdale, the Intemperance guitarist, his dad used to play the oboe and was quite good at it. So, I kind of assumed that Laura�s natural ability as a sax player must have come from some of those genes.�

�Genes don�t have anything to do with it, Jake,� Joey said.

�Why do you say that?�

�Laura�s always just liked music, ever since she was a baby. And when she picked up the saxophone back in school, she took right to it as if she was made to blow the horn.�

�What are you suggesting then?� Jake asked.

�Talent like yours, like Laura�s is not genetic at all. It comes from God.�

�From ... God?�

�That�s right,� Joey said. �God gave her that talent for a reason: so it would shape her life for her and guide her on her path. And look what it did. Because she had that talent, she met you and fell in love with you, and you her. Without that talent, you two never would have met. What you�re dealing with here is God�s plan.�

Jake nodded thoughtfully. �An interesting point,� he had to admit.

Two days later, Ron Standish, the ramp worker from Pocatello Regional Airport, drove to a local Walgreens after work and picked up the prints of the pictures he had taken on his last roll of 35mm film. He took them home to his little apartment just west of downtown. While he heated up two Hot Pockets in his microwave and waited for them to cool down to something less than the temperature of the sun inside, he looked through the pictures.

Most were of aircraft that had flown into and out of the airport. Some of the shots were taken on the ground, a few taken of them landing or taking off. The second half, however, were the shots he had taken of Jake Kingsley�s Avanti and of Dallas and Jake and Jake�s wife, the local girl who had done well for herself. He had had duplicates made, as well as digital copies on a CD, so he sorted out the ones that would go to Dallas and set them aside. He then began to flip through again, paying particular attention to the ones with the Avanti in them. It was such an incredibly beautiful aircraft! And he had stood right next to it, close enough to touch!

He decided that the shots of the Avanti were just too good not to share. He put the hard copies of the prints back in the little envelope and took out the CD. He carried the CD over to his computer desk�Ron spent a lot of time on the computer�and put it inside the CD-ROM drive. While it spun up, he went and retrieved his Hot Pockets and a can of Pepsi. He carried the food and drink back to his desk and sat down. After taking a tentative bite of Hot Pocket number 1 and finding it was still up there near Venus temperature, he opened up his file manager and used it to navigate to the CD-ROM. He transferred copies of all the photos to his hard drive and then opened the photo editor to look at the digital versions. One by one, he admired the shots again. The ones with just the Avanti in them, he renamed using the word Avanti with 01, 02, etc. as the differentiator. And then, almost as an afterthought, he added the one with he, Jake, and Laura in it. He converted all the renamed shots to jpeg format and put them in a separate folder. He then opened up his email server and pulled up his contacts list.

Ron was a member of an online photography club that communicated with each other by group email. He was known and even a little admired in this group of 312 enthusiasts for his aviation pictures. He opened a new email and then used his group setting to address it to all 312 members of the photography group, none of whom he had actually met in person. In the subject box, he wrote: Jake Kingsley and his wife visit Pocatello Airport. He then wrote the body of the email.

I was working the ramp the other day at Pocatello Airport and who should fly in but Jake Kingsley and his wife Laura in their Avanti-180! Such a beautiful aircraft! They were nice enough to let me take a few pictures of the plane and one with me standing with them! Very nice people! I�ll try to catch a shot of the plane taking off when they leave. Hope I�ll be there for it!

He attached the jpegs in his folder to the email. This took a while as he could only afford dialup internet access, but finally, the email was ready. He pushed the send button, sending copies of Jake, Laura, and himself out over the internet in a format that could easily be sent onto others and attached to other files.

And soon, this is exactly what would happen.

Posted: 29.06.2023, 04:50:27

Pocatello, Idaho

December 7, 1996

It was a beautiful day for flying, with bright sunny skies and only scattered high-level clouds all the way to their destination. The air temperature was still rather cold�it was 31 degrees at Pocatello Airport, 34 degrees at South Valley Regional just outside Salt Lake City�but this was not a concern for an aircraft that routinely flew at high altitude where the temperature was 40 to 60 below zero.

�You�re sure this thing is safe,� asked Joey, Laura�s oldest brother, from the copilot�s seat next to Jake (Jake had locked out his controls). He was gripping the side of the seat and looked extremely nervous.

�I hardly ever crash this thing,� Jake assured him as he rolled along the taxiway toward the head of runway 17.

�Hardly ever?� Joey asked, alarmed.

Jake chuckled. �Just a joke,� he said. �Statistically, you�re about fifty times safer in here with me than you would be driving in a car to SLC.�

�If you say so,� Joey said. The only time he had flown in an aircraft prior to today had been a fishing trip he and Sarah had taken to Alaska five years before, going from Salt Lake City to Seattle to Anchorage and then back again. Those aircraft had been considerably larger than this one. And they had been flown by professional pilots, not a rock musician who perhaps had more money than sense.

�I do,� Jake said. �Now remember. The cockpit is supposed to be sterile right now. No unnecessary conversation until we get up above ten thousand feet.�

�Right,� Joey said. He turned and looked over his shoulder. �You hear that back there?�

Grace and Chastity were sitting in the seats just behind the cockpit. Brian was sitting in one of the rear-facing seats behind them. None of them had ever flown on any sort of aircraft before and all had varying degrees of nervousness on their own faces, but all had enough of a sense of adventure that they had not turned down Jake�s invitation to take them out on a little day trip.

Jake stopped at the hold-line and went through his takeoff checklist to make sure the aircraft was properly configured. As was his habit, he read off the items aloud. Altimeter was calibrated. Flaps were set for takeoff. Bleed air was set to automatic. Aileron trim and rudder trim were both set for takeoff. Altitude was dialed in at fifteen thousand feet, their cruising altitude for most of the thirty-minute flight. The tower controller told Jake he was clear for takeoff whenever he wanted to go. He thanked the controller and then throttled up, getting the aircraft moving. He turned onto the runway and aligned with the center line.

�All right,� he told his passengers. �Here we go.�

He throttled up to ninety percent. The engine noise increased and the plane began to pick up speed, rolling down the runway.

�V1,� Jake called out when they reached ninety-three knots. And then, �Rotate,� when they reached ninety-six knots a second later.

He pulled back on the yoke and the nose came up. The Avanti broke contact with the ground and began to climb into the sky. Joey was looking out the cockpit window in terrified wonder as the ground dropped away.

�Positive rate of climb,� Jake said. �Gear up.� He reached over and flipped up the lever.

When they got more than a thousand feet above the ground, he retracted the flaps and let the plane nose down a bit and start to pick up speed.

�This is sooooo friggin� cool!� he heard Chastity exclaim from behind him. She was staring out the window in awe.

�I�m not really sure I like this,� Brian said, his voice cracking a little. �It feels like we�re falling.�

�We�re not falling,� Jake assured him. �I just reduced the rate of climb. That makes if feel like you�re falling. The sensation will pass.�

Grace, meanwhile, was snapping pictures out her window with a small instant camera she had bought just for the occasion. �I�m going to paint this view,� she declared. She sounded like she was having a blast back there. �I�ve never seen anything like this before.�

Grace, like everyone else in Joey�s family, had warmed up considerably to Jake and Laura over the past two days. She was still extremely shy, but she was no longer catatonic in his presence. The two of them had actually had an extended conversation the night before about the visual arts and music and how the two differed from and related to each other. She was a very intelligent girl, he had found, with surprising insight into the subject.

Since the runway he had taken off from faced generally south, and since Salt Lake City was just a few degrees east of due south from Pocatello, only a slight turn was needed to get the aircraft on course. He brought them up to fifteen thousand and then let the autopilot take over. He could have actually had it do that shortly after takeoff had he wanted, but it always made first time flyers feel better to see him actually controlling the plane himself during the climb-out instead of just sitting back with his hands in his lap.

�All right,� Jake said as the auto-throttle reduced their engine thrust to sixty-one percent. �We�re at fifteen thousand feet now and traveling at three hundred and fifteen knots true airspeed. That�s about three hundred and sixty miles per hour over the ground.�

Joey, who looked a little more relaxed now (though still quite nervous), nodded his head in approval. �That�s pretty damn fast,� he said.

�That�s the beauty of flying,� Jake said. �It gets you there fast and you get to see some cool shit along the way.�

�The view is incredible from up here,� Joey had to admit. �I can see the whole river down there. And the canyons! I never realized how big and how deep they were.�

�I can see the interstate down there!� Grace proclaimed. �Look how tiny it looks! You can barely see the cars on it!�

�There�s a mountain down there that looks like a big boob!� Chastity added. �It even has a nipple on it!�

�Chase!� warned Joey.

�Sorry,� she said.

�I�m gonna say that it�s nice just to have people to talk to up here,� Jake said. �Laura�s usually asleep by this point in a flight.�

�If you don�t mind my asking,� Joey said. �What�s a plane like this cost?�

Jake eyed his brother-in-law for a moment, trying to read his expression. So far, neither he nor his wife had made even so much as a hint about wanting or needing money. They had spent all day and evening together yesterday, much of it spent at an outdoor rifle and gun range where Jake had been introduced to the joys of shooting firearms (and he had had a blast doing it, he was not ashamed to admit) and nary a mention of finances was made. Was that about to change? He decided to simply tell the truth. �The sale price was four point seven-five million dollars.�

�Four point seven-five million?� Joey asked incredulously. �No shit?�

�No shit,� Jake confirmed, �although the bank still owns most of it. I put down twenty percent and financed the rest.�

�Holy shit,� he said, shaking his head in wonder. �I guess there�s good money in being a musician.�

�Not for most,� Jake said, �but I�m one of the exceptions. I paid a lot of dues along the way, but I managed to turn my natural talent into a pretty decent life.�

�I guess you did,� Joey said. He then said no more about Jake�s money. At least not until Jake himself brought it up.

�Listen, Joey,� Jake said. �I noticed that your house, you know, needs some repairs. The roof primarily, but I also noticed your plumbing has some issues as well.�

�That�s true,� Joey said. �I�m hopin� to be able to start working on the roof come next summer. I got some money in savings put aside just for that project and I have some buddies at work that will come over and help me get her done.�

�I see,� Jake said. �Well ... I was just wondering if maybe ... you know ... I could help you out a little bit with that project.�

�Help me out?� Joey said, looking at him strangely. �You want to fly out to Pocatello in the middle of summer and help us pull shingles down and put up new ones?�

�Uh ... no, that�s not what I meant,� Jake said, shuddering a little at the very thought. �I was thinking more along the lines of maybe ... uh ... paying for a contractor to do the job for you.�

Joey did not even pause to think it over. He simply shook his head. �I appreciate the offer, Jake, really I do, but I don�t borrow money from family. Don�t lend it to �em either.�

�I wasn�t thinking about a loan, Joey,� Jake said. �I was thinking we could just pay for the job for you. We can afford it.�

Joey nodded a few times. �I�m sure you can,� he said, �but I have to say no. I won�t take no charity. Just not in my nature. I�ve been putting money aside for that and I�ll get her done on my own.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �Just remember, the offer is on the table and I would be glad to do it for you.�

�I understand,� Joey said. �And I appreciate you making it.� He gave Jake a shrewd look. �You know, I was really prepared not to like you.�

�Yeah?�

Joey nodded. �I�ve read all those things you been up to over the years. The cocaine, the other drugs, puttin� your hands on women you date, cheatin� on women you date, the Satanism. A big part of my reason for getting in touch with Little Bit was that I wanted to make sure she was okay. After all, until my mom broke contact with me, every time I talked to her on the phone she would rant about how my little sis was trapped in a marriage with you and you were keeping her from staying in touch with family and you were probably beating her every day.�

�But now that you�ve met me? Now that you�ve talked to Laura?�

�I think you�re all right,� Joey said. �I�m pretty good at reading a man and I don�t get any vibes about you being like what they say you�re like. And I can tell that Little Bit is very happy with you. She loves you and you love her. It�s obvious watchin� the two of you together.�

�Well thanks,� Jake said, sincerely appreciative of the sentiment.

�You two are a bit highfalutin though,� Joey added, �but I guess that goes along with havin� more money than you know what to do with.�

�Perhaps,� Jake said. �And, just so you know, I think you�re all right as well.�

�Yeah?�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �I�ll be truthful as well. I was not looking forward to coming here to Pocatello and meeting you all. I had no desire to get to know anyone in Laura�s family after the way your mom and dad treated her. I assumed you were all nothing but a bunch of intolerant ... you know ... assholes.�

He shrugged. �I can�t say you�re wrong about mom and dad and the other kids,� he said. �But being on the receiving end of their shaming of me ever since Sarah got pregnant and now being on the receiving end of a full-blown Mormon shunning, I like to think I�m a bit more tolerant of different lifestyles and points of view.�

Jake nodded. �I would say you are,� he said. �And I like to think that about myself as well.�

Joey nodded himself, perhaps a little reluctantly, but a nod nonetheless.

�Anyway,� Jake went on, �Laura and I were talking last night, and we would like to return your hospitality.�

�What do you mean?� he asked.

�Maybe over spring break in April, you and the family would like to come visit us at our house.�

�Your house in Los Angeles?� he asked.

�Well ... we do have a house in Los Angeles, but we don�t hang out there much. I was talking about the house in San Luis Obispo. It sits up on a cliff over the ocean. It�s more than big enough for everyone to stay in. I even have a housekeeper who will cook meals and do the laundry and all that.�

�Sounds pretty fancy,� Joey said.

�It sounds amazing!� Chastity said with shrill enthusiasm. �Can we do it, Dad? Say we can do it!�

�I have always wanted to see the ocean,� Grace put in. She touched Jake�s shoulder. �You can actually see it from your house?�

�Oh yeah,� Jake said. �From any of the windows that face west, from the deck out back, and we have a hot tub that sits on another deck right on the edge of the cliff.�

�A hot tub!� Chastity said. �Wow!�

�And Grace, you could set up your easel right there next to the hot tub and paint the ocean scape�although sometimes the wind does kick up a bit.�

�I would really like that,� Grace said.

�Uh, before we start packing our bags,� Joey said, �I�m not sure we�ll be able to afford such a trip. How long would it take to drive from Pocatello to this San Luis whatchamacallit?�

�Uh ... well, fourteen to sixteen hours, I would think,� Jake said, �but there�s no need to do that. We could fly you from Salt Lake to LAX, no problem.�

�Fly us in this plane?� Joey asked.

�Well, not the whole way,� he said. �We�ll get you some airline tickets for the hop to LA and then I can fly everyone from LA to San Luis Obispo from there.�

�We can�t afford airline tickets,� Joey said.

�We�ll get them for you,� Jake said. �It�s nothing to us. Literally. Laura and I have a buttload of frequent flier miles that we never use for anything. They would cover everybody�s tickets, no problem. You just get yourselves to Salt Lake City and we�ll take care of the rest.�

�I don�t know,� Joey said.

�Oh, come on, Dad!� Chastity cried in dramatic anguish. �He said it won�t cost them anything! That�s not charity!�

�We would be happy to do it, Joey,� Jake said. �Sincerely.�

�I don�t know,� he said again. �I really don�t like accepting expensive things from anyone.�

�Did I mention the sand dunes around where we live?� Jake asked.

�The sand dunes?�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �Big ones that stretch for miles along the beach. And there�s places where you can rent ATVs for the day and explore to your heart�s content. I know a guy who rents them to us for pretty much free in exchange for letting him use my face in his advertisements.�

�ATVs, huh?� Joey said.

�That sounds like hella fun!� Chastity said.

�It really does, Dad,� added Brian.

�And you like to fish, right, Joey?� Jake enquired.

�You know I do,� Joey said.

�There�s a guy who runs a charter boat out of the marina in Morro Bay,� Jake said. �He has a Beechcraft Bonanza and flies it out of the same airport I use so we see each other in the pilot�s lounge a lot. He�s made a similar offer to me on a couple of occasions. Free use of the charter for a day of deep-sea fishing if I would let him publish some pictures of me on his boat for advertisements. So far, I haven�t taken him up on it because I haven�t had the time or a big enough group of people to take out. But this might be the perfect opportunity.�

�Deep sea fishing?� Brian said excitedly. �I�ve always wanted to do that!�

�Me too,� Chastity said. �Dad, we have to do this! I will seriously die if we don�t!�

�Well...� Joey said, visibly wavering now, �I did try some deep-sea fishing when we were up in Alaska. It was one of the best fishing trips I�ve ever been on.�

�Say yes, Dad!� Chastity demanded.

�I really would like to see the ocean, Dad,� Grace put in.

�Me too,� Brian put in.

�Well ... I guess the family has spoken,� Joey said. �All right. We�ll take you up on your offer, Jake. Thank you very much.�

�Our pleasure,� Jake said when the cheers died down behind him.

�I can�t wait to tell all my friends I�m going to California to hang out with my uncle Jake Kingsley!� Chastity said. �They are gonna be hella jealous.�

�Please stop saying �hella�, Chase,� Joey said. �I really hate that word.�

�Sorry, Dad,� she said.

They flew on for a few more minutes in silence, the members of the Best family pondering their upcoming trip. Jake, who had been goaded into making the offer by his wife, was surprised to find that he was actually looking forward to hosting them as well. And then Chastity made another observation.

�Look at that canyon down there!� she suddenly exclaimed. �It looks just like a hoo-hoo! And the trees around it look like pubic hair!�

�Chase!� Joey yelled, exasperated. �Will you please keep your vulgar imagination to yourself?�

�I�ll try, Dad,� she promised.

There was no restaurant at South Valley Regional Airport, but a short walk outside the grounds brought them to a local chain eatery where they were given a table for five. The food was quite mediocre to Jake, but the Best clan seemed to enjoy it. Joey insisted upon picking up the tab and Jake finally relented and allowed it. Their waitress was a cute blonde woman in her middle twenties. She did not speak much to them as she took their orders and served them, only engaging in what conversation was necessary to accomplish her job. At least, that was the case until it was time to start clearing the dishes away.

�You know that you�re going to burn in hell for all of eternity, right?� she asked, looking directly at Jake.

While Joey, Brian, Chastity, and Grace all stared at the waitress, their mouths agape at such rudeness from a server, Jake simply shrugged. �At least most of my friends will be there,� he said in a flippant manner.

�That goes without saying,� she returned icily. She then walked away, heading for wherever waitresses went when they had an armful of dirty plates.

�I ... I don�t believe she just said that,� Joey said, his face now turning red.

Jake shrugged again. �It happens,� he said. �Particularly in places like Salt Lake City or Cincinnati. You get used to it. Hopefully, she didn�t spit in my food.�

This suggestion angered Joey even more. �I�m going to have a talk with the manager about her behavior,� he said, starting to push his seat back.

�Don�t worry about it,� Jake said. �It�s just part of the life I choose. Chances are the manager would agree with her anyway.�

�I cannot let that go unanswered,� Joey said.

�Then do what I do,� Jake suggested.

�What�s that?�

�Don�t tip her,� he said. �Put a big old zero in the tip spot on the check. Maybe even draw some devil horns on it.�

�Really?� Joey asked.

�Really,� he said. �My policy is that if you accuse me of satanism, or hand my wife a WEAVE card, or tell me that I�m going to hell when you don�t even really know me, then you don�t get a gratuity. Hits them where they live and maybe that discourages them from such behavior in the future.�

�No tip huh?� Joey said. �That�s seems a little extreme.�

�It�s an extreme world,� Jake said.

Joey did as suggested and they left the restaurant for the walk back to the airport.

�Of course,� Jake said, �it goes without saying that you never eat there again.�

�That makes sense,� Joey agreed.

Thirty minutes later, they were back in the air and heading north to Pocatello. Ten minutes after that, they were at sixteen thousand feet and admiring the scenery once again. Everyone, even Brian, was considerably more relaxed on this flight.

�Tell me something, Joey,� Jake said as they approached the Idaho state line.

�What�s that?�

�How�s the Chinese restaurant scene in Pocatello?�

Joey looked at his brother-in-law strangely. �Chinese restaurants? We have quite a few, actually.�

�Are any of them any good?� Jake asked.

Joey shook his head. �No, not really,� he said. �If you want good Chinese food, you have to go to Boise or SLC.�

Jake nodded. �That what I figured.�

�Why do you ask?�

�Nothing,� Jake said with a chuckle. �I was just remembering a conversation I had once.�

�I see,� Joey said slowly.

�Anyway,� Jake said, �speaking of restaurants. I want to take you and the family out for dinner tonight to thank you for hosting us. What�s the best place in Pocatello?�

�That would be nice,� Joey said. Laura had already briefed Jake that this was the proper repayment for hospitality in her family. �Are you talking Chinese though? Because, like I said, there really aren�t any good...�

�No, not Chinese,� Jake said. �Just the best restaurant in town. Don�t worry about the price. We can afford it.�

�Well ... I guess that would be the Sandpiper,� he said. �We would have to dress up a bit for it.�

�Let�s do it then,� Jake said. �As soon as we land, I�ll book a reservation.�

�All right,� Joey said. �Sounds good.�

They landed just after three o�clock in the afternoon and taxied back to hangar row, where a different pair of rampers parked the Avanti back in its rented spot and received a pair of twenty-dollar bills from Jake. Jake then popped into the airport office and used the yellow pages to look up the Sandpiper. He called and was able to secure a reservation for eight plus an infant for 7:00 PM that evening. They then all piled into Joey�s Bronco for the trip back to the house.

Upon arrival, they found the scene inside pretty much as they had left it. Sarah, Julie, and Laura were sitting in the living room, chatting with each other and drinking iced tea while the television played on low volume. Laura was holding baby Everett in her arms, rocking him gently back and forth, occasionally smiling down at him and talking to him. Laura had been spending as much time with the baby in her arms as she could get away with.

Joey got himself, Jake, and Brian cans of Budweiser and they all sat down to join the conversation. They talked about the flight, the rude waitress, the upcoming trip to California (everyone became immediately excited about it) and their dinner reservations for the night.

�The Sandpiper, huh?� said Sarah. �Fancy. We�ve only been there once before, on our anniversary a few years ago.�

�We have to dress up for it?� Julie asked doubtfully.

�I asked about the attire when I made the reservation,� Jake said. �Business casual is fine.�

�Business casual?� asked Brian. �What�s that?�

�It means you don�t wear jeans or shorts,� Joey told him. �Put on a pair of slacks and one of those button-up shirts you have and you�ll be fine.�

�Oh ... I see,� Brian said.

Brian and his family left a few minutes later so they could go home and clean themselves up a bit. At around 6:00 PM, Jake and Laura retreated to Grace and Chastity�s room so they could change into their own business casual outfits. Jake looked longingly at Laura�s unclothed body as she stripped down to her panties. He tried to caress one of her breasts, but she slapped his hand away.

�You know the rules,� she said firmly. �Nothing resembling sex in my nieces� room. It�s not right.�

He groaned a little in frustration. They had not been intimate with each other since the last night in Schweitzer�damn near a record for when they were actually in each other�s presence�making Pocatello the first place they had ever visited overnight as a couple in which they had not had sex. And that was not going to change on their last night here. She was very firm in her conviction that no hanky-panky (her phrasing for it) would take place in this room or even in this house. Copping a quick feel was not even acceptable.

�All right,� Jake said with a sigh, �but I expect a blowjob as soon as we get to cruising altitude tomorrow.�

She smiled. �Maybe we can do a little better than that,� she suggested.

�Oh yeah?� he asked, immediately interested. �What do you have in mind?�

�Something I�m sure the FAA would frown upon,� she said. �We�ll have to work out the logistics once we�re up there.�

�I�ll be looking forward to the experiment,� he said, leaning in and giving her a kiss. She accepted this affection until he tried slipping his tongue into her mouth. At that point, she pulled away and told him not to be naughty.

�Prude,� he accused.

�In Pocatello, yes I am,� she declared.

Joey drove them to Sandpiper�s in the Bronco. They arrived almost simultaneously with Brian, Julie, and Everett. They were seated immediately even though they were fifteen minutes early. The restaurant was moderately crowded, as it was a Saturday night, and they turned pretty much every head in there when it became known that Jake and Laura Kingsley were in the house. Some of the looks they received were disapproving, some curious, some neutral, but no one approached them and asked for autographs or tried to strike up conversation. Even the staff made no mention of who they were.

This had pretty much been the status quo with the locals since their arrival here. The Pocatello newspaper and the local news broadcasts were all aware that the Kingsleys were in town and were making a big deal about the visit of their hometown daughter and her sleazy husband. The mayor, who a few days before had talked of inviting the Kingsleys on a tour of city hall, was now on record as withdrawing the offer when his office was inundated with a flurry of emails and phone calls from the LDS population expressing disapproval. Local bishops of the LDS church were frequently quoted in their expressions of condemnation of the couple and the lifestyle they enjoyed. Everyday Pocatellons were interviewed and expressed a variety of opinions both in favor of the Kingsleys and against them. Every activity that the family made in public was reported on as well. But throughout all of this, not a single reporter had shown up at the Best home, or had called, or had made any attempt at communication whatsoever. And when the Kingsleys went out on the town, everyone stared and whispered as they were doing now, but no one had come up to ask for an autograph or to simply shoot the shit, no one had told Jake to his face what they thought of him. No one that they did not know even came within ten feet of the couple if they did not have to. It was very strange to be stalked, yet not stalked.

The food at Sandpiper�s was pretty good. Not the best Jake had ever had, but pretty good. He enjoyed a filet mignon with a fully loaded baked potato. Laura and most of the rest of her clan had the prime rib, which was a specialty of the house and something the Bests rarely were able to afford. Jake and Laura shared a $127 bottle of 1993 Merlot from the Napa Valley of California. Joey and Sarah drank Budweiser, but from the bottle instead of the can. They ignored the glasses that had been brought with the beer and drank directly out of the bottles. Grace, Chastity, Julie, and Brian all drank Pepsi in the glass. Little Everett drank from a bottle of apple juice.

The tab turned out to be just over four hundred dollars, to which Jake added an eighty-dollar gratuity. They then piled back into the Bronco and headed back to the house, Brian and family following behind. Once there, the canned Budweiser began to flow once again and they talked some more of the upcoming spring break trip to California and some of the things they might do there. Everyone definitely wanted to ride the ATVs and go deep sea fishing, but the girls also wanted to make a visit to Los Angeles to see Hollywood. And Chastity wanted to know if there was even the remotest possibility that she might get to meet Celia Valdez.

�I�ll have to check with her,� Jake said, �but if she�s available she would probably be open to coming by for dinner one night. She likes our house.�

�She just bought a new house of her own,� Laura said. �It�s in Malibu, right on the ocean. You can literally walk out her back door, down a flight of steps, and you�re on the beach. She�ll be moving into it next week.�

�That�s so cool,� Chastity said. �What�s she like?�

�She�s just an ordinary person like you and me,� Laura said.

�She�s so beautiful,� Chastity said. �Is any of that true about her getting it on with that female pilot?�

�Chase!� Joey and Sarah barked in unison. �You don�t ask people things like that!�

�None of it is true,� Jake assured her, lying through his teeth, of course.

They turned in relatively early that night since they planned to be wheels-up for the flight back to San Luis Obispo by 11:00 AM. Jake, as had been the case every night of this stay, did not sleep all that well thanks to the combination of sexual frustration, a bed that was about a foot too short for him, a mattress that was lumpy and uncomfortable, and the complete absence of any sort of white noise beyond Laura�s gentle breathing.

The next morning Jake dressed in his jeans, a t-shirt, and a pullover sweater. Laura put on a summer dress. And she removed her panties, failing to replace them with a fresh pair.

�Nice,� Jake said with a smile as he watched this maneuver (Laura made sure he saw her doing it). �Is Laura the Prude staying behind in Pocatello?�

�She most certainly is,� Laura said. �And good riddance to her. Laura the Nymph needs to have her lust slaked in a bad way.�

�Thank God,� Jake said, his motor already starting to rev a bit.

Breakfast was served shortly after they emerged from the room. It consisted of scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, and hash browns. Brian, Julie and Everett came over to partake in the Sunday morning family breakfast and to say goodbye to Jake and Laura. Sarah and Chase both made comment on the fact that Laura was wearing a summer dress in December.

�It�s like twenty-five degrees out there,� Chasity said. �You�re going to freeze your boobs off.�

�Chase,� Sarah said warningly.

�Sorry,� she said (although she obviously was not), �but I�m right, right?�

�Yes, you are right,� Sarah conceded. �Are you sure that�s how you want to dress, Little Bit?�

�I�ll wear my jacket until we get in the air,� Laura told them. �Remember, we�re flying to southern California. It will be in the sixties when we land.�

This was not entirely true. Jake had checked the weather forecast for the central coast of California and saw that it was going to be windy and rainy today with a high of fifty-six degrees. He did not correct her misinformation, however.

After the breakfast mess was cleaned up Laura snatched up Everett and spent much of the rest of her available time holding him and playing with him. Finally, around ten o�clock, she reluctantly surrendered the baby back to his grandmother and she and Jake went and packed their things. They carried their bags out to the Cherokee and loaded them inside. They then went back in to say their goodbyes to everyone.

Jake found that during his visit he had been elevated to hugging terms with the Best females. Sarah, Julie, Chastity, and even shy little Grace all put their arms around him and embraced him warmly, thanking him for visiting and for inviting them to visit in turn. Hugging was apparently not done among the Best males, not even a bro-hug, but he shook hands with them all and they seemed quite sincere when they told him it had been nice having him as a guest.

And then it was time to go. He and Laura got into the Cherokee, Jake behind the wheel, and started the drive to the airport.

�I�m really glad we came here,� Jake told his wife as they motored along through the lightly travelled streets of Sunday morning Pocatello. �Your family are really nice people.�

�Yeah,� Laura said, �they really are, aren�t they?�

�I�ll admit,� he said, �I really did not want to do this, especially not when you told me we would be staying in Grace and Chase�s room, but after I got to know them a little...�

�Uh ... sweetie,� she interrupted. �While you wax philosophical about family matters and epiphanies and all that, would you mind putting your fingers on my pussy and playing with it some?�

He looked over and saw that she had pulled up the hem of her dress, exposing her vaginal region. It was freshly shaved and the most beautiful thing he had seen in Pocatello or its surrounding environs so far. �Uh ... yeah, of course,� he said, extending his right arm to the side and letting his fingers land on the bare skin of her inner thigh. He then began to move inward. He waxed philosophical no further.

They loaded their bags into the Avanti and then pushed it out of the hangar. While Laura returned the Cherokee to the rental car area, Jake arranged for a fuel truck to come over and pump his tanks half-full�enough for the flight to San Luis Obispo with a ninety-minute emergency reserve. He then walked back over to the general aviation terminal and filed his flight plan.

They roared into the air at 11:05 AM, turning to the southwest and climbing in steps to their cruising altitude of thirty-two thousand feet. Flight time was to be one hour and fifty-five minutes, which would have them touching down at SLO Regional at noon Pacific time.

�All right,� Laura said once they were well settled into cruise flight under control of the autopilot. �Let�s figure out how to do this thing.�

�I need to be able to see the instruments at all times,� Jake said. He was having doubts about what they wanted to do�it went against every lesson he had ever been taught about flying an aircraft�but he was also extremely horny and really wanted to plant his member someplace soft and warm. �And I need to be able to quickly get back in my seat if something happens.�

Laura nodded. �I guess that only leaves us with one real option then.�

They unstrapped from their restraints and got out of their seats. Laura positioned herself so her feet were in the aisle just behind the cockpit seats. She leaned forward, so she was leaning over the back of the seats, one arm on the pilot chair, one on the copilot chair. Jake positioned himself right behind her, so he could see over her to the cockpit instruments and out the windshield. He had set the communication radio so it would emit through the speaker instead of the headset just in case Salt Lake Center needed to talk to him. He then lifted the hem of her dress up, exposing her butt and her heavenly gate. He stroked her a few times, relishing the feel of her and getting the blood flowing where it needed to flow. He then unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, pushed them and his underwear down to his knees, and took himself in hand. A moment later, he was inside of his wife and thrusting.

�Oh yesss,� Laura moaned as he gripped her hips and pounded in and out. �This is so fucking hot, sweetie. Fuck me harder!�

He fucked her harder, the speaker spouting out instructions and enquiries between ATC and other aircraft�most of them commercial carriers�as they bumped and bounced a bit in the high-altitude air. It made Jake nervous to be out of his seat during flight and unable to instantly respond in an emergency, but that nervousness just added to his enjoyment of the encounter. He was already congested from going three nights without even masturbating (Laura wouldn�t let him do that in Grace and Chase�s room either) so it did not take him long before orgasm started to approach. He barely hung in long enough for Laura to climax before he was pouring his backlog into her body.

�All right,� Laura said with a contented sigh after they strapped back into their seats. �We are officially in the Mile-High club now.�

�Right, officially in,� Jake agreed, prudently not mentioning that he had long since been a member of that particular club, initiated into it by another redhead way back in 1982 on a flight from New York to Los Angeles.

They settled in. Jake watched the scenery passing below, though the scattered clouds made this a hit and miss activity. He expected Laura to go immediately to sleep. That was her favorite thing to do up in the air and after getting herself laid, and she had just done both. But she did not nod off. She stared out the window as well, a thoughtful expression on his face.

�Everything okay, hon?� he asked her after perhaps fifteen minutes.

�Yeah,� she said, giving him an affectionate pat on the leg. �Everything is fine. I was just thinking about something.�

�What were you thinking about?� he asked.

�Well ... uh ... I was wondering if you ever thought about ... you know...� She trailed off.

�No,� he said. �I don�t know.�

She giggled nervously. �Oh ... never mind,� she said. �I�m just having weird thoughts.�

�Come on, hon,� he said. �Tell me what�s on your mind. Obviously, something is.�

She nodded. �Something is,� she said. �You see ... uh ... spending all that time with Everett ... it stirred something in me.�

Jake looked over at her, his eyes widening a little. �Stirred something in you?� he asked carefully.

�Yeah,� she said softly. �Something very powerful. Something ... well... maternal.�

�Maternal,� he said. �As in ... uh...�

She nodded. �We�ve never really talked about this before, sweetie, but, well ... what do you think about you and I ... you know ... having a baby?�

The email that Ron Standish, the ramper who worked for the FBO at Pocatello Regional Airport, sent to his photography club was a big hit among the members. The Avanti-180 that was seen in all of the attached jpeg photos was exotic looking, sleek, pleasing to look at. And the single picture with Jake Kingsley, Laura Kingsley, and Ron himself standing next to the Avanti�a shot that had been attached impulsively�was quite interesting in its own right. Not only did it show a really cool aircraft, it showed an actual celebrity and his wife. Of the 312 people in the photography group, 289 of them saved the email and forwarded it on to other people in their contacts list, most to multiple contacts, and not a single one of them harboring bad intentions. They just wanted their friends and family members to see some cool photos. And those second-generation contacts�there were well over a thousand of them�sent their own copies of the email to other contacts, increasing the number in circulation exponentially. At the moment that Jake was sinking his erection into his wife�s body thirty-two thousand feet above the spot on the Earth where Idaho, Utah, and Nevada all touched each other, there were more than forty thousand copies of the email circulating around the United States, Canada, and several European countries. And virtually no one in possession of that email at this point even knew who Ron Standish was.

By the time the sun rose over Jake and Laura�s Oceano home the next morning, a multitude of computer savvy people who had received copies of the email had copied the photo of Jake, Laura, and Standish out of the original email and used it to compose their own email. Again, none of these people were doing this with any maliciousness in their hearts. They just wanted to pass on the picture of a celebrity, his wife, their cool plane, and whatever loser that was standing with them in a more convenient fashion. This was an age where most internet users were still on dialup service and it took forever to pass along the entire email full of jpegs when they just wanted to show off one of them. Most composed a brief explanation of the shot that was along the lines of �Jake Kingsley and his wife Laura pose next to their Avanti airplane during a visit to Idaho�. No one identified Ron Standish by name and only a few even mentioned that he was a ramp worker. Very few identified the actual airport.

These new emails began to circulate far and wide as well, quickly passing up the original in sheer number of forwards since it was much faster and easier to pass on the single jpeg version than the original. By the time Jake and Laura sat down to a meal of Elsa�s chicken parmesan that night, nearly two hundred thousand copies of the photo were in circulation in eighteen different countries.

The next morning, while Laura slept in late in her own bed for the first time in weeks and Jake got up early to make the flight to Whiteman so he could check on the progress of KVA�s latest project, one version of the email landed in the inbox of a man named Daryl Broker, who lived in Tucson, Arizona.

Daryl was twenty-four years old. He was a computer nerd who liked to refer to himself as a �hacker�, but he had never actually hacked anything, he just liked the image that being a hacker represented. He was the youngest of three children and the least successful of the three in all aspects of life. His two older sisters were both college graduates and both were independent and working at good paying jobs�one in the computer industry, one in the financial industry. Daryl had never been to college. He worked at the local Walmart making just a little more than minimum wage. He still lived with his parents in the room he had grown up in. He had never been laid, had never even really come close to being laid, truth be told.

Daryl absolutely hated the band Intemperance and everything they represented, with a particular hatred for the band�s former lead singer, Jake Kingsley. This was primarily because Kingsley was everything that Daryl was not.

During Daryl�s early adolescent years during junior high and early high school, Intemperance had been all the rage among his classmates. The males thought that Intemp, as they called it, was the baddest-ass band since Led Zeppelin and Rush, that Matt Tisdale was the best fucking guitarist ever to throw down a riff or a solo, and that Jake Kingsley was the deepest lyricist to ever compose a tune. The girls all thought that Jake and Matt were the sexiest things on two legs, declared that they would gladly give it up to either one of them if only given the chance. In the circles that his two sisters had run in, Intemperance and especially Jake Kingsley were right up there with living gods. His oldest sister�s closest friend Debbie Mack, a bleached blonde party girl with incredible tits and a premium ass, whose image Daryl had jacked off to almost exclusively until the premier of internet porn (and who had always looked at and treated Daryl as if he were a cockroach crawling on her shower floor) even claimed that she had managed to get backstage during the It�s in the Book tour stop in Tucson and had almost fucked Jake Kingsley but had ended up having to settle for Coop the drummer instead.

In Daryl�s mind, he might have had a serious chance of getting into Debbie�s pants had it not been for her infatuation with Jake Kingsley and Intemperance. Nor was Debbie the only one he had these thoughts about. Through his high school years and his years of working at Walmart, he had become infatuated with multiple females that he thought he had a chance with, several of whom had ended up actually enjoying his strange company to some degree but who inevitably kept him firmly in the friend zone. And it seemed that all of these females had been really into Intemperance and Jake Kingsley, going on about how hot he was when the subject was discussed, about how his voice�especially on songs like Point of Futility or Insignificance or South Island Blur�made their respective panties wet. Like with Debbie Mack, he assumed that a primary reason these girls would not give up their sexual favors to him, even if it was just a pity fuck, was primarily because of their obsession with Kingsley.

This is why when a forwarded email appeared in his inbox with the subject line: Jake Kingsley and his wife fly their private plane into a local airport!!, he automatically began to feel his blood boil and the familiar hatred started to surge through him. He checked to see who had sent him such a forward, a part of him thinking it was yet another sick joke played upon him (in addition to being a perpetual virgin and computer geek, Daryl had been subjected to cruel bullying most of his life and tended to assume that anything negative was simply more of the same). He saw that it was a mass email from a guy named Steve Jeffery, who lived in Florida and was a member of the online Dungeons and Dragons club that Daryl was a member of. Daryl had never met Steve before, had never even played D&D with him. They were simply part of the same email contacts list. Nevertheless, though the email had been sent to hundreds from Steve�s account, Daryl still took it personally. It was just his nature.

He almost deleted it without opening it, but some kind of sick, morbid curiosity compelled him to take a look at it instead. The body of the email was simple and provided little detail.

Jake Kingsley and his wife Laura pay a visit to a local airport after flying in in their Avanti-180 twin-engine turboprop. What a cool plane! And how fucking hot is Laura Kingsley?

That was it. No mention of what airport they had flown into, what the purpose of their visit had been, what they had done after flying in, or any other detail.

�Who gives a rat�s ass?� Daryl muttered in disgust.

Again, he almost deleted the email without even looking at the attached jpeg file, but that same morbid curiosity compelled him to open the attachment. It downloaded relatively quickly since Daryl had talked his parents into paying for a DSL line instead of simple dialup (they were under the impression that Daryl was using the high-speed internet access to take classes and work on research). He stared at the picture that appeared on the screen, feeling that familiar hatred start to churn almost immediately.

The photo was of decent quality. It was not a scan of a photo but a digital copy of the original photograph. Kingsley and his wife were dressed in winter clothes and had winter hats on their heads. Behind them was a futuristic looking airplane. Standing between them was what Daryl assumed was a young girl with long black hair dressed in a work sweater of some sort. She was not terribly attractive. Her body seemed to lack feminine curves and her tits could not even be discerned beneath her bulky clothing. Who in the hell was she? Daryl wondered. Some ho they were sharing? He had read that Kingsley�s wife�if they were, in fact, actually married�was into chicks. It had even been suggested that she and Celia Valdez�who�s picture Daryl had masturbated to on occasion�regularly got it on when they were out on tour together.

He took a closer look at Laura Kingsley and found he liked what he saw. She was, as the author of the email suggested, pretty fucking hot. She had a cute, innocent looking face, copper colored hair that spilled out from beneath her beanie, and her feminine curves were easily discernible. And she liked doing women! How was it fair that Jake fucking Kingsley ended up with a hot chick like that when he, Daryl, computer genius and D&D dungeon master, could not even get laid by known skanks who slept with anyone? How was it that Jake fucking Kingsley could buy an airplane like that just because he could sing a little? The world just sucked!

His eyes turned back to the girl standing between the two of them. He wondered again just who she was. He noted that there was some writing on the front of her sweater. He could not quite make out what it said so he used the zoom function to bring it in a little closer. The image pixilated a bit, but he could now read the writing.

FBO Services

Ron

Ron? A girl named Ron? What the hell kind of name was that? And she worked for FBO services? What was FBO services? Some kind of escort service?

He moved the photograph a bit until he was zoomed in on the girl�s face. It was then that he started to wonder if Ron was actually a girl at all. True, the face was feminine, without a hint of facial hair, but when you looked closely there were a few masculine features that were nearly buried. Ron�s larynx was a little bit pronounced. And his cheek bones were a little bit sharp. And there was just a little bit of hair on the back of Ron�s hands. Maybe Ron was a tranny? After all, a guy who snorted cocaine out of butt cracks and let his wife eat pussy would be the sort of man who might be into trannies, wouldn�t he? In fact, wasn�t there a story a few years back about how one of the members of Intemperance had been caught screwing a tranny? He seemed to remember something about that.

Daryl minimized the email server and the open jpeg and called up his search engine. He typed in �FBO Services� to see what that was all about, expecting to find links dealing with prostitution and escorts and bondage and discipline. Instead, he found that FBO stood for �fixed base operator�, which was apparently the generic term for a company that provided aviation services for pilots at airports. Such entities were contracted to sell fuel, provide ramp services, rent tie-down and hangar space, and sometimes even provided maintenance. They were not, as a general rule, in the business of providing transexual prostitutes for rich people.

How fucking mundane, Daryl thought, disappointed. He clicked back over to the photo again and looked even closer. Yes, the person standing between Kingsley and his wife did look extremely effeminate and might very well be a faggot, but he probably was not an actual tranny and definitely was not a biological female. He was probably just one of the airport workers at whatever airport the shot had been taken at posing with a celebrity couple who happened to be utilizing his services. This was completely and thoroughly uninteresting.

He returned the zoom level to normal and was, once again, about to simply delete the email and then maybe pull up some porno pictures of hot redheads and have a good wank. But then he looked at the image of Jake Kingsley again and the hatred of him began to surge anew. Maybe the guy in the picture wasn�t a tranny that Kingsley and his so-called wife were fucking, but they had probably done things like that in the past, hadn�t they? Undoubtedly! And shouldn�t people know that Kingsley was into shit like trannies and threesomes with them? They really should. Maybe if they knew he liked taking a tranny cock up his ass they would stop worshiping him like he was some kind of god.

Maybe someone should take his ass down a few notches, he thought, a plan starting to form in his head.

The hatred now turning to determination, Daryl saved the jpeg to his hard drive. He then opened up his Photoshop program and went to work. It did not take him long to remove the name Ron, the logo for FBO Services, and the patches of hair on the back of Ron�s hand from the shot. It took only a little longer to change the color of Ron�s sweater to a feminine pink. He then saved the doctored photo separately from the original and opened up his web browser. He brought up his Hotmail account, where he kept an email address separate from his main email account. He generally only used the Hotmail account for subscriptions to porn services and to prevent spam on his main account. Now, however, it would serve a new purpose. He painstakingly copied all of the contacts from his primary account onto the Hotmail account and then composed a new email that was addressed to all but that came from noneofyour_bizness@hotmail.com instead of DungeonMasterSupreme@BDI.net. He attached his doctored photo to the email and then began to compose his own description of the photo into the body of the email. But then he decided he needed a few more details to make what he was alleging seem more realistic.

He returned to the web browser and began to research Jake Kingsley and his whereabouts of late. He was able to pull up quite a bit of information in this regard as the Kingsleys had just been on a public relations jaunt for a ski resort in Idaho.

A story formed in his mind and he began to put it down in the email he was composing. Being a dungeon master, he was actually pretty good at writing prose and developing plots. He was smiling as he worked.

Celia arrived at Pauline�s house just past noon on Tuesday morning, December 10. The rain had finally gone away and it was bright and sunny outside, with the temperature just edging into the sixties. The sky was bright and blue (for LA anyway) thanks to the pollution-clearing bath it had just received from the winter storm that had blown through. Jake�s pickup truck was already there, parked at the curb next to the driveway. The Honda belonging to the Nerdlys was there as well. She parked her Mercedes behind Jake�s truck and walked up to the door.

She was pleasantly surprised when Laura opened the door to her knock. Teach did not usually attend the monthly KVA business meetings, declaring that they were boring (which they often were, Celia had to admit). She hugged her friend and one-time lesbian dallier warmly. They had not seen each other in several weeks now.

�What are you doing here?� Celia asked. �Did you decide our business meetings are interesting after all?�

�Not in the least,� Laura said. �I have a doctor�s appointment at two today. Jake said he would drive me there after the meeting.�

�A doctor�s appointment?� Celia asked. �Is everything okay?�

�Everything�s fine,� Laura assured her, a strange little smile on her face. �Just a routine checkup.�

�Oh ... well that�s good to hear,� Celia said, sensing that Laura was not being entirely truthful with her�Teach was a terrible liar�but not that she was trying to conceal bad news. Interesting.

�How are things going with you?� Laura asked, changing the subject. �All ready for the big move?�

�Pretty much,� Celia said. �Everything that I don�t need on a day-to-day basis is packed up and waiting for the movers. I can�t wait to spend my first night there. To listen to the ocean like I do when I stay at your place or in the Oregon house.�

�That is one of my favorite parts about living where we do,� Laura agreed. �And I�m looking forward to seeing how you decorate the place.�

�Me too,� Celia said with a laugh. She would not be doing the interior design herself as she really had no knack for that sort of thing. She would just be approving the plans the design firm she hired for the job came up with.

�And how�s the love life?� Laura asked her next. �The last you told me, you were thinking about giving that limo driver a ride of his own.�

Celia actually blushed a little. �Madres de Dios, Teach,� she said. �I wasn�t serious about that. I was just fantasizing out loud after a few too many glasses of wine.�

�You seemed serious to me,� she said with a giggle. �And I�ve seen him. He�s driven Jake and I around a few times. He�s attractive. And he�s single too.�

�Yeah,� Celia said, �which means he�s probably gay. In any case, the problem remains the same. I don�t have a connection with him that way. It�s a nice fantasy, but I�d never actually do it.�

�That�s too bad,� Laura said consolingly. �I bet he has an impressive gearshift.�

�Laura Kingsley!� Celia said. �I cannot believe you just said that!�

�Sorry,� Laura said with another giggle. �I�ve been spending a lot of time with Jake lately.�

They made their way toward the living room, where the meeting was to be held. Celia pondered her love life�or lack thereof�a bit during the journey. She still had had no male sexual companionship since that last night with Greg all those many months before and still had no prospects for any on the horizon. She did still get together with Suzie once a month or so�Suzie was now pilot-in-command of a Gulfstream that flew on-call out of San Diego�but those were only stopgap encounters. She was grateful for them, and still enjoyed the softness of a woman, but she was craving the firmness of a man quite badly at this point.

Everyone was already seated and ready when they arrived at the living room. Pauline and Obie sat on one couch while the Nerdlys sat on another. Jake was seated in one of the recliners watching Tabby and Kelvin play with toys on the floor. Tabby was teaching him the intricacies of the See and Say Farmer Says toy. Kelvin�s favorite animal on the wheel seemed to be the pig, which was perhaps a bit ironic as he was a practicing Jew.

Hugs and greetings were exchanged and drinks were offered. Celia accepted a glass of wine, which Pauline fetched from the bar. They then talked a little about Jake and Laura�s recent vacation and their stay with Laura�s brother in Pocatello.

�His youngest daughter, Chastity�Chase for short�worships you, C,� Laura told her. �She has your poster in her bedroom and everything.�

�In the bedroom you slept in?� Celia asked. �You mean I was looking down on you two in action for three nights?�

�You didn�t see much,� Jake said sourly. �Laura closed down the attractions for the duration of that little trip.�

�There was no way I was going to ... you know... do it in my nieces� room,� Laura said defensively.

�You poor things,� Celia said with false sympathy. �You had to go three whole days without it? I can�t even imagine.�

They all had a little laugh at that. Even Kelvin and Tabby seemed to find it funny.

�Anyway,� Laura said. �When they come out in April, they would love to meet you, C. Especially Chase.�

�I can�t envision being unavailable for that come April,� Celia said. �I�d love to meet them.�

�Yay!� Laura said, clapping her hands a little. �I�ll let them know the next time I talk to them.�

�All right then,� Pauline said. �How about we start talking some business here?�

�Let�s do it,� Jake agreed. �We need to be out of here by 1:15 at the latest.�

�It shouldn�t take that long,� Pauline said. �First things first. Brainwash II. Aristocrat has agreed to our terms, including the provision that they promote Lighthouse to the best of their abilities when their debut CD is complete. They did not even argue the point much.�

�I think they�re starting to actually have faith in my ability to find and promote a new band,� Jake said. �They didn�t fight us on it because they know there�s a pretty good chance that I came up with another Brainwash for them.�

�Yes,� Pauline agreed. �That and the fact that we�re giving them forty percent for Lighthouse sales and we�ve agreed to pay for fifty percent of a tour if such a thing is deemed feasible and necessary.�

�There is one thing I should mention about Lighthouse at this point in the discussion,� Jake said.

�What�s that?� asked Obie.

�They are no longer called Lighthouse,� he said.

�Excuse me?� asked Pauline. This was the first she had heard of this.

�I did an internet search on the name,� said Nerdly. �It turns out that there is already a Canadian band out of Toronto named Lighthouse.�

�I�ve never heard of them,� Obie said.

�I�d never heard of them either,� Jake said. �They were at their peak of popularity back in the early seventies, mostly in Canada but with some crossover into the US. They do still exist and still tour today, again, mostly in Canada. If we release a CD by a band named Lighthouse, we could potentially be in violation of a Canadian copyright. And even if we�re not, it could create confusion. The band has agreed to change their name.�

�To what?� asked Pauline.

�They�re still talking it over,� Jake said, �but they�re leaning very heavily in favor of V-tach.�

�Vee tack?� asked Obie. �What the hell does that mean?�

�Ted came up with it,� Jake explained. �It�s apparently some kind of really nasty cardiac arrythmia that kills people. The actual name is ventricular tachycardia, but those in the medical field just call it V-tach. The letter V, a dash, and T-A-C-H.�

�It does sound kind of cool,� Pauline offered.

�And I think it does go more in line with the kind of music they�re making,� Jake said. �To tell you the truth, I never really cared much for the name Lighthouse anyway. It just seemed too ... oh ... easy listening for the genre they�re setting.�

�Okay,� Pauline said. �I don�t think that will change anything as far as our agreement with Aristocrat goes. I will need to inform them, however.�

�Just remember to also inform them that they have no say in the name-change,� Jake said. �None whatsoever. Remember, these are the same people who wanted me to call myself JD King and for Matt to call himself Rajin Storm. They don�t have a good track record on shit like this.�

�That was National that suggested those names,� Nerdly pointed out.

�It doesn�t matter,� Jake said. �A record company suit is a record company suit. They�re all cut from the same mold.�

�True,� Nerdly agreed. �I was just striving for strict accuracy of the facts at hand.�

�And we appreciate that,� Jake said. �In any case, I met with the boys at the studio yesterday and had them go through their repertoire for me. They�ve been working hard this last month, getting together at least five times a week to nail down their tunes. They�re clicking well and they�ve got eighteen solid tunes for us to choose from. My plan for this week is to start culling that number down to the ten that will be on the actual CD.�

�That�s good to hear,� Pauline said with a smile. �How are they doing financially? Did they already burn through their advance money?�

�They�re hanging in there,� Jake said. �They were all very nervous about quitting their regular jobs back when we recruited them for the TSF. In fact, we almost lost Ben because he was so reluctant to lose his safety net. But between the money they made from us paying them hourly for the TSF rehearsals, the money from the TSF itself, and the advance money we laid on them when they signed, they�re all keeping their heads well above water. They should be fine until their first royalty checks roll in.�

�Assuming that happens,� Obie said.

�I think it�s a pretty good assumption that they�ll go Platinum at the very least,� Jake said. �Have some faith in me.�

�That I do have,� Obie assured him. �You�ve proven yourself time and time again.�

�I have faith as well,� Pauline said. �And it�s a good thing. No other record company would have signed them with the numbers we have. At their fifteen percent royalty rate and with all the money we�ve spent on them so far, they need to sell at least eight hundred and fifty thousand CDs before KVA is in the black on them.�

�Even more if we finance half a tour,� Jake added. �But I believe it will happen. They�re good solid musicians who put out good solid tunes.�

�I agree,� Nerdly said. �I�ve been working with them while Jake and Laura were traveling. Their music is commercially viable in the alternative rock music genre and will be radio friendly when properly mixed and mastered.�

�Damn right,� Jake said. �They�ll be hitting the studio on February 1. I�ll get them up to Oregon and tucked into the house on January 27^th so they�ll have a few days to acclimate. Obie has our usual team assigned to the project and we have unlimited use of Studio 1 through April 1 for the actual recording and through May 1 for the mixing and mastering.�

�For my usual fee and royalty rate,� Obie added helpfully.

�Right,� Jake said. �Your usual fee and royalties.�

�Okay then,� Pauline said. �It sounds like we have our plan well in hand for Lighthouse ... uh ... sorry, V-tach.�

�If that�s the name they settle on,� Jake said.

�Right,� she said. �Now, how about we circle back to what we were originally talking about: Brainwash II?�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �Aristocrat agreed to terms offered. Did they say when they can have songs on the radio and CDs on shelves?�

�Songs on the radio by spring break,� Pauline said. �CDs on shelves by April 22. They are also interested in financing a US and Canada tour if the CD goes Gold by June 15.�

Jake shook his head in disgust. �They want to finance a tour? The same people who have claimed since the beginning that Brainwash could never make it because they�re not attractive enough?�

�That�s right,� Pauline said. �Market value ticket pricing is a game changer for the industry. Now there�s profit to be made by sending a band out on the road to tour. They figure that with one multi-platinum CD under their belt and with another breaking Gold and getting favorable saturation airplay, people will pay for those hundred-dollar tickets to see Brainwash live no matter what they look like.�

�Maybe y�all could send them out with these heart attack people?� Obie suggested. �Have your new band open for your old band?�

�That�s actually a pretty good idea,� Pauline said. �Something that bears thinking about.�

�Let�s see how things go when the CD is released,� Jake said. Though he had not told anyone this, he was not as fond of the second Brainwash CD as he had been of the first. The tunes were solid and the Nerdlys had done a good job on them, but when Jake had heard the master for the first time he felt some doubt. The tunes were over-engineered to some degree; the victim of his absence in most of the recording process. Without him there to temper them, the Nerdlys had gone hog-wild and tried to create a musical masterpiece instead of simply making good music that would appeal to a mass audience.

�Well ... obviously,� Pauline said. �Still, it wouldn�t hurt to put the idea in their heads. I would suggest you bring it up the next time you talk to them.�

�I�ll plant the seed in their minds,� Jake promised, �but I can�t guarantee they would agree to tour. They would have to quit their teaching gigs to do that and I�m not sure they�re ready to take that step yet.�

�If their CD sells as well as the last one, they�ll be quite financially secure,� said Nerdly. �Every last one of them.�

�I know that, and you know that,� Jake said. �But will Brainwash be willing to take that step? That�s the unknown here.�

Los Angeles, California

December 20, 1996

It was just after ten o�clock on Friday morning and Jake had just touched down at Whiteman Airport after flying Elsa and her baggage to LA so she could start her two-week Christmas vacation. Her agreed upon time off period did not actually begin until Friday evening, but Jake had cut her loose the night before so he could fly her here now, when he was coming to LA anyway, instead of making another flight on Saturday morning. He tied down the plane on the ramp and then went to the hangar to get his truck. After driving it back to the plane, he loaded Elsa into the front with him and then put her bags in the bed of the vehicle since there was no rain imminent.

�I really do like your new airplane, Jake,� she said. �It is much more comfortable. It even bounces around less.�

�And it has a bathroom,� Jake added.

�That is an advantage for Laura on those long flights,� she said.

�She gets kind of a thrill out of peeing in her own private bathroom while in flight,� Jake said.

Elsa nodded in understanding. �I do appreciate Laura�s ability to find happiness wherever it may be found,� she said.

�She is pretty good at that,� Jake agreed as he pulled out of the airport and onto the main road. He began heading for the Granada Hills house, where Elsa would be staying for her time off. He looked over at her, a little hesitant to bring up the subject he needed to bring up. He had meant to talk to her about the issue in flight but had put it off. He was not sure why he was nervous to talk to her about it, but the feeling could not be denied.

�Is there something on your mind, Jake?� she asked him.

�Why do you say that?� he enquired.

�Because I know you. You are not usually quiet and withdrawn. You seem like you have something of importance you wish to discuss.�

�Uh ... well...� he said, amazed, as always, by how well she could read him, �as a matter of fact, there is something.�

�What is it?� she asked.

�Laura and I have made a decision on something,� he said. �Something pretty big. I wanted to discuss it with you and give you forewarning.�

She looked at him carefully with her brown eyes. �Forewarning about what?�

�We want to have a baby,� he told her.

Elsa blinked. �A baby? That is what you wanted to tell me?�

�That�s right,� he said. �We talked it over quite a bit on the flight back from Pocatello and decided we were ready for this. You�re the first person other than her doctor and the pharmacist at the Alpha Beta that we�ve told. She�s put a hold on her birth control pills and we�re going to let nature take its course. The doc says it may take a month or two for her hormones to return to normal, but there is no reason we know of why she shouldn�t be pregnant early next year.�

�You were hesitant to tell me that?� she asked.

�Uh ... well ... yes, actually.�

�What in the world for?� she asked. �I think this is wonderful news.�

�You do?�

�Of course I do,� she said. �You and Laura will make phenomenal parents. Perhaps unconventional, but phenomenal all the same. Why would you think I would consider this anything but good news?�

�Well ... when we have a baby, that is going to increase your workload to some degree. I mean, we�ll hire a nanny to take care of the baby those times we can�t be at home, but there�s going to be dirty diapers in the trash, baby clothes to wash, breast milk in the refrigerator, crying in the night, a little toddler running around destroying things and making messes eventually.�

�All things I will gladly embrace for the joy of having a child in the household,� she said. �I am very excited about this Jake, and I support your decision wholeheartedly.�

�Thank you, Elsa,� he said, pleased by her enthusiasm. A part of him had been afraid she would just quit once the baby was born.

�Of course, you will increase my rate of compensation when the blessed event happens,� she added, in all seriousness.

Jake chuckled. �Of course,� he promised.

His cell phone began to ring in his back pocket. This was a bit unusual. Though he carried the phone so he could be in communication if necessary, it was not usually necessary. Everyone he had given his cell number to knew that Jake was not a fan of talking on the thing, particularly not incoming calls. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the small screen. It was the number for Pauline�s office in KVA�s studio. He pulled the antenna out and flipped open the phone (noting a disapproving look from Elsa, who was strongly of the opinion that there should be a law against talking on a phone and driving�like that would ever happen, Jake mentally scoffed).

�This is Jake,� he said into the phone.

�It�s me,� said Pauline�s voice. �I tried to get you at home but just got the answering machine. Same deal at Granada Hills. Are you coming into the studio today?�

�I am,� he said. �I want to work a little more on culling down the tracks we�re doing for V-tach. The boys are there, right?�

�Yep,� she said. �They�ve been here since nine and they�re grinding away in the studio. Where are you?�

�Just left Whiteman. I brought Elsa with me so she can start her vay-cay. I�m gonna drop her off at Granada and then head on in. What�s up?�

�I got an email here that you�re going to want to take a look at,� she said. �It was forwarded to my address by an entertainment reporter and then she followed up with a phone call asking for commentary on it. Since then, five other reporters have forwarded it to me as well and they are all asking for the same.�

�What�s the email about?� Jake asked.

�It appears to be a complete and total fabrication that any idiot would disregard, but it seems that most of the idiots are not disregarding it.�

�What is it?� Jake asked.

�I think you should see in person,� Pauline said. �It is very inflammatory if people are actually believing what is written here.�

�Can you give me the abbreviated version at least?� he asked.

�You and Teach are being accused of kidnapping an underage transgender person from Venezuela and using her as both slave labor and a sexual toy.�

�What?� Jake said, incredulous. �Are you serious?�

�I am completely serious,� she said. �And there is a picture attached that purports to be of you, Teach, and the transgender person in question.�

�A picture? Of Laura and I and a tranny? What the fuck? We haven�t taken any pictures like that.�

�As I said,� she said, �I would like you to review the email in person and tell me what this picture actually is. How long until you�re here?�

�About twenty minutes,� he said. �I�ll drop Elsa off and head right over.�

He actually made it in only seventeen minutes, as his foot had been heavy on the pedal between Granada Hills and the studio in his eagerness to see what the hell this was all about. He parked next to Ben�s car and went inside, not even saying hello to the receptionist at her desk. He went down the hall and through the open door of Pauline�s office. She was sitting behind her desk, looking at her computer screen when he came in.

�Come sit over here, next to me,� she told him.

He slid the desk chair around to her side and sat down. She turned the screen toward him and he saw a color photo was displayed. He recognized it immediately. It was the shot of he and Laura with that ramper that worked at the Pocatello airport, the photographer guy. What had been his name? Jake could not remember that.

�That�s a ramper that works at Pocatello Airport,� he told his sister/manager. �He took a bunch of shots of the plane and a few of me and one of the other rampers who was an Intemp fan. But somebody has doctored this photo.�

�What do you mean?� she asked.

�The guy was wearing a sweater with the name of the FBO on it,� he said. �And the sweater was not pink.�

�Interesting,� she said. �And you�re sure it was a guy?�

�Yes, I�m sure,� Jake said. �He was a bit effeminate in appearance, but definitely male. He wasn�t even really setting off the old gaydar.� And as a celebrity who had lived in Los Angeles for more than ten years and who interacted with actors, producers, and upper-echelon record executives, Jake�s gaydar was quite sensitive and accurate.

�A ramp worker, huh?� Pauline said. �I figured it was something like that.� She clicked her mouse and the picture disappeared. She clicked again and the body of the email came up on the screen. �Here. Read what is being circulated about this picture.�

Jake peered at the screen and began to read.

JAKE KINGSLEY AND HIS WIFE ARE KEEPING AN UNDERAGE VENEZUELAN SEX SLAVE!!

My brother-in-law, Jose, is a ramp worker who works for the FBO at Sandpoint airport in northern Idaho. His family is originally from Mexico and, though Jose is an American citizen, he speaks fluent Spanish. Recently, singer Jake Kingsley and his wife Laura flew in to the Sandpoint airport in their multi-million-dollar airplane for a week of skiing at the world-famous Schweitzer ski resort. Jose, who had been assigned to take care of the Kingsleys� plane, saw they were traveling with a young Hispanic woman who seemed to be frightened and intimidated by the couple, and for good reason. They spoke to her harshly, making her carry their bags for them, and barking at her frequently in rudimentary Spanish.

While the Kingsleys were arranging for their transportation needs to Schweitzer, Jose approached the young woman and spoke to her just so he could be sure she was all right. It turns out that she is very far from all right. In the first place, the young woman, who says her name is Maria, is not actually a woman at all, but a transgender male who has the original name of Martin. Maria became acquainted with the Kingsleys during a recent visit the couple made to Barquisimeto, Venezuela, with singer Celia Valdez. Maria is only seventeen years old and was basically sold to the Kingsleys by her family, who do not support her life choice to identify as a female. Maria says the Kingsleys paid ten thousand American dollars for her and she has been living and traveling with them as a virtual slave ever since. In addition to being forced to be a live-in maid, Maria says that both of the Kingsleys regularly sexually abuse her, sometimes individually, sometimes at the same time. She cannot escape from their control as she does not speak English, has no friends or family in the United States, and has no access to money as she is not paid for the work she does.

Shocked by this story, Jose called the Idaho State Police and they sent a trooper to interview Maria. Maria, however, refused to talk to the officer and, when he tried to at least identify her and determine her age and if she was in the country legally, the Kingsleys quickly lawyered up and snuffed the attempt.

While all of this was going on, Jose did manage to get a picture of the Kingsleys and Maria standing next to the plane. This is the shot he took. Please circulate this email and the attached photograph far and wide so that, hopefully, someone will come forward to identify Maria and help extricate her from the hell she is in.

�What the fuck?� Jake asked when he finished. �Who the hell wrote this?�

�There is no name on the email,� Pauline said. �The original came from a Hotmail account with the address �none of your business�, spelled B-I-Z on business. Since then, it has been forwarded nearly a hundred thousand times and has been appearing in inboxes everywhere in the world where email currently exists. It is also appearing on thousands of bulletin boards and hundreds of websites that deal with celebrity stalking.�

�And people are actually taking this seriously?� Jake asked.

�Not everyone,� she said, �but a lot are. Remember the rule we humans like to live by: if it�s written down, in must be true.�

�But this is the most ridiculous story I�ve ever heard,� Jake said. �The alleged tranny tells his entire story to a ramper but not to the cops when they show up? And Laura and I hang around long enough for the cops to show up in the first place while we�re keeping a foreign citizen captive? And then we pose and smile for the camera with our alleged underage tranny sex slave standing between us while we�re waiting for our lawyers to spring us?�

�Or,� Pauline added, �that the cops would actually listen to your lawyer if they thought you were really keeping a seventeen-year-old Venezuelan captive? Yeah, anyone who believes in this crap is a moron, but there are a lot of morons in the world.�

�That is true,� Jake agreed. �What did you tell the reporters who called?�

�Just what I knew at the time. Number one, you are most definitely not keeping anyone captive, for housekeeping or sex slave or any other purpose. Two, you already have a housekeeper who has been in your employ ten years now and she is well-compensated for her position, not from Venezuela, not a teenager, and is there quite voluntarily. Three, please make note that there is no name on the email, it comes from an anonymous address, none of the people mentioned in the email have last names except you and Laura, and it would not be the Idaho State Police who would have investigated such a thing, but the Sandpoint Police Department and/or the Bonner County Sheriff�s department.�

�Very good points,� Jake said. �What did they have to say?�

�They said they will be looking into the details of the accusation and will call back for further clarification. They all asked for a quote from you.�

�I should give them one, right?� Jake asked.

�Yes, most definitely,� Pauline said. �I plan to thoroughly debunk this story by using as many facts as I can dig up. I�ve already called the FBO services at Sandpoint Airport and they have assured me they have no employee by the name of Jose, now or ever. I have called the Idaho State Police, the Sandpoint PD, and the Bonner County Sheriff�s department and they have all verified that they have not taken a report of any kind that involves you or Laura or a possibly abducted Venezuelan citizen. These are all verified facts. Now that you have told me the source of the photograph, I will call the Pocatello Airport�s FBO and try to get in contact with the man in the photo. It would be helpful if you could remember his name.�

Jake searched his memory banks but just could not come up with the ramper�s name. Though he remembered every other detail about the guy, that critical piece of information eluded him. This was undoubtedly due to the way his brain was wired regarding casual acquaintances like rampers, autograph seekers, wait staff, and groupies. There was simply no need to move such people�s names into long term memory. �I�m sorry,� he told his sister. �I just can�t remember it. Maybe Laura can.�

�That�s a thought,� Pauline said. �She stayed home today?�

�She was still asleep when Elsa and I left,� Jake confirmed. �She�s probably up now. I�ll give her a call. She needs to know that this shit is going down anyway.�

�Do you want me to forward a copy of the email to her?� Pauline asked.

�Yeah, good idea,� Jake said.

He turned the phone toward him and then dialed the main number for the Oceano house. Laura picked up on the third ring.

�Hey, babe,� he told her. �We got some shit going down that you need to know about.�

A sigh. �What now?� she asked.

He told her the tale. She expressed disbelief that anyone was dumb enough to actually believe such a ridiculous accusation but otherwise did not seem to be all that upset. She was more interested in how his conversation with Elsa had gone.

�She is thrilled for us,� Jake told her.

�That�s wonderful!� Laura said happily.

�It is, isn�t it?� he said. �Anyway, I was hoping you might remember the name of that ramper. Pauline needs to get hold of him and find out how his picture got into circulation.�

�You don�t think that he is the one that started this, do you?� she asked. �He seemed so ... you know ... nice.�

�We don�t know,� Jake said. �It doesn�t seem logical that he would make himself out to be a young tranny from Venezuela, but maybe he can shed some light on how the picture got out into the world. Paulie can probably find him without his name�after all, it�s not a very big FBO they have in Pocatello�but if you can remember...�

�I remember,� she said. �His name was Ron. The other ramper was named Dallas.�

As soon as she said the names, Jake remembered and knew she was correct. Apparently, they were stored somewhere deep inside but were just not easy to access. �That�s right,� he said. �Thanks, hon. Paulie is sending a copy of the email to your inbox so you can take a look at it.�

�It�s already there,� Pauline said from her keyboard.

�I�ll look at it right now,� she said.

�And I�ll keep you informed on developments as they warrant,� he promised.

�Right,� she said.

They said their I-love-you�s and broke the connection. Jake told Pauline the name of the ramper and his companion.

�All right,� she said. �I�ll start working on this right now.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said with a sigh. �And I suppose I should go get some actual work done.�

She nodded. �I�ll keep you updated,� she promised.

Jake walked to the studio and let himself inside. For the next two hours he immersed himself in the making and criticism of V-tach�s music. Thoughts of the ridiculous email were driven far to the back of his mind. After all, it was a perfectly ludicrous story that they were able to factually refute. He was sure that nothing would ultimately come of it.

As it turned out, he was only half right.

Darlene Sams, the manager of the Oceano Alpha Beta grocery store, did not particularly care for Jake Kingsley, his wife, or their uppity maid. The maid in particular�her name was Elsa, and she was hands-down the blackest woman Darlene had ever met�rubbed her entirely the wrong way. Their initial encounter with each other on the day the trio had moved into their Oceano home and Darlene had tried to refuse a check from Elsa (and who wouldn�t automatically mistrust a check from a black-ass nigger with a Los Angeles address, she often pondered) had only set the tone for her dislike. Since then, it had grown. Elsa was in the store several times a week buying three and four hundred dollars worth of groceries at a time (a good portion of it top-shelf liquor and wines�it was quite clear that the Kingsleys were alcoholics) just as Elsa had suggested she would. Darlene was always careful to be polite to Elsa, even syrupy sweet on occasion, but she secretly thought the woman arrogant and hoity-toity, which infuriated her because she sincerely believed that an actual African nigger who worked as a mere maid had absolutely no place feeling superior in any way to a hard-working white woman such as herself. The fact that Elsa was more educated than Darlene, made considerably more money, lived in nicer accommodations, drove a better car, and worked considerably harder and more numerous hours every week, did not even enter her equation unless she was looking for sources of validation of her opinion.

As for Kingsley and his wife, they were occasional visitors to the store as well, one or the other of them coming in once every few weeks or so when they were in town. Mrs. Kingsley came in regularly to pick up her birth control prescription from the pharmacy (and Darlene had heard some juicy gossip about that just the day before) and to occasionally do some light shopping. Jake Kingsley came in a bit more frequently, usually by himself, usually to buy the makings for a single meal. These visits were usually on the weekends. He had told several of the checkers while making small talk with them that Elsa the maid had weekends off and that he, Kingsley, did the cooking on those days if he was home.

The Kingsleys were naturally the subject of much town gossip since they had moved to that house up on the cliff a year and a half before. Oceano was a small town with a smalltown mentality and an instinctive mistrust of rich interlopers, even if they were not dope-using musicians who were said to be into Satanism and homosexuality. And the fact that they kept mostly to themselves, paid their bills on time, donated very generously to the local high school�s music program, and bought nearly all of their household supplies or services locally, only seemed to deepen those dark suspicions about them; making it seem as if they were putting up a front.

Everyone wondered just what sort of things the Kingsleys were doing up in that mansion on the cliff (it was assumed that they had to be doing all kinds of illegal and perverted things). Particularly valuable sources of Kingsley gossip were those few who, through the nature of their jobs, had actually been inside the Kingsley compound. Jack, the driver for Suburban Propane services, made regular visits there to refill the two tanks on the property. Ralph, the guy who worked for the private waste management company that contracted with San Luis Obispo County, was up there every Thursday morning to empty the garbage cans. Both of them reported that they had been given gate codes that were unique to them and were only valid on the days they were to be there. They also had to look into the security camera every time they used them. They rarely saw anyone at all on their visits, but Jack claimed he had once seen Mrs. Kingsley washing her car in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Ryan, the satellite service technician, had been inside the house on two occasions, as had Frank of the local plumbing service. They reported that the Kingsleys had not even been home when they�d been there, that they had just dealt with Elsa, the maid, who was polite to them, thankful for their help, but otherwise aloof. Several local contractors who had performed other services for the Kingsleys reported much the same thing. Usually, Jake and his wife were not even home when they were there to install a new sound system or a new set of bathroom cabinets or to fix the pump on the hot tub.

The comings and the goings of the Kingsleys were pretty much known by the town as well. Whenever Jake left San Luis Obispo airport when the wind was blowing from the southwest�as it did most of the time during the daylight hours�that noisy, expensive plane would fly right over the town before going out over the ocean and banking south. And when it returned at the end of the day, when the wind was generally offshore, it would fly over the town once again to land in the opposite direction. Many complaints had been filed with the FAA in Los Angeles regarding that airplane noise and the matter had been investigated, but the ruling had been that, while annoying perhaps, the Kingsleys� plane was not loud enough and did not persist long enough to be considered a nuisance. The general consensus in the town was that Kingsley had used his status as a celebrity to sway the investigator into finding in his favor. It was even suggested that money had changed hands. The idea that Jake�s plane was not really louder than any other aircraft coming out of or into SLO airport�the Avanti�s impressive rate of climb meant that it was usually higher than three thousand feet by the time it passed over Oceano�but just had a distinct and admittedly annoying timbre to it, and that they had come to associate this distinct sound with someone they did not particularly care for, was never even considered.

Darlene was working one of the check stands on this Friday afternoon as she was short-staffed because that Mexican bitch Maria was knocked up (again!) and had a doctor�s appointment. She had assigned herself to the express lane, naturally, so she would not have to check huge carts full of groceries one after the other and even got some downtime on occasion. She caught a glimpse of copper coloring out of the corner of her eye and turned to see that Laura Kingsley had just entered the store. Mrs. Kingsley looked very cute today�as she did pretty much every day. She had on a pair of jeans and a green Christmas sweater. Her hair was done in matching pigtails and her cheeks were red from the brisk December air outside. Darlene felt her resentment and dislike well up just at the sight of her.

Laura grabbed one of the carts and worked her way deeper into the store, disappearing from Darlene�s view. She caught a few glimpses of her every now and then, moving her cart from place to place, putting things into it on occasion. She seemed to be spending the most time at the meat counter, in the bread aisle, and in the produce section. She also made a stop at the pharmacy, having a conversation with Rick, the pharmacist, a man Darlene also did not care for because he refused to share any gossip about what he dispensed to various town people, including the Kingsleys. Of course, Diane, the pharmacist�s assistant, was not so discrete, so Darlene and most of the other store employees�and subsequently, most of the town�had already heard that Laura Kingsley had put a hold on her birth control pills yesterday.

Laura appeared out of the freezer aisle and spent a moment looking at the lines at the check stands, evaluating which one to go to. It did not take her long to come to a decision. Aisles 4 and 6 were both open and had shoppers with full carts waiting. There was no one in the express lane currently. She headed directly to Darlene and wheeled her cart up to the front. Darlene took a quick look at her groceries, intending to tell the uppity bitch that she could not use this line if she had more than fifteen items, but, alas, Mrs. Kingsley did not.

�Good afternoon, Mrs. Kingsley,� she said politely, fighting to keep a pleasant expression on her face. �Did you find everything you need today?�

�Yes, I did, thanks,� the redhead answered, giving a brief smile.

Darlene began to ring up her items. A pound and a half of 85 percent lean ground beef, a half-pound of fresh sliced cheddar cheese, a bunch of romaine lettuce, two hothouse tomatoes, a red onion, a garlic bulb, a bag of frozen tater tots, a bag of hamburger buns with sesame seeds on them. �Making hamburgers tonight?� she asked, knowing she was stating the blindingly obvious but corporate insisted they make small talk with the customers and she, as manager, rigidly enforced this.

�That�s right,� Mrs. Kingsley said, politely not making any allusion that Darlene was pointing out the blindingly obvious. �Elsa is on Christmas vacation, so Jake is making dinner tonight when he gets home. He wanted to make something simple.�

�That sounds like fun,� she said, responding automatically as she continued to work. There were three more items to scan. Two were bottles of expensive chardonnay�the most expensive wine that Alpha Beta sold at this location. The other was a bottle of pills. She scanned the wine first, suppressing the urge to shake her head as she saw the prices pop up. One bottle ran $67, the other $54. The wine alone was three times the cost of all the rest of the groceries combined. And then she picked up the pill bottle. Before scanning it, she took a quick glance at the label to see just what Laura Kingsley was buying. They were prenatal vitamins. Very interesting. That certainly confirmed the gossip that Diane had shared about the hold on the birth control pills. Laura Kingsley had to be pregnant. Whether or not Jake Kingsley was the father was the only question remaining (Darlene was already leaning in the direction of that nigger rapper that was known to frequently visit the Kingsleys as her lead suspect in the case). And here she was buying a hundred dollars worth of wine to wash down her prenatal vitamins. Her low opinion of Laura Kingsley dropped even lower.

But she said nothing. She simply rang her up and named the price for the items. Mrs. Kingsley paid for it by using her ATM card in the card reader which corporate had finally purchased for them six months before (though Elsa the maid still insisted on writing checks when she was the one purchasing groceries). The transaction was approved�it always was when members of the Kingsley household were the ones making it�and off the redhead bitch went, heading back to the parking lot and her little Volkswagen convertible so she could drive home to her mansion on the cliff, do drugs, drink wine, and poison the demon-spawn she was now growing in her belly.

No sooner had Mrs. Kingsley left the store than Darlene�s three o�clock person checked in for duty. It was Karen Michaels, one of two assistant managers and Darlene�s closest crony. They had gone to high school together and had worked together at the Alpha Beta for the past fifteen years. It was they who ruled the Oceano Alpha Beta the same way the popular clique in high school (of which Darlene and Karen most certainly had not been members of) had ruled the minions beneath them. Karen would be in charge of the store until closing time once Darlene left at 5:00 o�clock.

�Why don�t you take over for me here?� Darlene told her. �I�ve got some admin stuff I need to do before I go home.�

�Sounds good,� Karen said, amicably enough. She nodded in the direction of the door. �I saw Laura Kingsley heading out as I came in. She buying up a bunch of booze again?�

�A hundred dollars worth of wine,� Darlene said. �They are such alcoholics, aren�t they?�

�Completely,� said Karen, who drank far more wine per week than Laura Kingsley could ever hope to, though she made a point to buy most of hers in San Luis Obispo or Pasa Robles. �And I just learned something really shocking about the Kingsleys today.�

�Oh yeah?� asked Darlene. �Do tell.�

She was about to do just that, but a customer chose that moment to enter the express checkout. It was an older lady named Margaret who had at least twenty-five items in her cart, but who also spent most of her grocery budget in the Alpha Beta so they were not going to call her on it.

�We�ll talk about it later,� Karen whispered. �It�s really juicy. Check your email. I sent you a copy of the story.�

�Okay,� Darlene said, immediately intrigued.

She went to her office inside the customer service area where the cigarettes were sold and the film developing was done. She sat down at her desk and logged into her computer. She went immediately to the Alpha Beta email server and opened her inbox. She saw the email immediately and her eyes widened as she saw the subject line: JAKE KINGSLEY AND HIS WIFE ARE KEEPING AN UNDERAGE VENEZUELAN SEX SLAVE!!

�Hmm,� she said. �Very interesting.�

She opened the email and saw the picture. She then began to read.

Jake flew over the town of Oceano at 5:38 PM that evening, his altitude 2800 feet, his engines at only forty percent thrust as he made the turn for final approach and an ILS landing at SLO Regional. As was usual, a good many members of the town heard the distinctive high-pitched whine of his aircraft as he passed over and noted, many with annoyance, that the Satan worshipping death metal artist (whose wife was now pregnant with a demon spawn) was back in town for the night. He touched down at 5:43 PM and was in his BMW heading for home by 5:55. He drove through the gate at 6:12 PM and was in the house by 6:15 PM.

�Hey, sweetie,� Laura greeted when he walked through the door. She got up to give him a kiss.

�Hey, babe,� he said, accepting the kiss, which tasted of chardonnay.

�I cut up all the vegetables for you and the oven is preheated for the tots. All you need to do is cook the burgers.�

�Sounds good,� he told her. �Let me go drain the dragon and wash up and I�ll get to work.�

�You do that,� she said. �I�ll go pop the tots in the oven.�

Jake went to the nearest restroom�the guest bathroom in the hallway between the kitchen and the entertainment room�and took care of his business. He then walked back into the entertainment room and grabbed one of his bottles of Lighthouse Ale from the refrigerator in the bar. He opened it, poured it into a glass, and then made his way back to the kitchen. Laura was sitting in one of the breakfast nook chairs that she had pulled over near the large kitchen island.

�Did you remember to pick up those prenatal vitamins today?� he asked her. Dr. Vargo, her gynecologist, had advised her to start taking them as soon as she stopped her birth control pills so that when she did eventually conceive she would have an ample supply of folic acid in her body to stave off neural tube defects such as spina bifida in the future Kingsley child. But Laura, who could be just a little scatterbrained on occasion, had forgotten to pick them up when she�d gone to the pharmacy to put the hold on her pills�even though that had specifically been her mission for the trip.

�Yes,� she said giving him a little eye roll. She did not like being reminded of her scatterbrain episodes. �I remembered.�

�Good girl,� he said. �Maybe I�ll give you a little treat after dinner.�

�You were going to do that anyway,� she said.

�Don�t ruin the moment,� he told her, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the package of ground beef. He set it down on the counter and then pulled out a cutting board. The garlic Laura had bought was sitting on the island. He extricated three cloves from it and set them aside. He then got out a small bowl and a stick of butter. He put half the stick in the bowl and then popped it in the microwave, setting the timer for fifteen seconds�just enough to soften it.

�What�s the news on the transgender situation?� Laura asked.

�It is officially nipped in the bud,� he told her.

�Oh yeah?�

�Yeah. Pauline got hold of Ron the ramper. He told her that he posted the original picture of him with us along with all the other pictures of our plane in some photography group he is a part of with an explanation of what the shots were all about. There are over two hundred people in this group and some or all of them must have forwarded the email to others who then did the same. Somewhere along the line, the author of that email must have pulled the shot out, photoshopped it, and then made up all that transgender shit and sent it out into the world.�

�Why would someone do something like that?� Laura asked, shaking her head.

Jake took the now softened butter out of the microwave and carried it back to the island. He rooted around in the drawer�which was sparkling clean and neatly organized thanks to Elsa�and took out the garlic masher. �Because people are assholes,� he said simply. �Whoever this person is, he doesn�t like me. It doesn�t matter though.�

�Why doesn�t it matter? You said that the media vultures are circling.�

�They can�t print or air anything about this,� Jake said, mashing the garlic cloves into the butter and then putting the masher in the sink. As he was washing his hands again, he continued to explain why. �Pauline had the ramper send her copies of all the shots he took that day and the original email he sent out. He is perfectly willing to go on record about what actually happened. She then sent copies of those pictures and the original email to every reporter that enquired about the fake email. In the body of Pauline�s email she let them know that there is no Jose at the Sandpoint airport FBO, that no law enforcement agency in the Sandpoint area has taken a report about an underaged Venezuelan tranny being held in captivity by the Kingsleys, and that Ron the ramper is willing to testify in court that he is the person in that photo, that he has never been to Venezuela, and that he is most certainly not transexual or a maid.�

�Facts have never stopped them from printing or reporting lies before,� she pointed out.

�True,� Jake said, �but these are irrefutable facts that are now in their possession. That�s the difference maker here.�

�What do you mean?�

He took a quick drink of his beer and then added some oregano and fresh ground pepper to the butter. He took out a fork and began to mix it all into a consistent paste. �The burden of proof in a libel or slander case is on the person being slandered or libeled,� he explained. �In other words, when the National Watcher printed their story that you and Celia were �allegedly� getting it on with each other every night out on tour, you and Celia would have had to prove by the preponderance of the evidence that you were not getting it on in order for a libel judgment to go in your favor. Even though you were not getting it on�well ... you know, except for that one night�there is no evidence of absence you can possibly provide, therefore you cannot prevail.�

�I understand,� she said. �But why is this different?�

He opened the hamburger package and divided the meat into four equal pieces, which he then formed into balls. �Because of those irrefutable facts that we have on our side this time,� he said. �There is evidence of absence in this situation. We can prove that that photo was taken with Ron the ramper�s camera at Pocatello Airport, not Sandpoint Airport. We can prove that Ron himself is the person in the photo, not a Venezuelan tranny. We can prove that virtually everything in that email is untrue except for the fact that we were in Sandpoint recently and that we did visit Barquisimeto with Celia recently. The media knows that the story is not true since Paulie has informed them and provided them with the facts at hand, so if they were to print it or put it on TV, they would be knowingly printing or broadcasting provably false information for the purpose of harming the reputation of you, myself, and Ron the ramper. That is the very definition of libel and slander. We would own them. They would be forced to print and/or broadcast a retraction of the story and they would be on the hook for huge punitive damages. They are not going to go there.�

�What if some reporter or media show that didn�t contact Pauline wrote a story or aired the email?� she asked. �They are not in possession of the information. Couldn�t they still get away with it?�

Jake used his thumb to put a large crater in each of the balls of meat. He then scooped out a healthy dollop of the garlic butter and put it inside each crater. �Journalistic ethics require that any reporter make an attempt to get our side of the story before printing or airing something like this,� he said. �At that point, Paulie would hit them with the facts. If they did not follow journalistic ethics and just printed without trying to get our side, they would end up in the same boat. Paulie would contact whoever printed or aired, provide those facts to them, and demand that they immediately retract the story and apologize or be sued for libel and/or slander.�

�I see,� she said, obviously feeling better about the whole situation now.

�So don�t worry, babe,� he assured her as he began forming the balls of meat into patties with the garlic butter trapped in the center. After a dusting of sea salt, this would make for juicy, flavorful burgers once they were cooked out on the gas grill on the deck. �We are totally in the clear on this thing. This will all disappear in a matter of days.�

�That�s good to hear,� she said.

At that moment, a chiming sound began to emit from the intercom speaker on the wall. They both looked over at it. The tone told them that someone had just pushed the call button on the gate that guarded the entrance to the property.

�Are we expecting anyone?� Jake asked.

�I don�t think so,� she said.

�Hmm,� he said. �Why don�t you go see who it is?�

She nodded and left the kitchen, heading for the office on the other side of the entertainment room. That was where the bank of computer monitors that displayed the security views�as well as the security panel that controlled the various alarms and gate openers�was located. She was gone less than thirty seconds. The tone continued to sound the entire time.

�Who is it?� Jake asked when she returned.

�There are three police cars out there,� she said.

�Police cars?� Jake asked. �What the hell?�

�What do we do?� she asked. �Ignore them? They can�t just come in here, right?�

�That depends on why they are here,� he said. �I�ll go talk to them and see what�s up.�

He quickly washed his hands in the sink and then dried them with paper towels. After that, he walked to the office, Laura trailing behind him. Mounted to the left of the computer desk were the nine monitors that showed views from throughout the property. Seven of the monitors were showing night vision views since the sun had gone down more than an hour before. Nothing unusual was showing on any of those. The center monitor and the monitor immediately to its left covered the side view of the gate intercom box and the view from the gate down the access road respectively. They were not in night vision mode since the security lights had been triggered by a sensor located thirty-five feet before the gate and the entire stretch of road was now illuminated as if it were high noon in summer. In the center view was a male in his forties leaning out the window of a car. He had a mustache and Jake could just make out the shoulder patches on his upper sleeves and the top of a badge on his chest. He was staring patiently into the camera. On the road view he could see three marked patrol cars lined up one after the other.

Jake pushed the button which opened the intercom link between his microphone and the speaker/microphone on the gate entrance. �Can I help you?� he asked, his voice monotone.

�Is this Mr. Kingsley?� the officer enquired. He had no video screen on his end and therefore could not see who he was talking to.

�This is Jake Kingsley,� he said. �What can I do for you?�

�Mr. Kingsley, I am Sergeant Stivick of the San Luis Obispo County sheriff�s department. Would you mind if we came up to the residence so we could have a word with you?�

�A word about what?� Jake asked.

�I would rather discuss that in person,� the good sergeant said. His tone was polite but insistent.

Jake had no idea what this could possibly be about. He knew that he did not really have to let the deputies onto his property if he did not want to unless they had a warrant of some kind or had some kind of probable cause to believe that a crime was in progress. But there was no real reason to draw a hard line in the sand right here at the gate. Perhaps they were here to inform him of some sort of threat against him. And even if that were not the case, there was no reason to be antagonistic at this point. After all, if some psycho ever did try to get into his house someday, he would need these people to come quickly and help him. It would not behoove him or Laura to ostracize them unnecessarily.

�Okay,� he said. �I�ll open the gate for you. Drive up to the house and I�ll meet you at the front door.�

�Thank you, sir,� the sergeant said politely.

Jake disconnected the audio link and then pushed the button that opened the gate. On the video, it slowly began to swing open, inward, toward the house. Once satisfied that it was operating normally, he turned to Laura.

�Make a quick sweep and make sure all the pot and things we smoke it with are stowed out of plain sight.�

�Are you going to let them in the house?� she asked.

�Not if I can avoid it,� he said, �but better safe than sorry.�

�Okay,� she said. She headed off on her mission.

He watched the patrol cars file one by one through the gate. Once they were all through, he pushed the button and closed the gate behind them. He watched on the other monitors as they made their way up the road and onto the main plot, moving slowly, no more than ten miles per hour (Jake usually hit thirty-five on the stretch between the gate and the garage, Laura maybe fifteen). The security lights blinked on automatically as they made their journey, switching the views from night vision to regular light. They drove past the five-car garage attached to the north side of the house and into the circular driveway in front of the guest entrance that led into the foyer off the main living room. Once they were all parked and the doors opened, he left the office and walked to that door.

One of the intercom boxes was here. He pushed the button that transmitted to all the other interior speakers. �All clear?� he asked.

A moment later, Laura�s voice answered. �All clear. Heading to you.�

He did not reply. Instead, he stepped to the door, unlocked the steel security bar and withdrew it, then unlocked the deadbolt and the doorknob lock. He swung the door open and found himself facing Sergeant Stivick and two other uniformed deputies, both male, both young and of fairly impressive stature. It was a cold night and all were dressed in their long-sleeved uniforms. The sergeant, who was in front, was looking at Jake. The other two were looking past him, into the house, their eyes peering everywhere they could see.

�Mr. Kingsley?� the sergeant asked, though it was obvious that he knew exactly who he was talking to.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �You can call me Jake if you wish.�

�Jake it is then,� he replied. �I�m Sergeant Stivick. This is Deputy Maxwell and Deputy Clark.�

Jake nodded to them. About then, Laura appeared in the foyer. All three of the deputies immediately shifted their eyes to her and held them there, quite clearly enjoying what they were seeing.

Jake glanced over his shoulder and then back to the cops. �My wife, Laura,� he introduced.

�Good evening, Mrs. Kingsley,� Stivick said.

�Good evening,� she replied, taking up position next to Jake.

�Do you mind if we come inside, Jake?� Stivick asked after he finally managed to take his eyes off Laura�s body.

�How about you tell me what this is about first?� Jake countered.

�Oh ... of course,� Stivick said, a hint of irritation appearing for an instant and then disappearing just as quickly. �Well ... you see ... our dispatch center received several calls throughout the day that there have been reports that you might have a young woman or boy staying in the house with you who may be a runaway from Venezuela.�

Jesus fucking Christ, Jake thought, shaking his head. �The tranny email,� Jake said. �They actually called you about that?�

�Yes,� Stivick said, �multiple people have called regarding that email. We had someone send a copy to our department email so we could take a look at it. I personally reviewed the document before we came out here.�

�You reviewed the document,� Jake said slowly, �and you think it to be a true story?�

�It does sound quite farfetched,� Stivick replied, �but we did get multiple calls about this and several of the callers reported that they have, in fact, seen you and Mrs. Kingsley in the company of a young Hispanic woman on several occasions during visits to town.�

�A young Hispanic woman?� asked Laura. �With us?�

�The only Hispanic woman we have been in the company of in Oceano is Celia Valdez when she comes to visit,� Jake said. �And, while she is very attractive, she is not young enough to be mistaken for a seventeen-year-old.�

�And she is quite recognizable as well,� Laura added. �She does not even passingly resemble the person in that email photo.�

�I understand that human memory is an easily manipulated thing,� Stivick said. �People remember what they want to remember. We are not here accusing you of what is suggested in that email. We are simply here to close out a call that was generated.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said with a sigh. He did not doubt Stivick�s sincerity. The man seemed quite annoyed to be on this errand. �How can we assist you in closing out this call?�

�Well, if you consent to let us inside your home so we can take a look around and verify that there is no sign of a Venezuelan transexual living here, that will allow us to close the call and not bother you on this matter any further.�

�I see,� Jake said slowly. �And if I said we will not consent to such a thing? What then?�

�Then we will leave and close the call out as unable to determine.�

�Would you then attempt to get a search warrant?� Jake asked.

Stivick barked out a little laugh and shook his head. �Are you kidding? No judge on the planet would issue a warrant based on a chain email and a few vague eyewitness accounts, none of which even remotely match each other except for the young Hispanic person descriptor. You are perfectly within your rights to tell us to go pound sand and we will happily go pound it.�

�So, what is the advantage for me and Laura in allowing you to come in and look around then?� Jake asked.

�If we are able to satisfy ourselves that there is no sign you are keeping an underage Venezuelan transexual in captivity, I will write an incident report on the matter that spells that out and make sure our PIO�that�s our public information officer�provides a copy of it to the local newspaper.�

Jake nodded thoughtfully. He looked at Laura and she nodded. He turned back to the sergeant. �All right then,� he said. �Let�s do this thing. Come on inside, officers. Welcome to Casa Kingsley.�

�Thank you,� Stivick said, stepping through the doorway. �Although I should warn you that if we should see anything illegal under California law in plain view...�

�Already taken care of,� Jake assured him.

He gave the deputies a complete tour of the house, starting with the formal living room that they rarely used. From there, they went to the entertainment room with its pool table, pinball machine, Space Invader console, large screen television, six-thousand-dollar sound system, racks full of expensive wine, and fully stocked wet bar. Stivick took a moment to admire Jake�s Les Paul that had been autographed by Les Paul himself. Maxwell and Clark were both impressed by the bar and the wine collection. From there, they went down the first hallway. Jake opened the door to the primary guest room, which was a suite in and of itself. He then showed them the guest bathroom, the coat closet, and then the kitchen.

�It looks like you were getting ready to have dinner,� Stivick said, seeing the raw burgers sitting on the cutting board. �Sorry about bothering you right now.�

�It�s okay,� Jake said.

�I do need to take the tater tots out of the oven though,� Laura said.

The cops all shared a look with each other for a moment as Laura went to the oven. It was clear they were a little surprised that the Kingsleys ate frozen tater tots with their burgers just like they were normal American human beings.

They went to the master bedroom next. It was a huge room, the biggest in the house in fact. Their bedroom set was the centerpiece. It was a King-sized bed and two large, mirrored dressers. Nightstands sat on either side of the bed. The bed itself was made up, but not as neatly as Elsa did it (you could literally bounce a penny off a bed that Elsa had made). Jake noticed Clark looking in the laundry hamper with particularly keen interest. He took a glance inside and saw that a pair of Laura�s panties were sitting on top of the heap of laundry within. They were the lime green ones with the white polka dots. He knew instinctively that if Clark had been alone in the room he would have picked them up and taken a sniff.

�Here�s the master bath area,� Jake said, leading them around the partition wall. Here was the glass-enclosed shower, the large jacuzzi tub, and the marble dual sink. He opened the door to the throne room for them so they could be sure there was no tranny hiding in there. He then led them back out to the walk-in closet, which was as big as an entire secondary bedroom in one of their houses.

�All right,� Jake said. �How about we check out the other guest rooms next? If we were, in fact, harboring a sex slave, that would be the most likely place to keep her, right?�

�Right,� Stivick agreed.

They went through all four of them, one by one, and then he took them to the composition room where he worked on his music. The deputies were all impressed by the room, looking at the guitars in their racks on two of the walls and the multitude of gold and platinum records that took up the entirety of another wall. Jake saw with alarm that Laura�s sweep of the house had not come through this room. His stashbox, which was a Cuban cigar box that contained a quarter ounce baggie of excellent pot, a pair of small scissors, and some rolling papers so he could get himself in the proper composition mood, was sitting on the desk amid the clutter of musical score sheets and notepaper, right in plain view. Thankfully, however, the ashtray, which was also on the desk and which often had a roach or two in it, had been dumped by Elsa before she had left on vacation (Jake had long since gotten over her throwing roaches away and she had subsequently discarded probably a thousand dollars worth of weed over the years). That ashtray was the only thing on the desk that she was allowed to touch. All three deputies noticed the box�they had cop eyes that missed little�and undoubtedly knew what it was for, but none made any comment on it. After all, the contents of the box were not in plain view and therefore they had no right to open it�a now clear legal precedent thanks to Matt Tisdale and his attorney a few years back.

�This is where you write your music?� asked Stivick.

�Ever since we�ve moved here,� he said. He pointed to the battered old Fender that sat in a place of honor on a tripod stand next to the desk. �That�s the guitar I always use. It�s the first acoustic I ever bought back when I was in high school.�

�That�s pretty cool,� observed Clark.

�I bet that will be worth some serious money someday,� put in Maxwell.

�It will never be for sale,� Jake said sincerely. �At least not in my lifetime or Laura�s lifetime.�

Next, they went to the office with its video monitors and computer screens that watched over everything. They were particularly impressed with his setup.

�Wow,� Stivick said, looking at everything. �This must have cost you a pretty penny.�

�More than twenty grand for everything,� Jake told him. �I need it though. There are lots of people in the world who would like to try to rip me off or attack me or my wife. I get letters from them sometimes. Nothing moves on this property without being seen on the cameras. The doors are all steel-reinforced and secured with security bars. The windows are all fitted with bullet-resistant glass that you can go at with a sledge hammer and they still won�t break.�

�Do you have guns?� asked Clark.

Jake shook his head. �So far, I haven�t felt the need for one.�

�You might want to think that over,� suggested Stivick. �You�re a ways off the beaten path here on this cliff. Our response time to your house on a busy night might be as much as fifteen minutes, maybe longer depending on where our units are. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes.�

Jake nodded thoughtfully. �I�ll take that under consideration,� he said.

�I�d suggest a shotgun,� said Stivick. �There is nothing in the world better for home defense than a 12-gauge pump action loaded with double-ought buck. The sound of you racking one in will scare off ninety-five percent of intruders. And, if worst comes to worst and you have to engage, you�ll hit anything you�re shooting at at close range and the rounds won�t go through a wall and kill someone in another room.�

�This is assuming that you are allowed to own a gun,� said Maxwell. �Do you have any felony convictions?�

�Convictions? No. I�ve been accused of various things here and there but have never even been convicted of speeding.�

They passed a look around but said nothing.

He took them to the garage next, turning on the lights and letting them see his BMW, Elsa�s Four-Runner, and Laura�s Volkswagen. The rest of the space in the garage was empty except for a small tool chest filled with hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, and other things needed for simple household repair (which was inevitably done by Elsa).

�And that�s the tour, gentlemen,� he said as they headed back toward the living room and the foyer.

�What about upstairs?� asked Clark.

�There is no upstairs,� Jake said. �The house is one level only. My goal in building it here was not to be pretentious. There is an attic, however, and you are welcome to poke your heads up there to make sure I don�t have a tranny chained up inside.�

�Is it easy to access?� asked Stivick.

�It is,� Jake said. �It has one of those ring pull things with a ladder that comes down.�

�I suppose we should take a quick look,� Stivick said.

Jake led them back to the main hallway, which was where the access hatch was located. He opened it up and the ladder slid down. A light automatically came on up there when the ladder extended. Stivick climbed up enough to poke his head inside and see that there was nothing but the furnace, the air conditioning coils, insulation, and a few boxes of things like Christmas decorations and old clothes.

�Looks like an attic to me,� Stivick said, climbing back down.

Jake pushed the ladder back up and the hatch sealed once again. �All right then,� he said. �Are you satisfied that we are keeping no one here against his or her will?�

�Almost,� Stivick said. �I noticed when we pulled in that there is another structure here on the property. The house next to this one?�

�That is where the actual maid stays,� Jake said. �Her name is Elsa Tyler, I pay her for her services, she is from Nigeria originally, she is old enough to be my mother, and she is on Christmas vacation right now.�

�Do you mind if we take a quick look through that house as well?� Stivick asked.

�I cannot consent to that,� Jake said. �That is Elsa�s house, her private space. I have not been inside there since I did the final walk-through for closing on the property.�

�But you have a key to it, right?�

�I do, but, as I said, that is Elsa�s private residence and I cannot and will not give consent for you to enter it.�

�Perhaps you could call this Elsa person and obtain consent from her?� suggested Clark.

�I will not even ask her,� Jake said. �Searching her residence is not reasonable.�

�But if you were keeping someone captive, that would be the logical place to do it,� said Stivick.

�Really?� Jake said, raising his brows. �Keep an underage captive in a separate house where we can�t see what she is doing, where she could just wander off at will?�

�Again, Jake,� Stivick said, �I am not saying that I believe you are actually holding someone against their will here. I am just saying that I cannot, in good conscience, write in the report for the PIO that we have determined the accusation to be false unless I look inside that house as well.�

Jake sighed again. He did not get the impression that Stivick was trying to coerce him. He was just stating a fact. But that did not change his decision. Maybe, however, there was another way.

�I can�t let you search Elsa�s house,� he said. �But what if I were able to prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that the email that all of this is based on is completely made up?�

�How would you do that?� Stivick asked.

Jake smiled. �Let�s go back to the office,� he said.

He led them back there and turned on the computer. While it was booting up, he explained the origin of the photograph in question, where it had originally been taken and under what circumstances, and how it had ended up circulating far and wide on email accounts and internet bulletin boards. He then opened up his inbox and showed them the original email that Ron the ramper had sent out, including all the photographs that had been attached to it.

�This certainly makes sense,� Stivick said after reviewing everything. �Can you send a copy of this email to the department�s inbox.�

�Sure,� Jake said. �What�s the address?�

Stivick recited it for him and told him to put �Original Jake Kingsley email� in the subject box.

�Now then,� Jake asked after sending it, �are you satisfied that there is no citizen of Venezuela, or any other country being held here?�

�I am satisfied,� Stivick said.

�Then you�ll write that report for your PIO guy?�

�I will,� he promised.

�Thank you,� Jake said, his gratitude genuine.

�I thank you for your cooperation, Jake,� Stivick said. �I wasn�t really sure what was going to happen when we came up here to talk to you about all this. You have quite the reputation in the law enforcement community you know.�

�Yeah, I know,� Jake said. �And you cops have quite the reputation in the circles I move in as well, but I found you quite polite and efficient and reasonable. That is a good thing to find out about the guys who are going to come up here to save our asses if they need saving someday.�

�That�s good to hear,� Stivick said.

�Listen, I like to help support community resources where I live,� Jake said. �Do you have any organizations I could donate to?�

�Well ... yes,� Stivick said, his tone a little dubious now. �We have the PAL and the 11-99 Club and the law enforcement chaplaincy program, and they can all use more funding, but ... well ... I don�t want you to get the idea that by donating money that you will be given any special treatment in any way.�

�The thought never entered my mind,� Jake said, fibbing a little. He knew that, despite what Stivick was saying, a generous philanthropist was always given special treatment to some degree or another. He wasn�t expecting to be given a get out of jail free card or to have them overlook a crime that he might commit, but it never hurt to have the local law enforcers know that you were helping support them and their causes financially.

�In that case,� Stivick said, still dubious, but warming to the idea, �I�ll give you some pamphlets I have in my car.�

�I�ll take them,� Jake said. �And there�s one other thing I can do for you. Do you guys have a bar you drink at?�

Maxwell and Clark and Stivick all chuckled at this question.

�Of course we have a bar we drink at,� Stivick said. �We�re cops. It�s called the Pine Cove. It�s just down the street from the station in SLO city. SLO PD and the local CHP officers drink there too. Why do you ask?�

�You think maybe they�d like it if I popped in every now and then and played a little guitar and sang for you all?�

The cops all looked at each other and then back at Jake. �I think they would,� Stivick finally said. �How much would you charge for something like that?�

�It would be on the house,� Jake said. �Or ... nearly on the house. I�d do it for the price of free beer while I�m there.�

�Wow,� Stivick said. �I�d have to ask the owner, of course, but I think he�d be up for it.�

�Email me his name and number and I�ll get in touch with him,� Jake said. �There�s just a few stipulations. He can�t charge a cover fee or advertise by anything other than word of mouth on the nights I�m there. If there is money being directly made because of my performance, that runs into copyright issues if I play anything other than my own solo music. I can�t do any Intemperance stuff at all because National Records still owns the rights to it, but I can lay down some Led Zeppelin or some Kansas, or anything else that I want to play as long as money is not changing hands.�

�I�ll let him know,� Stivick said happily.

The three deputies all shook hands with Jake before getting back in their cars and driving off to other missions. Jake was left with a good feeling that he had accomplished something. Again, he was only half right.

The SLO News was the most popular local newspaper in Jake�s neck of the central coast of California. They did indeed print a story about the Jake and Laura Kingsley transvestite email, explaining in detail that it was not true, presenting the facts, reciting quotes from the SLO Sheriff�s department PIO who summarized the visit to the Kingsley house, and even showing side-by-side pictures of the original shot and the doctored one. The story was sent out on the AP wire for use by other news publications across the nation. Unfortunately, the only other paper that picked it up and published it was the Pocatello Register. In these two towns, at least, a good portion of the citizens were forced to conclude that the email they had been receiving and forwarding to others was not exactly genuine. This did not stop a lot of them from forwarding it on anyway, but it did erode the innate belief in the story in those two places.

Everywhere else in the nation, the email continued to circulate about. Though no newspapers and no television program printed or aired anything about the accusation, the story continued to proliferate. Much of this proliferation was on the internet as it became one of the first things to go viral, nearly two decades before that term was even coined. Others spread the story around orally, telling friends the tale, and those friends told other friends, and those friends told even more. And a good portion of those who read or were told the tale believed it.

After all, it had been written down. There had been a photograph. It had to be true if it was written down and there was a picture, right?

And so, by the time that the Kingsleys hosted their annual Christmas gathering at their house on the hill (they had still not told any of their friends and family apart from Elsa about their plans to have another member at the following year�s gathering, although most of the town of Oceano already knew this), there were literally millions of people in the United States and other parts of the world who sincerely believed that Jake Kingsley and Laura Kingsley were keeping a transvestite sex slave in their home and were regularly abusing her.

This belief and this topic of conversation by a certain subset of society would persist for decades into the future.

This was a very dangerous time for the young zygote. More than half of all human pregnancies ended right here in this phase when something went wrong. Usually, the woman who lost them had not even been aware she had been pregnant, did not even miss her next period. But nothing went wrong in this case. The cells continued to divide over the next forty-eight hours, getting bigger, and secreting more and more progesterone and follicle stimulating hormone, which flowed down into the uterus and signaled that a little passenger was on the way. The uterine lining continued to grow instead of shedding away like it normally did at the end of a cycle.

After three days, the zygote broke out of the zona pellucida layer and became a blastocyte. It then began to move toward the uterus, slowly pulled along by millions of little cilia on the fallopian tube walls. It continued to rapidly replicate its cells on the journey, until at last, eleven days after Jake had sent out the sperm, it reached the uterus and implanted itself on the posterior wall. Once there, it continued to grow at an exponential rate.

April 11 was Laura�s thirty-second birthday. They were still in Oregon, still staying in KVA�s clifftop house there and working on the V-tach CD, which was now in the mixing stage. Unlike with Brainwash, who always had to return to Providence and their jobs after the tracks and overdubs, the primary musicians were staying to help with the process, thus teaching them the basics of the skill and hopefully making the final product better.

Jake and Laura had plans to celebrate the conclusion of her latest trip around the sun. They were going to take the day off from the studio�it was Friday, after all, and they would not be missed much�and fly to Portland. Once there, they would have breakfast in the little caf� by the river they had dined in on their first trip there, visit the music store that had been their business that day (Jake would likely buy a new guitar since it was rude to just drop into a music store and not buy something, right?) and then have some dinner and stay in a suite in one of the downtown hotels where she could be as loud as she wanted when they fucked. Laura had gone to bed the night before quite looking forward to the trip.

But now, as she opened her eyes at 8:35 AM, she knew that something was not right. She was naked in the bed, smelled of sex, and had a little bit of a headache from the wine she had drank the night before. Jake was equally naked, equally smelly, and still sound asleep next to her. All of that was normal. What was not normal was that she was nauseous. And not just lightly nauseous, but extremely nauseous. And the smell of them�a smell she usually found associatively pleasant�was making the nausea worse by the moment. In fact, it felt like she was about to...

A second later she was scrambling out of the bed, fighting desperately with the covers which seemed to be doing their best to confine her. She finally managed to free herself and made a mad rush for the bathroom, barely able to take up position in front of the toilet before she started retching violently into it. A good portion of last night�s dinner came up, as did a good amount of bile that smelled of chardonnay.

All of the commotion had awakened Jake. He was now standing in the doorway behind her, looking at her with concern. �Are you okay?� he asked gently during a pause between retches.

�I don�t know,� she breathed. �I just woke up and was sick to my stomach. It came out of nowhere.�

�Hmm,� he said. �You didn�t drink that much wine last night. No more than you usually do.�

�I know,� she said, breathing heavily, feeling sweat forming on her skin. �It�s weird. Maybe it�s food poisoning or something.�

�You ate the same thing everyone else ate,� Jake said. �I don�t feel the least bit sick.�

She had another round of retching. This one was mostly dry heaves. And then, just like that, she began to feel better. Not all the way better, but a definite improvement. She slowly stood up and flushed the toilet. She then went to the sink and turned on the tap. She really needed to pee, but she wanted to brush her teeth first and get the taste of vomit out of her mouth.

�I�ll leave you alone,� Jake said. �Call me if you need anything.�

�Okay,� she said.

She rinsed her mouth out and then picked up her toothbrush and squirted a dollop of toothpaste on it. She started to brush listlessly, still feeling quite sour in the stomach. What a bummer to get sick on my birthday, she thought. What exactly did I come down with? One of those stomach flu bugs that goes around? But don�t you normally have diarrhea with that too? It seemed like that was part of the deal, but maybe this was some new strain of it.

Her bladder cried out insistently to her and she picked up the pace. She really needed to pee in a bad way. Just as she finished rinsing her mouth out, Jake reappeared, a strange expression on his face.

�What?� she asked, sitting her naked butt down on the toilet.

�Don�t do that yet,� he told her.

�What? Why not?�

�Something just occurred to me,� he said. �You just got sick out of nowhere.�

�Yeah,� she said sourly. �I�m aware of that.�

�You got sick in the morning,� he said. �As in morning sickness.�

She looked up at him and then shook her head. �I don�t think so,� she said. �It�s too early. I�m not even due for my period for another week or so.�

�But you�re past the fertile period for this cycle, right?�

�Well ... yeah ... that�s true, but...�

�Just pee on one of the sticks,� he told her, referring to the box of home pregnancy tests they had brought with them from home, assuming that she would need to test herself multiple times.

She wanted to argue the point but figured the path of least resistance was just to do what he asked. �All right,� she said. �Give me one. But hurry! I really need to go.�

He quickly got into the drawer in the vanity where they were stored. He took one out of the boxes, tore open the packaging, and took the little cylindrical device out. He walked it over and handed it to her. She shuffled around a bit, opening her legs wider so she had a clear shot. Jake watched her as she started to pee. She held the little round hole at the end of the cylinder in the stream for a second, getting urine all over her hands but accomplishing the task of collecting the sample. She then set the thing down on the counter while she finished her business. Jake stopped looking at her vagina and looked at the little cylinder instead. There was a viewing window in the middle of it that was about a half centimeter square. A negative sign meant no (or at least there was not enough human chorionic gonadotropin, or hCG, in her pee to be detected) and a positive sign meant yes.

�How long does it take?� Jake asked her. She had already done this several times before, but this was his first witness of the procedure.

�Two minutes,� she said, wiping with a wad of toilet paper. �Watch out. I need to wash my hands.�

She went to the sink and washed up. Jake continued to stare at the little window. The minus sign had come up pretty quickly, but the vertical portion remained blank. And then ... slowly, faintly, it began to fill in. It was not dramatic. It was not very prominent. But it was there. There was no mistaking it for a false reading.

�Well now,� Laura said. She was staring at it now as well.

�Yep,� Jake said. He turned and gave her a big kiss on the mouth.

They kept the news to themselves for now, mostly because they were not entirely sure the test was accurate. But it was only a matter of forty-eight hours before everyone noticed that Laura was no longer drinking wine, no longer smoking her pot, and seemed to be kind of sickly at times, particularly in the morning. Celia was the first to guess, since she already knew they were trying.

�Did he knock you up?� she whispered as they worked on the dinner dishes two nights later.

�Yeah,� she whispered back with a smile. �It looks like it.�

�Oh my God!� Celia cried. �That�s so exciting, Teach!�

�Jesus, Celia,� Laura said grumpily. �Why don�t you yell it a little louder? I don�t think the neighbors in the house down the street were quite able to hear you.�

�I�m sorry,� Celia said. �I�m just so happy for you.�

�Thanks,� Laura said. �But we�re pretty early in the process. The test might be a false positive. And even if it�s not, the first six weeks are ... you know ... the most likely for something to go wrong. I really don�t want to start getting attached to the little zygote until we know for sure that there really is one and that it�s going to be hanging around.�

�Understood,� Celia said solemnly. �Mum is the word for now.�

But, of course, it was just too out of character for Laura not to have her wine or her evening tokes on the pipe, so it wasn�t long until other people began to suspect what was going on as well. Sharon was the next one to draw the conclusion.

�Are you pregnant?� she asked bluntly as she, Nerdly and Laura manned the soundboard one morning while they cued up one of the tracks for primary mixing.

Laura looked at her intently. �Why do you ask that?� she demanded.

�Well ... you stopped drinking and smoking your pot,� she said. �That, coupled with the fact that you always seem to look ill in the mornings suggests that you might be.�

She sighed. �Elementary, Watson,� she grunted.

�Is it true?� Nerdly asked. �She suggested this to me last night, but I was more inclined to believe that you might be suffering from irritable bowel syndrome or perhaps an inflammatory bowel disorder such as Crohn�s disease.�

Laura raised her eyebrows. �You thought it more likely that I had a disease instead of being pregnant?� she asked.

�Naturally,� he said. �I am certain that Jake would have told me if he had conceived a child ... unless, of course, the child is not his and you have not informed him of its existence because of this. If that is the case, forget we asked.�

She shook her head. �The child is Jake�s,� she said. �We haven�t told anyone yet because we just found out ourselves.�

�I see,� Nerdly said. �And how did you diagnose the condition?�

�We�ve been trying to get me pregnant for a few months now,� she explained. �I haven�t taken my birth control pills since December. The other morning, I woke up and started vomiting so I peed on a stick and it came back positive. It was a faint positive but a positive nonetheless. There is a possibility that it is a false positive since I would be awfully early in the process at this point. I�m not even due for my period for another four days.�

�I beg to differ,� Nerdly said. �False negatives are quite common with home pregnancy tests, but false positives are almost unheard of. True, you are early in the process, but if you used the first morning urination for the test there likely would have been enough hCG in the sample for detection. Did you use the first morning urination for the sample?�

�Uh ... yeah,� she said, blushing. �I did.�

�Then it is likely that you really are pregnant. Congratulations.�

�Thanks, Bill,� she said. �And, just so you know, we�re keeping this close for now.�

�Understood,� Bill said.

But everyone else in the house picked up on it in the next forty-eight hours. And Pauline and Obie, who were staying at Obie�s house in Coos Bay for now, picked up on it when the four of them went out for dinner one night. Again, the illuminating factor was the fact that Laura was not drinking any wine with her steak.

�That�s badass,� Pauline declared when they confirmed the facts for her. �Tabby will have a little cousin! I just know they�ll grow up close to each other.�

�Probably,� Laura agreed, feeling a little overwhelmed by this point.

�You�ve got to tell Mom and Dad soon,� Pauline said. �They�ll be so happy to hear about this.�

�We�re going to wait until we get home and have confirmation that all is well before we start telling people,� Jake said. �You know? Just in case?�

�Oh ... right,� Pauline said. �I guess that makes sense.�

Over the next few weeks, Laura got more and more evidence that she was, in fact, knocked up. Every time she peed on a stick�and she did so with each morning urination for five days straight�it showed positive, the vertical bar showing a little more prominently with each successive test. And then her period did not come when she was expecting it. And then her breasts became tender and sore. And she continued to regularly barf in the mornings, though she usually felt better by the time breakfast was served, at which point her appetite would swell significantly and she would be watched with astonishment at the amount of food she was consuming.

�It looks like you got a little zygote in there all right,� Jake commented, though at this point in the game, it was no longer a zygote at all.

�Yep,� Laura agreed, growing happier with her condition by the day. �My little Ziggy.�

And that was what their name for it became. Pauline and Obie had called the fetal Tabitha �The Clump� after their doctor told them she was a clump of rapidly replicating cells, and Jake and Laura called her little clump Ziggy. They would, naturally, come up with a more suitable name later.

Meanwhile, life went on. Laura kept in touch with her brother Joey in Pocatello, calling him at least once a week to catch up on things. As it turned out, he and his family had not been able to come to California for spring break because she and Jake were still up in Oregon working on the V-tach project and Jake did not feel they could take a week off over spring break because the project was behind schedule and they only had studio time until May 1. They made plans instead for the Best family to visit in the summer, when things would be far less hectic and they could stay for two weeks instead of only one. She did not tell her brother about her little passenger and, since he was not here to observe her non-wine habit, he was unable to deduce it on his own.

On April 18^th, the first new cut from the Brainwash II CD began to hit the airways. It was called What�s In a Name? and it was one of Jim�s songs, a moderately toned alternative rock piece with some fairly profound lyrics. It was not the best cut on the CD, but it was the best of Jim�s and Jake had directed it to be promoted first so it could be followed up with one of Marcie�s tunes and then one of Steph�s. The listeners seemed to like the tune well enough. It got a lot of requests and was soon being played regularly from coast to coast throughout each day on alternative rock and pop stations, though the hard rocks tended to ignore it. Jake liked the song well enough, but every time he heard it he could not help but think what it might have been had he just been there to help shape it in the early stages of the recording progress.

Oh well, he thought at such times. I made my choice to concentrate on the TSF and now I have to live with the consequences.

On April 27^th, the mixing and the mastering of the V-tach CD (simply titled V-tach) was finally complete to everyone but the Nerdlys� satisfaction (they felt that if they could just have a few more days to tweak a few more levels, they could nail it down to perfection). Copies were made and distributed to the band members and those involved in the studio portion. A box of copies were given to Jake for distribution to the Aristocrat suits primarily, but to other record companies if Aristocrat used their option to pass on the project if they did not feel it would sell. Jake was pretty certain they would not pass on the option. The boys had put out some good solid tunes and they had mixed and mastered them quite well.

Celia got back in her car for the two-day drive home (she planned to overnight in the Heritage area and then continue on the next morning). The members of V-tach were flown home on a chartered Gulfstream that KVA Records paid for. The Nerdlys, Jake, Laura, and little Ziggy all climbed into Jake�s plane and left Coos Bay behind until the next time.

No one was sure exactly when that might be.

On May the 5^th, Cinco de Mayo, Laura and Jake arrived at the office of her gynecologist, Dr. Vargo, in Granada Hills just before 10:00 AM. She had had blood work drawn the previous day and they were here to go over it and receive their official confirmation that Laura was pregnant, although at this point there was no longer any doubt in their minds. She still had not had her period, her breasts were now getting larger as well as sorer, and she had begun to have strange food cravings�watermelon and other melons chief among them, fruits that she had never really cared for much before.

�He�s not going to stick his hand up in there, is he?� Jake asked as they entered the modern office building.

�No,� she said. �He is not going to stick his hand up in there.�

They did not have to wait long after they were put in one of the exam rooms. Whether this was because they were a celebrity couple or it was just how the doc did business, Jake did not know.

�Congratulations,� he told them once the door was closed. �You are indeed pregnant.�

Even though they were already quite positive, it was a happy moment to hear that it was official.

�And everything is okay?� Laura asked.

�As far as I can tell at this point,� Vargo said. �The hCG quant test we ran�that�s the test that tells us just how much hCG you have and allows us to extrapolate how many weeks pregnant you are�indicates that you are approximately ten weeks along at this point. That matches up pretty much exactly with your last reported menstrual period of February 18^th. All of your other tests look good as well. CBC is normal, electrolytes and urine function normal, no glucose or ketones in your urine, blood glucose level normal. And you are blood type A positive, which means you won�t have to worry about getting the Rhogam shot after you deliver and during every subsequent pregnancy.�

�I�m O negative, doc,� Jake said. �The different Rh factors won�t hurt anything?�

�Not when the mother is Rh positive,� he said. �Her body is already used to seeing the antigens on her blood so her immune system will not attack the fetus.� He looked at Jake sharply. �However, if she were to ever get you pregnant, you would need to get the Rhogam shot.�

Jake chuckled. �I�ll keep that in mind,� he said.

�Now let�s talk about some fun numbers,� Vargo said next. �How about your EDC�the estimated date the baby is due?�

�Let�s hear it,� Laura said.

�Based on your LMP, your last menstrual period, we�re looking at on or about November 25^th. A Thanksgiving baby is definitely a possibility. Of course, when you have your ultrasound at sixteen weeks we�ll be able to narrow that down a bit more.�

�Does your little chart there tell you when the baby was conceived?� Jake asked.

�It does,� Vargo said, �although there is a margin of error here. I point that out because I�ve had couples proclaim that they did not have sex on the day I name for them, and this has even led to accusations of infidelity at times.�

�We understand,� Jake said.

�With an LMP of February 18^th, we�re looking at a date of conception on or about March 4^th.�

They both nodded. Jake was smiling. �Did we have sex on that day, hon?� he asked her.

She giggled and blushed simultaneously. �I�m pretty sure that we did,� she said.

Neither of them remembered the actual encounter at this point, but both knew that hardly a day went by when they did not do it.

�Ah yes,� Vargo said. �Laura here told me about how the two of you have a proclivity for practicing the art of reproduction. Now, the next step is to get you referred to an obstetrician to care for you through the pregnancy and the delivery. Did you have anyone in mind?�

�Not yet,� Laura said.

�I can recommend some practitioners that are a part of our medical group,� he said.

�Can you recommend some practitioners who have privileges at Baptist Hospital in San Luis Obispo?� Laura asked. �That�s where we�re going to be having the baby at.�

�Unfortunately, I cannot do that,� he said. �I have no knowledge or literature on practitioners in San Luis Obispo county. You�ll probably have to contact your insurance company for a list of referrals on that.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said.

The appointment lasted a few more minutes. Vargo went over the diet Laura should be following, the importance of continuing to take her prenatal vitamins, and the importance of abstaining from alcohol and drug use, particularly in the first trimester.

�I haven�t had a drop of wine or a single toke on the pipe since I got the first positive test,� Laura assured him.

�Excellent,� Vargo said. �Keep that up. Are there any further questions?�

There were not. They thanked the doctor for his time and made their way to the exit.

�All right,� Laura said. �We�re now more than two months into this thing. How about we start telling people about it?�

�If you�re ready for that, I am too,� Jake said. �Celia, the Nerdlys, Paulie and Obie already know. We should call my parents next.�

�Yes,� she said. �And then I want to call Joey and let him know.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �What about the rest of your family? Are you going to tell them before the entertainment media does?�

She frowned a little. �I probably should,� she said. �I think I�ll send them a letter just to let them know. I don�t expect they�ll respond to it, but who knows? Grandkids can change people�s opinions.�

�Maybe,� Jake said carefully. He hoped she was wrong about that. Her parents and her other siblings besides Joey were certainly not people that he cared to meet. But then that was what he had thought about Joey as well.

�And what about the entertainment media?� Laura asked. �How should we let them know about it? Should we just let them find out on their own, or should we send out a press release of some sort?�

�I think we should send out a press release,� Jake said. �We can have Paulie do it. Make it short, simple, and sweet. Laura Kingsley is pregnant with the couple�s first child, the due date, and nothing more than that. It will give them something to report, and they won�t be pissed off and prone to speculation when they finally figure it out on their own.�

She nodded. �Sounds good.�

He put his hand on her leg and gave it an affectionate squeeze. �I love you, hon,� he told her.

She smiled at him. �I love you too,� she returned. �I�m really excited about Ziggy, but I�m really scared about it as well.�

�I know,� he said. �You�ll do fine.�

�It�s such a big step in life.�

�Yes, it is,� he said. �But we�re ready for it.�

They drove on toward their Granada Hills home. Jake had a meeting with some of the suits at Aristocrat later that day and now it seemed they needed to start putting together a press release.

And inside of Laura�s uterus, little Ziggy just kept on replicating cells, growing bigger and bigger by the hour.

Malibu, California

June 18, 1997

The Kingsleys had some business in LA on this Wednesday afternoon�the bimonthly KVA meeting, which had now become weekly due to the two separate projects underway�and took the opportunity to accept a dinner invitation from Gordon and Tanisha Paladay at their Malibu home. They had not been able to get together with G and Neesh for quite some time now due to everyone�s respective schedules, and all four of them had been looking forward to the gathering ever since it had been planned the week before. Dinner was a delicately roasted prime rib, lovingly cooked to perfection by Consuela, the Paladays� middle-aged live-in domestic servant, served with steamed asparagus spears, mashed potatoes, and a rich gravy. Jake, G, and Neesh enjoyed a bottle of 1987 Napa Valley merlot with the meal while Laura enjoyed a nice, refreshing bottle of Sprite on the rocks.

After the meal, while Consuela cleaned and put the kitchen and dining room back in serviceable condition, Jake and G retired to the composition room upstairs so they could smoke a joint, drink scotch on the rocks, and try to come up with another compilation tune that they might be able to put on G�s next CD, which he was just now starting to put together. Laura and Neesh, meanwhile, retired out to the deck, Laura with another bottle of Sprite, Neesh with a glass of her favorite chardonnay, to catch up on all the latest in each other�s lives.

�Girl, you are most definitely starting to show now,� Neesh commented as they took their seats next to each other at the patio table.

Laura smiled at the comment. She was dressed in a pair of white shorts and a green sleeveless top that was a bit tight on her. It was something she had owned pre-pregnancy and had worn frequently because it preserved her puritanical sense of public modesty by not allowing much of a view of her cleavage thanks to a high neckline and her small breasts. But now she was thinking it was time to put it away until after her post-delivery lactation period. Her breasts had swollen quite noticeably now that she was well into the second trimester, lowering that neckline and raising her cleavage border. She also had an unmistakable baby bump in her belly, which caused the hem of the shirt to occasionally ride up a bit, revealing the flesh of her midriff�another part of her body that she generally did not show in front of anyone but Jake.

�Yeah,� she said shyly. �Soon I�m going to be as big as a house. I really need to start shopping for maternity clothes soon.�

�You look good,� Neesh said, reaching over and placing her hand directly on the baby bump. She began to rub it. �You�re going to be one of those women that looks hot all throughout the pregnancy. You know? The kind of bitch that other women hate.�

Laura chuckled, enjoying the feel of Neesh�s hand on her quite a bit and knowing that Neesh was enjoying it in more than a friendly way as well.

�You�d better stop that soon,� Laura told her, an impish smile on her face, �or I just might start begging.�

�You won�t have to beg very hard,� Neesh told her, her eyes shining. �I�d love to get them boobies of yours in my mouth just as an appetizer. Look at them things.�

�Yeah,� Laura said. �They�ve never been this big before. And they are incredibly sensitive now. There�s a lot to be said about this whole second trimester horniness thing. Jake is barely able to keep up with me.�

�Is that the beginning of a beg?� Neesh asked hopefully.

Laura chuckled again. �Maybe,� she said. �But you know the rules. I would have to clear it with Jake first, which would necessitate G being briefed in.�

The look of hope fell flat. G did not know about Neesh�s bisexual dalliances and she intended to keep it that way. It was something that she believed he would not understand or approve of. �Spoilsport,� she said with a pout.

�Sorry,� Laura said, with complete sincerity. Even though she and Jake had done it that morning just before taking their showers before their flight in, she already wanted, needed some more. She had always been more than a little amorous since she and Jake had done it that first time in Coos Bay, but the hormones surging in her now had upped that by a factor of ten or more. She was constantly horny now, every minute of every day, and never satisfied. And that was just for Jake. She was craving the touch of a female almost obsessively these days but had not enjoyed such a touch since she and Celia had fooled around a little that one fateful night out on tour.

Neesh reluctantly took her hand away, noting with keen interest that her gentle caress of Laura�s soft belly had made the redhead�s nipples hard. She picked up her wine and had a quick slug of it in a vain attempt to drown her frustration. �It�s just as well,� she said with a sigh. �There probably some sea lion out there that would find a way to interrupt us.�

That gave both girls the giggles as they remembered Laura�s naked encounter with the snoozing pinniped out on that very beach a few years back.

�So ... anyway,� Neesh said. �You said you had your ultrasound a few days ago, right?� Laura had mentioned that at dinner.

�That�s right, on Monday,� she said. �That was the very day I turned sixteen weeks.�

�And you said everything was good?�

Laura nodded. �A perfectly normal sixteen-week fetus with the placenta implanted exactly where it is supposed to be. All the identifiable internal organs intact and developing normally. All the identifiable bones developing normally. Everything in proper proportion. Everything perfectly on track.�

�That�s good to hear,� Neesh said.

�It was a relief,� Laura agreed.

�But did you find out what it was?� Neesh asked.

Laura smiled. �Dr. Niven did the exam herself,� she said. �She told us that she was about ninety percent certain that Ziggy is a little girl.�

Neesh smiled. �A little girl, huh? That�s awesome, Teach. But only ninety percent?�

�In the ultrasound at sixteen weeks they determine sex by the absence or presence of external genitalia. With a boy, it�s usually pretty clear what they�re looking at so it�s easier to be one hundred percent certain. She got a good look right between Ziggy�s legs and couldn�t see little balls or a little pee-pee. So, we either have a girl cooking in there, or a boy who is going to have some hangups as he goes through life.�

Neesh laughed. �How does Jake feel about that?� she asked.

�He�s very excited,� she said. �He�s not one of those men who would be disappointed if he didn�t get a boy. He just wants a healthy baby. That�s all I want too.�

�You two are going to make great parents,� Neesh said. �Have you started thinking about names yet? Or have you already decided on Ziggy?�

Laura giggled. �Ziggy is just her nickname while she�s a fetus,� she said. �That came from Dr. Vargo explaining that a baby starts her existence as a zygote right after fertilization. We would never actually name her that any more than Pauline and Obie would have named their baby Clump.�

�Ziggy is a much cuter name than Clump,� Neesh pointed out. �And it would go along with some of those other baby names that celebrities are hanging on their kids�like your friend Mindy Snow, for instance.�

�We wouldn�t do that to little Zig,� she said. �We have talked a little about names and have decided that it should be something musical in nature�we are musicians after all, and music is what brought us together�but Jake absolutely insisted, and I agree, that we will not give our child a �fucked-up name�, as he puts it.�

�Musical, huh?� she asked. �Any examples?�

�Nothing but rejects so far, and not even very many of those. I suggested Leslie, you know, after Jake�s favorite guitar, the Les Paul, but he did not like that at all. He said all the girls in school would call her Lez.�

�Hey now,� Neesh said. �Nothing wrong with a little Lez every now and then.�

�True,� Laura agreed (and how, she thought, eyeing the swell of Neesh�s breasts and wishing they were in her mouth), but there is no sense in setting up someone for ridicule. Jake says you have to make the high school bullies at least work a bit to come up with something.

�He may have a point there,� Neesh said after a moment�s thought.

�Jake suggested Harmony, but ... I don�t know, I don�t really like the sound of that one. I�m not sure why, but it just doesn�t appeal to me. He agreed to take that one off the table.�

�I�m not sure I�m down with Harmony either,� Neesh opined. �In any case, I can�t wait to hear what you eventually come up with.�

�Me either,� Laura said.

They watched the sun sinking toward the sea for a few minutes, hearing the crashing of the surf and the screaming of the gulls as they flew back and forth. There was no offshore marine layer and only the gentlest of a breeze blowing.

�I saw in the papers that your girlfriend Celia is one of our neighbors now,� Neesh said, breaking the silence.

�Yes,� Laura said. �She has a beautiful house not even five minutes from here. Maybe I can talk her into having us over one of these days. I�m sure you�d love to see it.�

�She is a cool chick,� Neesh said. �At least from what I saw of her at your wedding. How is she doing these days? She over the breakup with her hubby?�

Laura shrugged. �She�s coping the best she can,� she said. �She was up in Oregon with us while we were working on the new group�s CD, helping out. We didn�t really need her up there�truthfully, they didn�t really even need me up there�but it seemed like she needed to get out of LA for a while.�

�The entertainment media were saying that you and she were getting it on,� Neesh said. �Please tell me that shit is true.�

Laura shook her head. �No truth to it at all,� she said. �Just entertainment media innuendo.�

�That�s too bad,� Neesh said. �She�s quite the piece. What about them stories about her and that female pilot?�

�Nothing to that either,� Laura said, fighting to keep looking Neesh in the eye as she lied to her. She knew she was a terrible liar and hated doing it, but that was not any of Neesh�s business and it was not her place to decide who should know Celia�s secrets.

Neesh nodded, seemingly buying the lie. �A pity,� she said. �But understandable. I saw that picture of the pilot she was supposed to be getting it on with. A little masculine looking for my tastes.�

�Suzie is cool,� Laura said. �And she�s not as butch looking as that picture suggests.�

Another nod. �What about those other stories?� Neesh asked. �The ones about you and the groupies out on tour. You don�t have to tell me if you don�t want to�just say no comment�but the thought of you having a bunch of slutty bitches come to your hotel room to eat you out is really fuckin� hot, Teach.�

Laura smiled. It was her place to decide who to share her personal information with, and Neesh was a friend who would understand and be discrete with the information. �Yeah,� she said. �That happened. Not quite as much as they suggested, but with fair regularity.�

�Goddamn!� Neesh said, clearly aroused by the admission. �You have got to tell me about this. How does it work? You just go pull some slut from the audience, or what?�

And so, Laura explained the intricacies of how a traveling musician hooked up with a lesbian groupie out on the road. She made a point to explain the unbreakable, set-in-stone rule about how you never kiss a groupie. Neesh listened quite attentively, and her own nipples got hard as she heard the tale.

�And Jake knows about all this?� she asked.

�He knows,� she assured her. �It�s part of our deal.�

�Girlfriend,� Neesh said, �I really do envy you on this matter.�

�Being able to do that kept me from going crazy with lust out on the road and maybe being tempted to try something with the opposite sex. Jake would definitely not approve of that. Neither would I.�

She nodded. �Not that that keeps the fucking media from speculating about it,� she said bitterly.

�Yeah,� Laura sighed. �I know what you mean.�

What she meant was the latest unsubstantiated rumor being passed around about the little bundle in Laura�s belly. Shortly after the appointment with Dr. Vargo in which it was confirmed that Laura was pregnant, she and Jake released a statement through Pauline announcing the particulars of the situation in as sterile and straightforward and, most of all, briefly a manner as possible. Most of the entertainment media printed and aired the announcement as written the next day. After that, the speculation and rumormongering began.

Though, as Pauline had assured them, no tabloid, newspaper, or entertainment show dared publish anything about the underage transvestite story since it was provably refutable and would thus open them up to libel and slander charges (though the offending email continued to circulate and the story continued to be passed far and wide by word of mouth), the stories about her pregnancy were a completely different monster. The first had been that Laura had conceived via artificial insemination because Jake had become sterile from all the drugs he had taken over the years and all the STDs he had contracted. The next had been that she had conceived accidentally as a result of birth control failure just before an orgy the couple attended (it was taken as a given in the entertainment press that Jake and Laura regularly attended orgies) and they were unsure who the father even was. And now, the latest rumor that had appeared first in the American Watcher, and then the LA Times and on Entertainment Reports, was that they knew exactly who the father was: Gordon Paladay, known to the world as Bigg G, who was a regular visitor to the Kingsley�s clifftop house in San Luis Obispo county according to the locals (G had only been there one time, Neesh still had not been there at all). The idea that Jake was actually the father of little Ziggy and that the two of them had actually wanted to create her was never even suggested. And, since there was no way to prove that reporters filing these stories or presenting them on television knew that the rumors were untrue, there was nothing the Kingsleys or the Paladays could do except to declare the story the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard when their agents were contacted for comment on the matter.

�Where do they even come up with shit like that?� Neesh asked. �Do a group of them just sit down and make things up, or what?�

�No, that would be unethical journalism,� Laura said angrily. �Instead, they go find someone on the street, someone who does not even know us on anything more than a superficial level, and ask them their opinion on the matter. God only knows who came up with the artificial insemination story, or the orgy story, but Jake and I are pretty sure it was some of the locals in Oceano that fed them the story about Gordon being the father.�

�Yeah?� Neesh said. �What makes you think that?�

�Jake�s become friendly with some of the sheriff�s deputies that work in our area,� she said. �He donates money to their causes and he goes down to their bar on Friday nights to play guitar for them, sing for them, and drink beer with them. They told him that there were some reporters from the Watcher sniffing around last week, talking to a bunch of the locals, asking them about us and what sorts of things we did here in town. It was right after that that the story first popped up in the Watcher.�

�Assholes,� Neesh spat. �Why would you want to live among people like that?�

�We don�t live among them,� Laura said. �We live on a cliff that is miles away from any other house. Oceano is just the nearest town to where we are, the place we do our grocery shopping and fuel up our cars and things like that. We�ve never done anything to those people, have never been anything but polite and kind to them, Jake contributes a considerable amount of money to their high school music program and their libraries, and they respond to that by spreading lies and speculation about us.� She shrugged. �It�s frustrating, but it�s the price we have to pay to live where we do and be the people that we are. I love our house and I�m willing to pay that price. Besides, it doesn�t really matter where we live. The same thing used to happen when we lived in LA. Our neighbors would talk about us and the papers would print it. At least in Oceano we are isolated and secure. The reporters cannot actually approach us at our home.�

�I suppose there is something to be said for that,� Neesh allowed. �It just makes me angry. These assholes are printing and airing that my husband is fucking another man�s wife and got her pregnant and there is nothing we can do about it.�

�It�s the life we choose,� Laura said with a sigh.

�Yeah,� Neesh said bitterly. �The life we choose.�

Upstairs, Jake and Gordon had just finished burning the joint and were feeling pretty good. Jake sat with his Fender acoustic on his lap and Gordon sat behind his electric piano. So far, neither of them had played a single note. Instead, they were talking, doing much the same as their better halves and catching up on what had been going on in each other�s lives.

�I hear that song by your Brainwash peeps on the radio a couple times a day now,� G said. �I like it. It pulls you in. The Nerdlys outdid themselves with the engineering.�

Jake nodded. Brainwash�s debut song from the Brainwash II CD, What�s in a Name?, was getting saturation airplay all across the United States and Canada and was moving steadily up the charts. �It�s actually doing better than I thought it would,� he said. �I was afraid that it was over-engineered and under-polished.�

�Well, it is to some degree,� G allowed. �I can certainly hear your absence in the piece, but you had good material to start with and the Nerdlys to put their anal-retentive ways to it.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �My absence is why we were over budget and almost over time.�

�How�s the CD itself selling?� G asked.

�Not as fast as the first one,� Jake said. �We went Gold last week and are creeping slowly upward from there. I think this one will be a little more conventional than the last. We probably won�t start getting runaway sales until we�ve had three hit songs aired regularly.� Assuming we get runaway sales at all. He was really worried about that. Brainwash II just did not have the same panache as Brainwash. And there was nothing that could be done about that at this point in the game.

�You gonna have those teachers hit the road?� G asked. �That should pick up some sales for you and generate some tour income.�

�Aristocrat is hot to send them out,� Jake said. �They were willing to finance the tour and split the profits with KVA fifty-fifty. They figured we could easily price the tickets at seventy-five minimum, three hundred maximum, and sell out all of the first-rate venues. I am inclined to agree with them. Unfortunately, Brainwash balked at the idea. They voted four to one against going out.�

�What the fuck did they do that for?� G asked, appalled at the thought of a successful musical act not going out on the road.

�Of the five of them, only Steph, the guitarist, is willing to quit her teaching gig. In fact, she has already done it. The rest are too afraid of cutting themselves loose and drifting. Their school board has been clamoring to fire them for years now. They know that if they resign they will never get another teaching gig in New England.�

�That sounds idiotic,� G opined. �How much you paying them people in royalties?�

�Each individual member has made well over a million-five from the first CD and are poised to pull in almost as much with the second. Unless they completely crash and burn�which I don�t think is likely at all�they will be set for life as long as they don�t do something stupid. And if you throw in the touring income�they would be entitled to half of KVA�s cut of the profits to divide up among themselves�that puts them in an even more secure position.�

�Did you explain that shit to them?�

�I did, and so did Pauline. But that�s not the only thing factoring into their decision. They all have kids in school. They don�t want to leave them for four or five months while they travel all over the country playing dates.� Jake shrugged. �Can�t say I fault them for it.�

�Yeah, I suppose,� G said, though he really had no concept of what it was like to have to worry about the welfare of children. Neither did Jake, really, but he was starting to understand it a little now.

�We�ll see how it goes,� Jake said. �Maybe by the time we get to Brainwash III, they�ll be ready to make the move.�

�There�s gonna be a Brainwash III?�

�Absolutely,� Jake said. �They have an incredible catalogue of marketable tunes. We could easily get two or three more hit CDs out of them just with their existing repertoire. And they tell me they�re getting together on the weekends again up in Providence to work on new material.�

�That�s cool,� G said. �What about the band that Phil and Ted and the boys put together? How�s that going?�

�V-tach,� Jake said, smiling. �I�m looking forward to seeing what happens with them. Aristocrat listened to the CD and agreed to MD&P for them for only twenty-five percent royalties�plus payment in advance for the cost of manufacturing and distribution, of course. Not bad for a first-time act on an indie label.�

�Not bad at all,� G agreed.

�They�re not doing it out of the kindness of their hearts,� Jake said. �They want to stay on our good side, knowing that there will be future Celia Valdez and Jake Kingsley and Brainwash releases that they can profit off of as long as they keep us happy. Besides, I think they finally have faith in me and my ability to find and produce good music. They listened to V-tach�s master and seemed quite impressed with it. It has a bunch of solid tunes that will be appealing to the younger gen-x crowd in particular. I am rather proud of the end result. I worked very closely with them through the whole process and was able to shape everything like I did with Celia and I and the first Brainwash.�

�They�re a good bunch,� G said. �I had a lot of fun playing with them for the TSF. You gonna send them out on tour?�

�We�ll have to play that one by ear,� Jake said. �Their first release will be a tune called When I�m Not Home. It�s about a dude who thinks his lady is getting dicked by someone else while he�s at work.�

�A subject to invoke strong emotion in the male listening audience,� G said.

�Agreed,� Jake said. �It�s a solid piece with a good hook. It�ll start getting airplay on Fourth of July weekend. The CD will hit the shelves on July 22. We�ll see how the sales go after that. Like with any new band, we�ll probably need to get three hits out on the air before CD sales start to take off. They�ll have to be selling an assload, however, before it becomes financially advantageous to send them out. Aristocrat has already told us they won�t finance one hundred percent of a tour for V-tach but they will spring for half if they think it will be profitable. That means they�ll have to be popular enough that we can at least expect to sell tickets for sixty minimum.�

G shook his head in amazement. �Sixty a ticket minimum for a new band,� he said in wonder. �Remember all of them years we were charging sixteen-fuckin�-fifty for all the seats in the house even after we were established?�

�I remember,� Jake said. �Times have certainly changed.�

�And they keep fuckin� doing it,� G said. �What�s next, you think?�

�I don�t know,� Jake said. �I�m not sure where else we can go from here.� At the moment, he, nor even the Nerdlys, had the slightest inkling of the coming rise of the MP3 file with its easy transmission over the internet, its easy storage on media with greater capacity than a mere CD, and how that would change the music industry in a way that was nearly as fundamental as the invention of the sound recording itself.

But that was still a few years in the future. For now, they had a tune to work on.

�Where do we start?� asked Jake.

�The same way we did for Signed,� G said. �We come up with a concept that is shared by both of us and try to come up with lyrics and a melody for it.�

Jake nodded. �We already covered getting screwed by the record companies,� he said. �What else do we got in common?�

�We both like pussy,� G suggested. �We could write something profound about our love of sinking into some trim.�

�A sex song?� Jake asked. �Don�t you want to do something a little deeper than that?�

�Hey,� G said, �not everything has to be a fuckin� political or philosophical masterpiece.�

�Yeah ... maybe,� Jake said, considering. �And it�s not like most of the people listening to our music have any idea what it�s actually about anyway.�

G looked over at him. �How�s that?� he asked.

�How�s what?� Jake asked.

�That bullshit you was just spouting. What do you mean that most of the people listening don�t know what we�re laying down?�

�It�s true,� Jake said. �I wish it wasn�t, but the fact is undeniable. Don�t you read your fan mail?�

�I do,� G said, �but most of it is from bitches that just want to fuck me. They don�t wax philosophical about the meaning of my lyrics.� He grinned. �They do send lots of Polaroid shots though. And now that we have the email up and running for the fan club, they send Jpegs too. You should see the collection I have.�

�Yeah,� Jake said, �I�m familiar with the concept.� He had his own collection of such shots stashed away in a corner of his office and saved on his hard-drive. �But the bitches who want to fuck are not the point. The point is that most people who listen to us on the radio and buy our CDs are getting into it because of the hook, and the music, and the guitar solos. The ones who actually understand the lyrics and the concept of the tunes are few and far between. I�d say somewhere in the vicinity of five percent or so�at least for the tunes that are not blindingly obvious.�

G was shaking his head. �I can�t accept five percent as a legitimate number,� he insisted. �I might buy fifty-fifty, but even that is stretching it.�

�It�s true,� Jake said. �I get letters and emails all the time from people who think they know what my music is about but are completely clueless. When someone actually does pick up what I�m laying down�which happens maybe once in every batch of correspondence�it stands out because it�s so rare. In fact, some bands, like Led Zeppelin or Dio for instance, don�t even try to make their lyrics meaningful. They just throw down some lines that sound cool, that rhyme, and that are backed with solid music and the fans eat it up.�

�Now you�re completely talking out of your ass,� G accused.

�Think so?� Jake said. �Tell me what Stairway to Heaven is about.�

�Uh ... well ... I�ve never actually...�

�You know the lyrics, right?� Jake asked. �Everyone knows the lyrics to Stairway. Run them down in your head right now and tell me what the song is about. Here, I�ll help.� He began to pick out the melody for Stairway on his guitar and then sing the lyrics in question. He got as far as the third stanza before G stopped him.

�All right,� the rapper said. �You made your point. Stairway ain�t got no decipherable meaning to it.�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Fuckin� Plant and Page don�t even know what the goddamn song is about. They just got high one day and threw down some cool sounding lyrics and it became the most popular rock song in history. And it�s not just Stairway. Kashmir? No one knows what the fuck they�re talking about there either, not even them. Basically, any Led Zeppelin song that is not about sex, Vikings, or hobbits is meaningless. And it�s not just Zeppelin either. You ever listen to Elton John? Great singer, great pianist, his music is beautifully composed and engineered, but what the fuck is he talking about in Daniel? In Levon? In Madman Across the Water? He ain�t talking about shit, that�s what he�s talking about.�

G pondered those songs Jake had just named off and concluded that he was correct about that as well. It was an interesting epiphany for him. �You don�t write shit like that, do you?� he asked.

�No,� Jake said. �Every one of the tunes that I�ve written and produced and recorded has meaning. Sometimes the meaning isn�t all that deep, but it�s always there, ready for someone to interpret.�

�You ever try to write something like that?� G asked.

�No,� Jake said. �That�s not what I�m about. I want my tunes to have meaning.�

�Do you think you could pull it off though?� G asked.

�Pull some lyrics out of my ass and lay them down? Of course I could pull it off, but why would I want to?�

�To prove your point,� G said. �As an experiment in the lack of the musical sophistication of the majority of the American population.�

�I don�t need to have that point proven to me,� Jake said.

�How about a wager then?� G asked.

�What do you mean?�

G grinned. �Are you working on your next CD yet?�

�I�ve been doing some composing at night,� he said. �Coming up with some basics. I�m at least six to eight months away from walking into the studio though.�

�Then you�ll have lots of time,� G said. �I�ll bet you that you cannot compose a completely meaningless and indecipherable tune lyrically that will not only receive saturation airplay but will chart above number five on the Billboard for at least a week.�

Jake was interested in the challenge. �What are the stakes?� he asked.

�Winner gets a case of twenty-five-year-old Glenlivet single malt, delivered to his house in person.�

Jake smiled and held out his hand. �You�re on,� he said.

They shook on it, and then tried to get to work.

They obviously could not fly back to Oceano tonight since Jake had been drinking scotch and smoking marijuana. At ten-thirty, they climbed into his Ford F-150, Laura behind the wheel, and started the drive back to Granada Hills, where they would spend the night.

�I�m going to shower as soon as we get there,� Laura said (she, like Jake, never referred to the Granada Hills house as �home�). �After that, I want you to eat my pussy out and then fuck me from behind.�

�Okay,� Jake said with a nod. �Sounds like a plan.� He had kind of been hoping that maybe they could give it a rest on this evening, but apparently that was not in the cards. He had never been in a position before where he was getting tired of having sex, but here it was. Being called upon to perform at least twice a day, every day, for several weeks in a row now, was starting to take a toll on his libido. He supposed it was a problem that many husbands around the world would kill to be faced with, but it was a problem, nonetheless.

�You�re a good sport about all this,� Laura said with affection, patting his leg. �I can�t believe how ... you know ... enthusiastic I�ve been lately.�

�That second trimester hormone surge is something to be reckoned with, all right,� he said.

�Yes,� she said, �and then there�s the normal effect I get whenever I�m around Neesh. She still triggers something in me. Especially now.�

Jake nodded. �I guess once you�ve seen a woman in her wedding dress getting her pussy eaten by another woman, it will have a profound and lasting effect on you.�

�And how,� Laura said with a smile at one of the hottest memories in her brain. �I�m really craving ... you know ... some female companionship of late, sweetie.�

�Oh yeah?�

�Yeah,� she said, her eyes shining brightly. �I hope that doesn�t upset you.�

�Not in the least,� he said truthfully. In fact, her words were having quite the opposite effect. His unenthusiastic pondering of another jaw cramping session of cunnilingus followed by a pounding with his already sore and abraded member suddenly began to seem a lot more appealing. �Did you have someone in mind? Maybe Molly again?�

She shook her head. �Molly was a one-time deal,� she said. �I think she felt some shame about ... you know... you being involved in the act. I�ve tried to talk to her a few times since then but she�s always abrupt with me and ends the conversation as soon as she can.�

�A pity,� Jake said. �That was pretty fuckin� hot what we did that night.�

�Yeah, it really was.�

�I don�t have to be there, you know,� he told her. �I mean, I loved it that I was, but it�s not necessary. You can tell her that if you want.�

Laura shook her head. �I liked having you there,� she said. �I loved it. It added so much to the experience knowing that you were watching. And then ... when you got involved. Oh God, I�m getting all wet just thinking about it.�

Jake�s libido was now making a rapid recovery. He was starting to stiffen up in his jeans at her words. �What are you saying then?� he asked carefully.

�I want to do that again,� she said. �Only this time ... well...� She was blushing furiously.

�What?� he asked.

�I think it would be really hot if you were to ... you know ... be able to do things with the other woman too.�

�Do things?� he asked. �What kind of things?�

�Everything,� Laura told him, the lust unmistakable in her eyes now.

Jake took a deep breath and swallowed slowly. The conversation had certainly taken a turn toward the interesting. But there could be mines and pitfalls here as well. �Are you saying,� he asked carefully, �that you want me to actually have sex with another woman?�

�Only if I�m there,� she said firmly. �And only if I�m involved as well.�

�Where did this come from?� he asked. �Is this just the second trimester hormones playing games with your mind? Because I certainly do not want to do anything on a momentary impulse that is going to jeopardize our relationship down the road.�

�This is not just the hormones talking,� Laura assured him. �I�ve been thinking about this ever since that night with Molly. Yes, the second trimester made the feelings stronger, and seeing Neesh tonight maybe pushed them into the light, but this is not a new thought. Whenever I ... you know ... use my toys these days, that is what I�m thinking about while I play.�

�Why didn�t you ever tell me this before?� he asked, now completely erect in his jeans.

�Because I always thought it was just a fantasy before,� she said. �You don�t tell me all of your fantasies, do you?�

�No,� he said with a chuckle. �I do not.� Some of them she would definitely not understand or approve of.

�That�s why I kept it to myself. I never considered actually doing it.�

�But now you are?�

She nodded. �I�m starting to obsess about it now, sweetie,� she said. �I want to do this. I want to ... well ... it�s embarrassing.�

�What?� he asked.

�I want to watch you fuck another woman while I suck on her tits and tongue-kiss her. And I want to have you pull it out every now and then so I can suck her juices off of you. And then ... I want you to come inside of her so I can lick everything out of her.�

�Wow,� Jake whispered, resisting the urge to actually take out his cock and start playing with it. �But you know we can�t actually do that, right? I mean, even if I was doing it to another woman, I�d have to wear a condom.�

�Not necessarily,� she said.

�What do you mean?� he asked. �Of course I�d have to wear one. I can�t fuck some groupie we pick up bareback. That�s just asking for an STD, or a paternity suit, or both.�

�I�m not talking about a groupie,� Laura said. �It would have to be someone we know. Someone we trust.�

�Who do we know that would do both of us and that we could trust to be STD-free and on birth control?� he asked.

She looked at him and smiled. �I think you know who I�m talking about,� she said.

For a moment his mind was blank, and then it hit him like a freight train. �Celia?� he asked.

She nodded, the lust shine in her eyes deepening. �That�s right,� she said. �The natural choice.�

Jesus fucking Christ, he thought. What fucked-up can of worms is she trying to open here?

In the end, Jake simply had no legitimate reason to tell her no, that it couldn�t be done, that it was too dangerous. He could not just say, it�s like this, hon. Celia and I have actually already fucked before, already admitted to romantic love for each other, back when you were out on the road with Bobby Z and she was still married to Greg. We fucked four times in a Portland hotel suite and then vowed to each other that we would never do it again, never even speak of it again, not even to each other. Nor could he claim that he was not attracted to Celia, that he did not consider her an appropriate threesome participant�they were married, and Laura knew better. Nor could he suggest that maybe Celia was not into that sort of thing. They already knew she was. And, when they were with Celia these days, she constantly complained about how she was craving male company in a bad way but had no prospects for that kind of company on the horizon.

He did try to plant some doubt in his wife�s mind about her nefarious plan. �What happens if Celia starts to develop feelings for me?� he asked. �What if she starts to develop them for you? What if you see the two of us doing it and instead of arousal you start to feel jealousy?�

�None of that will happen,� she assured him. �We all already have feelings for each other. That�s the first thing. And I will not be jealous watching you two doing it as long as I�m there and involved in it.�

�What if Celia says no?� he asked next.

Laura smiled. �Then she says no. She won�t be offended by the offer; I am quite sure of that. And I don�t think she�ll say no.�

�Okay,� he reluctantly agreed. �I guess it doesn�t hurt to ask.� He was still very conflicted about the thought. True, the idea of doing Celia (again!) while his wife participated was blackly erotic. But was it a good idea? Could they really do something like this and then move on with their lives?

Celia and I did a pretty good job of that after that night in Portland, his brain reminded him. Why can�t all three of us do the same thing? And who says it has to be a one-time-only thing? Now that was an interesting thought.

�So then,� Jake said. �How do we go about this?�

�Uh ... well ... I was actually hoping that maybe you had an idea how to initiate it.�

�Me?� he asked. �It�s your idea, your fantasy.�

�True,� she agreed, �but you�re much more experienced at this sort of thing than I am.�

�I am?�

�Of course you are,� she said. �You used to do groupies and have threesomes all the time, didn�t you?�

�Well ... yeah,� he said, �but that�s hardly the same thing we�re talking about here. Those were groupies. You order them up like a pizza and they are delivered to you. No planning is involved. There is no question about whether or not she�ll give it up. She wouldn�t be there if she wasn�t going to give it up. And, while I have stumbled into the odd non-groupie threesome on occasion, I�ve never had to actually arrange for such a thing on my own and in advance. Most of the time, they just sort of happen spontaneously.�

�You�re suggesting that we try to seduce her then?� Laura asked. �Have her over and try to make things happen spontaneously.�

�You don�t make things happen spontaneously,� Jake said, lightly exasperated. �That is a contradiction in terms. And no, that is not what I was suggesting. I wasn�t suggesting anything. I was just explaining that I do not have more experience than you at this sort of thing. You have more than me. You�re the one who reeled in Molly, remember?�

�Well ... yeah,� she said. �I do remember that. Is that the answer then? Just use a lot of innuendo to suggest what we�re after and hope she picks up on it?�

�Celia is not Molly,� Jake said. �I don�t think that would work on her. She knows us too well and we know her too well.�

�What then?� she said. �Do we just ask her?�

Jake considered this for a moment. �Well ... in most other aspects of trying to obtain something you desire in life, just asking is usually the first, simplest, and most basic step.�

She thought this over and then nodded slowly. �That is true,� she said at last.

Jake made the phone call the next morning, just after they ate the sausage and red bell pepper omelets he had prepared for breakfast. Laura was cleaning up the kitchen from his efforts. Celia picked up on the third ring, as it was her private line and she recognized the number on her caller ID screen as that belonging to the Kingsleys� Granada Hills address.

�Hello?� her voice said in his ear.

�Hey, C,� he said lightly. �Jake.�

�What�s up?� she asked, her voice all business. Laura, in the way of females of the human species, would often call just to chat with her, but Jake, in the way of males of the human species, only called to discuss business or to convey or request information.

�Just calling to see if you have any plans for the day,� he said.

�Nothing at the moment,� she told him. �I�ve been strumming out some tunes lately, but nothing that can�t be put off. Something going on?�

�No, not really,� he told her. �Laura and I are still here in LA and decided not to fly back home until tomorrow.�

�Really?� she asked, surprised. She knew that the two of them tried to spend as little time as possible in Los Angeles.

�Yeah,� he said, preparing to tell a rather large lie, though he was much better at that sort of thing than his wife. �Elsa�s grandkids are visiting for the week and we figured we�d let them have the place to themselves for another day. Anyway, we were thinking that if you were up to it, we�d come over and visit you. We really want to try out that pool of yours and I�m willing to make you dinner in exchange for some swim time.�

This was a perfectly reasonable attempt at fishing for an invitation in exchange for a service. Celia was not much of a cook, had yet to hire someone to do it for her, and was generally in the habit of ordering food to be delivered. Jake and Laura, on the other hand, had not installed a swimming pool at their Oceano home as it was considered a major (maybe even impossible) project due to the rock that their cliff was composed of. The Granada Hills house had a pool, but they rarely used it. Celia�s new house, however, had an infinity pool that looked out over the ocean. Both of the Kingsleys were envious of it and had been dying to swim in it ever since first seeing it.

�Uh ... sure,� Celia said. �That sounds like a good deal. What are you going to cook for me?�

�Anything you want,� he said.

�Oooh,� she said, delighted now. �How about some of those ribeye steaks that you grill? I have this fancy-schmancy barbeque island out next to the pool and it hasn�t been used yet. You can break it in for me.�

�Sounds good,� he said. �How about some baked potatoes and asparagus to go with it? I can do both of those on the grill as well.�

�You read my mind,� she said. �What time?�

�How about we come over around two o�clock or so? We�ll swim for a few hours and then have dinner at six?� Maybe have a threesome with you in between the two events, he did not say.

�It�s a date,� she said.

�Cool,� Jake replied.

�I guess if I�m going to put on my bikini in front of other people I should shave the fuzz off my legs and armpits.�

And in other places too, he thought lasciviously. �I�ll let you get to that then,� he told her. �See you at two-ish.�

�See you then,� she said and then hung up.

He put the phone back in its charger and then walked back to the kitchen, where Laura was scrubbing out the cast iron pan he had used.

�Well?� she asked.

�We�re formally invited to Valdez Manor for swim time and to prepare dinner,� he said.

�Very nice,� Laura said, a twinkle in her eye. �Hopefully, we�ll also have a nice dessert too.�

�Hopefully,� he said, still having doubts that this was a good idea, but hoping that it happened anyway.

Celia�s house was on Broad Beach Road, an offshoot of the Pacific Coast Highway as it ran through Malibu. The two-lane road was atop a sixty-foot ridge that rose above the beach between Zuma Beach and Broad Beach itself. From the street, the multimillion-dollar beachfront mansions did not look all that impressive, Celia�s included. This was because all that one could see from the street was the top level of the homes, which was generally just the driveway and garage. The actual living areas of the homes were built into the slope of the ridge and extended all the way down to just above the beach level itself. All the homes in this stretch protruded out onto the beach and sat atop reinforced concrete pillars driven thirty feet into the sand and the bedrock beneath it. This kept the lower levels�where the decks and family rooms generally were found�safely above the crashing waves when a particularly strong storm blew in and drove its surge beyond the high-tide mark and all the way to the base of the ridge itself.

Casa Valdez had been built in 1990 and owned by a particularly successful local real estate developer who had sold it to Celia for eleven million dollars after he and his wife divorced following the revelation that he was actually gay, had contracted HIV from one of his many male lovers, and then passed it on to her (reasonable grounds for divorce, Jake thought when Celia told him the story). Jake pulled his truck into the driveway at precisely 2:00 PM and stopped in front of the intercom box with its all-weather security camera. He rolled down the window and pushed the button. Celia did not speak to him. She just opened the left side sliding door of the four-car garage. Jake pulled in and parked next to her Mercedes. By the time he and Laura got out, the door was already sliding back down behind them.

They went through a door and down a set of stairs to another door. This led into a large foyer with vaulted ceilings and huge picture windows that looked out to the open ocean to the south and along the beach to Point Dume to the east. A spacious hallway to the right led off to the three-room master suite where Celia slept, the laundry room, and three of the four guest bedrooms, each of which had their own private bath and ocean views. An open staircase led downward from here to the lowest level where the kitchen, family room, dining room, guest bathroom, and one more guest bedroom could be found. They went down the stairs to the family room, which was decorated in a postmodern nautical theme. Two large windows and a huge set of sliding glass doors looked out over the beach and the water. The deck itself sat directly atop the pillars over the beach and was quite large, stretching the entire width of the house from side to side and extended outward for more than thirty feet. Out here was the infinity pool, a built-in hot tub, a large barbeque island, and a collection of expensive patio furniture.

Celia greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of white shorts and a loose-fitting tank top with her red bikini top underneath. Flip-flops were on her feet. She gave them each a hug even though it had only been twenty-four hours since she had last seen them, and then took the bag of dinner groceries from Jake and carried it into the kitchen. They followed her and helped her put the perishables away.

�Let me get you some drinks going,� Celia said. �Teach, I have a pitcher of iced green tea in the refrigerator.�

�That sounds good,� Laura said.

�What about you, Jake?� she asked. �Should I open a bottle of wine, or do you want a mixed drink from the bar?�

�Actually,� Jake said, �I think I�ll have some of that tea as well.�

She gave him an odd look. �Really?�

�Really,� he said. �I�ll have some wine with dinner.�

�Okay then,� Celia said doubtfully. She had never known Jake to turn down an offer for an alcoholic beverage when he did not have to perform or rehearse or fly.

Jake had his reasons. He and Laura had talked it over and decided that if they were going to do this thing, they were going to do it sober, without plying Celia with alcohol to break down her resistance and mask her judgment. Of course, they could not stop her from drinking if she wanted to, but if neither of them were drinking she would be unlikely to get herself hammered before they had a chance to pose their question to her. The plan worked. Celia poured all three of them a tall glass of the green tea on ice.

�Shall we go out to the deck?� she asked after everyone had glass in hand.

�Let�s do it,� Jake said.

They returned to the family room and went out the sliding door onto the deck. It was a beautiful southern California late spring day. The sky was mostly blue with no clouds in sight, the temperature a pleasant seventy-five degrees (it had been eighty-three in Granada Hills) and a mild onshore breeze was blowing, bringing the scent of salt water to their noses. The infinity pool was smooth as glass, without so much as a ripple in the water. The infinity edge went right up to the end of the deck, making it look as if the pool blended in with the ocean. The sound of waves breaking was the dominant sound, followed by the screeching of sea birds. The beach itself was almost completely deserted. Though it belonged to the people of California, just like the vast majority of the ocean beaches in the state, it was almost impossible for anyone but the residents of this particular stretch of Broad Beach Road to get out there. There were no public easements from the road or from the PCH on this stretch and it was guarded by rocky outcroppings on both sides, located about a half mile apart; obstacles that a casual beach user or surfer would have to climb over in order to gain access. The only easy way onto that beach was from the sea itself or from the staircases that led down from the houses that fronted it.

While Laura and Celia sat down in the loungers next to the pool, Jake set his tea down and then kicked off his own flip-flops. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the lounger next to Laura�s. Celia whistled appreciably as she saw his bare chest.

�All right,� she said with a naughty laugh. �Show us some skin!�

Jake smiled and he and Laura shared a look between them. Could be you�ll be seeing a lot more skin in a little while, he thought. �It�ll cost you a dollar to see it all,� he told her. �And you have to tuck it into my shorts.�

�Will you take a check?� she asked.

�Not from you,� he scoffed playfully. The ladies giggled.

He unbuttoned his shorts and pushed them down, revealing the baggy, mid-thigh level swimming trunks he was wearing beneath. �I�m going in!� he announced. With that, he leapt high in the air, pulled his legs up beneath him, and crashed down into the placid water with a huge splash that sent waves outward in all directions. The water was not heated and had a bit of a chilly bite to it but was refreshing, nonetheless. He surfaced and then rolled over onto his back and began to backstroke the length of the pool.

�That was a good cannonball,� Celia said good naturedly. �You got both of us.�

�That was my goal,� he said.

�How�s the water?� Laura asked.

�Perfect,� he lied. �Just perfect.�

He paddled around for a few minutes and then swam over to the edge closest to the women. He rested his arms on the deck and let his legs float out behind him. �Come on,� he told them. �Are you going to make me swim alone?�

�Okay,� Laura said, standing up. �Are you sure there are no sea lions in there?�

�Reasonably,� Jake said with a laugh.

�Come on, C,� Laura said. �Let�s get wet.�

�Best offer I�ve had today,� Celia said with another giggle.

Laura pulled off her outer layer of clothes. To Celia�s surprise, she was wearing her bikini beneath them instead of her usual modest one-piece suit. It was a green bikini, not the most revealing in the world, but it allowed Celia to see a fair amount of the top of her breasts and her smooth belly with its prominent baby bump.

�Looking hot, Teach,� Celia said appreciatively. �I thought you didn�t wear bikinis in front of anyone but Jake.�

�Well ... you�ve seen everything I have to show,� Laura reminded her.

Celia blushed a little at this. Though she knew that Jake knew about what had transpired between the two of them in that hotel room that one night, they had never talked about it in front of him before. �Uh ... yeah, I guess I have,� she said. She then looked down at the baby bump again. �I�m sorry, I just have to touch that.�

�Be my guest,� Laura said with a smile.

Celia reached out and began caressing her right on the bump.

�Mmm,� Laura said with a sigh. �Your hand feels nice.�

�So does your belly,� Celia said. �And look at your chichis! They�re all big now.�

�You wanna feel them too?� Laura asked.

All right, Jake thought, watching this transpire. We might be in business here.

Celia took this as a joke, which it mostly was. She laughed and finally took her hand away. �All right,� she said. �I guess it�s my turn.�

�I have my dollar bill ready,� Jake said.

Celia chuckled and then pulled off her tank top, revealing the red, form-fitting, strapless bikini top. Jake could see that her nipples were partially erect. He reveled in the sight of those perfect breasts as he saw more of her flesh than he had since that night in Portland. His doubts about what they were trying to do here fled far into the back of his brain. She kicked off her flip-flops and then pushed her own shorts down and off. The bikini bottoms were the same shade of red as the top and were just as form fitting. Her legs were as beautiful as they had always been and her lower belly was still flat and unlined. He imagined his wife putting her face between those legs and felt himself starting to stiffen a bit.

The ladies, being ladies, did not simply jump into the pool the way Jake had. Instead, they went to the steps in the shallow end and put their feet and ankles in first. Both of them winced as they felt the first touch of water.

�You liar!� Laura barked at him. �This water is freaking cold!�

�Not once you get all the way in,� he countered.

�There is a heater for it,� Celia said. �Maybe I should turn it on?�

Jake shook his head. The Nottingham house pool had had a heater too and he knew its ways. �It�ll take six hours before you feel a difference,� he told her. �And your accountant will scream at you about the gas bill. Just get in! You get used to it quick.�

They did not want to take his advice. Instead, they gradually worked their way into the water, one pool step at a time, each step taking nearly five minutes to accomplish, before they were finally standing on the bottom of the shallow end, the water reaching to just above Celia�s knees and just below Laura�s hips. They stood there shivering a little, not wanting to go any further.

This was the moment Jake had been waiting for. He paddled over as if he was just coming close enough to talk and then pounced, grabbing Laura around the waist with his left arm, Celia around the waist with his right and pulling them both against his body. He then kicked off the steps with his feet, propelling himself and the two ladies backwards into the deep water, forcing them to submerge to their shoulders and neck.

They were outraged by his sneak attack. Laura actually called him an asshole. Celia called him a cabron. Both of them grabbed his head and forced it underwater for a moment. When he surfaced again, Laura spit a mouthful of water at him, striking him in the face. He took his punishment like a man, actually enjoying the feel of all the female flesh pressing against him, putting their hands on him. And his trick had the desired effect. By the time they finished abusing him, they were nicely warmed up and used to the water and ready to forgive and forget.

They paddled and swam around for the next twenty minutes, playing like children who had been given access to a motel�s pool during a family road trip. Jake and Celia both did some handstands on the bottom. Laura did a few backflips into the deep end from the edge. They all splashed each other and laughed and smiled. And Jake and Laura both made a conscious effort to make physical contact with Celia�s body as much as they could get away with, bumping into her, grabbing her legs underwater, even picking her up and throwing her once. It seemed that Celia was enjoying the attention on some level. Whenever her chest broached the surface of the water, it was plain to see that her nipples were standing at attention.

Finally, a bit fatigued, they paddled over to the shallow end and sat on the pool steps, Laura between Celia and Jake.

�It�s too bad you can�t skinny dip in here,� Jake observed. �At least not during the day.�

�Yeah,� Celia said with a sigh. �That is the one drawback of this house. The neighbors are awfully close.�

This was true. Celia�s house was separated by less than six feet on both sides from her neighbors� houses. Both neighbors had decks that protruded out and both had windows that could look down upon anything that transpired on Celia�s deck. Jake could, in fact, see the silhouette of a female walking back and forth on occasion behind some of those windows on the house to the right.

�Do your neighbors know who you are?� asked Laura.

�I have no doubt that they do,� Celia said. �Remember, the Watcher printed my address when I entered escrow. The LA Times picked up on it the next day and published it again. There were more articles when I actually closed escrow and moved in, including a picture of the house that someone took with a zoom lens from a helicopter out over the water.�

�Have you met any of them?� Jake asked.

She shook her head. �No, not officially anyway.� She pointed to the right. �The couple in that house are older, in their sixties or so. They seem like fussbudgets when I see them walking out on the beach, which they do every evening at precisely 6:15. They have one of those little yap-dogs and they don�t clean up its poop.� She pointed to the left. �Over there are two men in their forties. They are always impeccably dressed and they have a little yap-dog as well. They, at least, carry baggies with them when they walk their rodent. I waved at them once and they just looked at me, turned up their noses, and then went on their way.�

�I bet their house is very well decorated though,� Jake opined.

�I bet you�re right,� Celia said with a laugh.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Celia staring out along the infinity border at the ocean while Jake and Laura passed looks back and forth and communicated nonverbally in the way of married couples.

Ask her, Laura implored with one look.

You ask her, Jake replied with a look of his own. This was your idea.

But you�re better at this sort of thing, Laura�s look insisted.

We�ve been over this, Jake replied. I�ve never done this either.

It did not take long for Celia to realize that something was going on. She could see them furiously trading marital communication looks with each other, but could not quite interpret what they were communicating about�other than it had something to do with her. �All right, you two,� she said. �What�s going on here?�

Jake shot one more intense look at his wife. Shit or get off the pot, that look said.

Laura sighed nervously. �Okay,� she said softly. �There is a bit of a nefarious plot underway here.�

�Oh?� Celia asked, raising her eyes a bit.

�Yeah,� Laura said. �You see ... we were thinking ... Jake and I, you know ... that maybe ... uh ... how to put this?�

�I don�t know,� Celia said. �How can you put it?�

She looked over at Jake again and found no help there. She looked back at Celia and blurted, �What would you think about having sex with us?�

Celia blinked slowly. �I�m sorry,� she said. �Please repeat that.�

�We would like to have sex with you�both of us�if you are willing,� Laura said.

Celia simply stared at her for a moment. �You ... you are serious about this?� she finally asked.

�Yes,� Laura said. �I ... we ... are completely serious about this. Aren�t we, sweetie?�

�Absolutely,� Jake said, fascinated by this turn of events. He could not tell if Celia was disgusted, intrigued, or simply amused by the question. Her face remained completely expressionless. �Dead serious.�

�I see,� Celia said. �And what made you two decide to proposition me in this manner?�

�Well ... it�s like this,� Laura said. �I am bisexual and I have not been with a woman since the last time you and I ... you know ... played around a little in that hotel room out on tour. I really want to be with a woman again, Celia. And I know that you haven�t been with a man since that night in El Paso with Greg. I�m guessing that you are probably craving some ... you know ... male attention by this point. And I know that you are unwilling to just jump into bed with a guy that you don�t have some sort of relationship with. And so, it seems that maybe we can both help each other out a little bit. You are attracted to Jake, right?�

�Uh ... right,� she said carefully, casting a glance at him. �But ... Jake is your husband. If I were to have sex with him ... that would be cheating.�

Laura shook her head strenuously. �No, it wouldn�t,� she insisted. �If I�m there and participating, and I�m the one who arranged for it in the first place, it�s not cheating. It�s consenting adults openly enjoying each other and helping each other through a drought. I already know that you and I have a sexual attraction toward each other�unless you�re turned off by the fact that I�m starting to show. That doesn�t gross you out, does it?�

�No,� Celia said. �It doesn�t gross me out at all. In fact, I think you look extraordinarily sexy with your bigger boobs and your baby bump and I would love to put my hands and mouth on you, truth be told. You are not the issue, Teach.�

�I�m the issue,� Jake said.

�That is correct,� Celia said. She shook her head a little. �I cannot believe I am actually having this conversation. This is not a dream, right?�

�It can be,� Laura said in her impish voice.

Celia giggled a little and then returned to looking serious. �I have always been sexually attracted to Jake,� she said carefully. �I will freely admit that. And I know that Jake has always been sexually attracted to me. Am I correct?�

�Yes,� Jake said softly. �Ever since the first time I met you at the Grammy party.�

�And I understand that,� Laura said. �There�s nothing wrong with it. I�m giving you a chance to act on that attraction, C. The only ground rule is that I be there, watching and participating.�

�And you won�t be jealous?� Celia asked, clearly having a hard time accepting this. �You won�t be worried that Jake and I will fall in love with each other.�

Laura looked at her pointedly. �You two are already in love with each other,� she said. �I�ve known that for years, ever since I saw you two working together in the studio back when I first hired on as the sax player. And I�m in love with both of you as well. And I strongly suspect that you, C, kind of love me in that way too. That�s what will make this thing work. We wouldn�t just be slaking each other�s lust. We would be expressing our love for each other.�

�I see,� Celia said carefully. �That is a compelling argument, Teach. I do love you.� She looked over at Jake and they shared their own look with each other. �And I love you as well.�

�I know,� Jake said, speaking the truth.

�If we were to do this,� Celia said, �where would it end? Is it a one-time thing?�

Laura shrugged. �I suggest we give it a try and just go where it takes us. If we like it and decide to do it again, there�s nothing wrong with that, is there? As long as all three of us agree that we want to do it again. That should be rule number one in this thing. Everyone has to want to do it, or it is not done.�

�That�s a good rule,� Jake offered. He was starting to sense that Celia was leaning in favor of the proposition and his nervousness at discussing the subject was gradually being replaced with sexual excitement.

�And rule number two would have to be that it only happens between the three of us,� Laura added. �No Celia and Jake getting together on their own. No Laura and Celia getting together on our own.�

�You and I still get to do it on our own though, right?� Jake asked, just for clarity. He was not going to trade away his normal marital fucking for sporadic threesomes, even it was with Celia Valdez.

�Well, yes,� she said, looking at him as if he were a dolt. �Naturally.�

�Just making sure,� Jake said.

They looked over at Celia, who had a thoughtful expression on her face.

�So ... anyway,� Laura said, �that�s what we wanted to ask. That�s our nefarious plot. If you say no, our feelings won�t be hurt. We will understand. Won�t we, sweetie?�

�Totally,� Jake said.

�An interesting proposition,� Celia said.

�We thought so,� Jake said.

�What do you say?� Laura asked softly.

�What do I say?� Celia said. She smiled. �I say: let�s go upstairs and get naked.�

Laura smiled. �Let�s do it,� she said.

They were all dripping with pool water and had to dry off first. They tromped upstairs to Celia�s expansive master suite with its huge King-sized bed. They walked by the bed and into the master bath, which had an enormous jacuzzi tub and a large glass-enclosed shower stall, both of which looked out over a second-floor deck and the ocean. Celia closed the blinds to keep prying eyes from observing their business and then handed out large bath towels to her guests. And then, without fanfare, she pulled off her bikini top and tossed it into the bathtub. While Jake and Laura stared at her exquisite breasts in awe, she pushed down her bottoms as well and then used her foot to kick them into the tub too. Their eyes drifted from her breasts down to her nether region, which had been shaved smooth and was completely hairless. Her lips were already swollen and congested.

Celia looked at the two of them still standing there in their swimming suits, their eyes drinking her in. �This had better not be the part where you tell me this whole thing was a practical joke,� she warned.

�No, not at all,� Jake said quickly.

�Then get those fucking swimsuits off,� she barked. �I�m starting to feel awkward here.�

�Right,� Jake said. He quickly pushed his shorts down and kicked them into the tub as well. His manhood was already quite interested in the game being played and stood up proudly. Celia looked at it and sighed contentedly. It had been so long since she had seen one in the flesh. Far too long. And she knew from personal experience that Jake knew how to use his weapon�although Laura did not know that she knew this, and Celia and Jake had passed a few non-verbal communicative looks of their own and reached an agreement that she would remain ignorant of this information.

Laura quickly took off her top and bottoms as well. Her nipples�which had grown along with the rest of her breasts�were standing at attention. She had shaved herself this morning and only had the little landing strip of copper colored hair on her pubis. Her lips were swollen and ready for action too. She could not wait to get her hands and mouth on Celia�s body. Could not wait to see her husband�s member sliding in and out of that Venezuelan vagina.

They all used the towels to dry themselves off and then tossed them in the bathtub as well. Celia then led them into the bedroom once more. They closed all the blinds and turned on the lights. Celia tuned the radio to a soft-rock station and adjusted the volume to a low-to-moderate background level. The three of them then turned and looked at each other, indecisive about how to begin things.

Laura finally made the first move. She walked over to her husband, pressed her naked body against his, and pulled his head down for a kiss. It was a kiss of passion, their tongues swirling together while her hand slid down and grasped his erection gently, stroking it up and down a few times. She then broke the kiss and let go of him. She turned to Celia and walked over to her.

�Your turn,� she said softly, holding out her arms.

Celia stepped into them. They held each other tightly and Laura pulled Celia�s face to hers. A moment later, they were kissing each other, their tongues in each other�s mouth while their breasts pushed together. Laura slid her hands around to Celia�s backside and grasped her butt cheeks, feeling them, caressing them. Jake watched them, his excitement rising, but wondering what that etiquette was here. Should he go join the embrace? Or should he wait until he was directed to do something?

Again, Laura showed the way. She broke her embrace with Celia and then guided her over to Jake. �Now,� she said, looking at both of them, �it�s your turn.�

Jake and Celia looked at each other for a moment, both of them nervous, both excited. They did not move until Laura put her hands on their backs and prodded them forward. And then their naked bodies were against each other. Jake felt the press of her hard nipples against his chest, the touch of her bare thighs against his, the exquisite sensation of his erection pushing again the soft skin of her pubis. He saw lust in her eyes as they looked at each other, but love as well. His own expression mirrored hers.

�Go ahead,� Laura whispered, excitement quite plain in her voice. �Kiss each other. You know you want to.�

They did want to and, now that they had been given official permission, they did so. Jake put his mouth to Celia�s and they kissed lustfully, passionately. Celia, he was reminded, was a very good kisser, with soft, pouty lips and a slippery tongue that she used skillfully. She tasted of green tea and smelled of chlorine, though he was now beginning to catch the odor of her arousal drifting up to compete.

�Yes,� Laura half whispered, half moaned. �This is so fucking hot. I knew it would be.�

When their kiss broke, Laura put her hands between them and pried them apart. She pointed to the bed and looked at her husband. �Come on,� she said. �Let�s make her feel good.�

�Okay,� Jake said, a little breathless.

They laid Celia down on the bed on her back and went to work on her as a team. Jake kissed her some more while stroking her stomach. Laura kissed her neck and then worked her way down to her breasts. She took the left nipple into her mouth and began to suckle it while her hands stroked up and down Celia�s thighs, staying well clear of the junction between them for the time being. Jake then broke contact with her mouth and kissed his way downward, nibbling on her earlobe for a moment and then following her jawline downward onto her shoulder. He licked her armpit for moment, finding that this was a particularly erogenous zone for her.

�Madres de Dios,� she moaned as she felt his tongue there.

He kept it up for a few moments and then continued his journey south, soon arriving at her right breast. He began to suckle her, letting her feel the sheer bliss of having both nipples sucked simultaneously. She put her hands to the back of their heads and pulled them tighter. Laura, meanwhile, let her hand drift upward and finally slide along Celia�s inner thighs. Celia opened her legs widely as she felt this.

�Touch me, Teach,� she pleaded. �Please!�

Laura did not deny her. She slid her fingers into a dripping wet warmth and felt Celia clutching desperately at her. She raised her head from Celia�s nipple and looked her in the eye.

�You�re so wet,� she whispered. �Are we turning you on?�

�Si,� Celia panted. �Very much.�

�I bet you�d like my husband to fuck you now, wouldn�t you?�

Celia moaned but not reply.

�Wouldn�t you?� Laura asked, giving her a particularly hard thrust with her fingers.

�Yes,� Celia said. �I want him to fuck me! Please, let him fuck me!�

Laura looked at Jake, a lustful smile on her face. �You heard the lady,� she said. �Fuck her good.�

Jake fucked her good. He positioned himself between her legs and, for the first time since that night in Portland years before, slid his manhood into a woman other than Laura. It felt incredible. He kept on his knees while he thrust in and out of her so Laura could access Celia�s upper body to her heart�s content. And access it she did. She watched his member go in and out of her for a few moments and then, still laying on Celia�s left, began to kiss her again, deep tongue swirling kisses of feminine lust. She did this for a minute or so and then broke the kiss and adjusted her body so her head was close to where Jake�s penis was sliding in and out of her.

�She smells soooo good, sweetie,� Laura told him.

He nodded, almost incapable of speech at the moment. He was actually fucking Celia while his wife was kissing and sucking and stroking her. Was this shit really happening? Or was this a dream he was going to wake up from?

�I want to taste her,� Laura said next. �Give me a taste.�

Jake pulled his erection out of Celia�s body�she moaned almost painfully at its withdrawal�and then twisted his hips to the right. Laura leaned forward and slurped him into her mouth, sucking all of Celia�s juices off of him.

�Mmmm,� she moaned when was finished. �She tastes good too. Carry on.�

Jake slid back inside of her and resumed thrusting. Laura repositioned again and put her tongue back in Celia�s mouth, allowing her to taste herself. Celia kissed her back frantically, sucking on her tongue like it was an erection.

Jake had to use every mental block in his inventory to keep his orgasm at bay long enough for Celia to have one. The sheer eroticism of what was occurring here, the sight of his pregnant wife tongue-kissing and suckling on Celia Valdez, and the sensation of his cock in an unfamiliar vagina, his hands touching an unfamiliar body, his nose inhaling unfamiliar pheromones, all served to put him on edge almost from the first stroke. But he hung in there by sheer willpower until Celia began to pant, until her skin began to flush, until she began to thrust erratically back at him while shouting out guttural Spanish profanity

�That�s it, C!� Laura encouraged between sucks of Celia�s nipples. �Come for us! Come for us!�

She came for them, shouting it out to the world. Jake was right behind her. He finally let the mental block down and shot an incredibly large load into her still spasming body.

�Yes!� Laura cried as she witnessed this. �Put it all inside of her! All of it! And then I�m going to suck it back out!�

�Madres de Dios, Teach,� Celia panted. �That�s so fucking hot!�

�Yeah,� Laura agreed.

Jake pulled himself out of her and stood back on the floor. Laura quickly crawled between her still spread legs and put her face down into her dripping crotch. She drove her tongue up inside of Celia, licking and slurping and gathering as much of her husband�s spend as she could.

�Oh my God,� Celia moaned. �I can�t believe this is happening.�

�If it�s a dream,� Jake said, �it�s the best one I�ve ever had.�

While Laura continued to lick and suck between Celia�s legs, Jake leaned down and shared another deep, lustful kiss with her. They did this for a few minutes and then Celia pulled back. She looked in his eyes. �Go kiss her,� she told him. �And then come back and kiss me some more.�

Jake smiled and did as he was told. He moved his head down her body, stopping for a second at her nipple to have a quick suckle, and then watched his wife licking and sucking her swollen sex. He gently lifted her head up and then kissed her, tasting Celia�s juices on her tongue.

�Do you want a little lick?� Laura asked.

�Sure,� he said. He leaned down and licked up and down her slippery lips for a few seconds.

�Ohhhhh, Jesus!� Celia moaned.

He raised his head up, tongue kissed Laura again for a few moments, and then let her get back to work. He went back to the north and put his mouth on Celia�s once again. She kissed him desperately, sucking on his tongue to get every last bit of her own flavor.

Celia had her second orgasm a few minutes later. It rippled through her as Laura sucked on her clitoris and Jake kissed and bit her neck. When the spasms for that finally died down, Celia, now sweaty, flushed, and smelling quite strongly of her juices, sat up and then stood. Now it was she who pointed to the bed.

�Lay down there, Teach,� she ordered. �Now it�s your turn.�

Laura smiled and did as ordered.

Celia and Jake worked on her for nearly thirty minutes. Celia took on the primary role, kissing on her and working her way down to her swollen breasts, which she slobbered over and sucked on until Laura was frantic and desperate. She then kissed her way downward while Jake took over the role of nipple sucker and tongue kisser. She spent a while kissing and caressing the baby bump and Laura�s belly button before working her way down between her legs. Celia had learned a lot from her sessions with Suzie and was able to draw two intense orgasms out of Laura with her lips and tongue and fingers.

�Your turn,� Celia told Jake after the second orgasm.

Jake was only too happy to oblige. He mounted his wife and began to thrust in and out while Celia lay next to her, kissing her mouth, her neck, her nipples, while her hand played with the baby bump and occasionally dipped down to tweak her clitoris a little and feel Jake�s slippery member doing its work. Jake was more in control now that he had already spent once, and was able to keep up the pace long enough for Laura to have two more orgasms. His control broke, however, when Laura pulled Celia up further into the bed so she could suck on her nipples again. The spasms started and he poured his second load into her body.

After that, they fell back onto the bed, Laura in the middle, Jake on her left, Celia on her right. All were now sweaty and smelled of slaked lust. None of them spoke for the longest time. It was Laura, once again, who finally broke the silence.

�Well,� she said. �Do we regret doing that?�

�I don�t,� Jake said. �That was, by far, the most erotic thing I have ever done in my life.�

�Me too,� Celia agreed. �Nothing else even comes close. Not that first time with Suzie, not even what you and I did that one night, Teach.� Not even what Jake and I did that one night, she did not say, though she did think. �And no, no regrets.�

�Me either,� Laura said. �And, while Jake and I have had some very erotic moments in our time together�remember the airplane, sweetie?�

�Which time?� he asked. �The time in the hangar or the time in the air?�

�Both, really,� she said.

�You two did it in flight?� Celia asked, amazed and awed.

�Well, yes,� Jake said. �We had to.�

�Had to?�

�Anyway,� Laura said, �while those events were quite erotic, as was our little session with Molly the lesbian, they cannot hold a candle to what we just did.�

�Does that mean ... uh ... that we can do this again?� Jake asked carefully.

Laura smiled. �We�ll just have to see how we feel over the next few days and weeks,� she said. �There are no regrets right now, but that does not mean there won�t be any.�

�I suppose,� said Celia.

�But I have a good feeling about this,� Laura said. �A real good feeling.�

San Luis Obispo County, California

July 3, 1997

Chastity Best, known pretty much universally as Chase unless she was in serious trouble (something which did happen with her on a fairly frequent basis), had just turned fifteen years old the week before and was now on the adventure of her young life. She was in the front seat of a sixty-five-thousand-dollar BMW 7 series car driven by her uncle Jake Kingsley, the world-famous (and infamous) rock and roll musician, on the way to the airport where he was going to fly her to Los Angeles in his private plane so she could meet her absolute idol, Celia Valdez, and then actually hang out with her for the next few days. She kept having to pinch herself to make sure this was all really happening and not just a dream.

She was getting better at convincing herself this was reality. She and the rest of her family�her mother, father, older sister Grace, older brother Brian and his wife Julie, and her nephew Everett�had flown first-class from Salt Lake City International Airport to Los Angeles International two days before for a two-week visit with her Aunt Laura and Uncle Jake. At LAX, a long stretch limousine (with a uniformed driver, a fully stocked bar, a television, and a VCR player inside) had picked everyone up and taken them to a smaller airport across the impossibly huge and crowded city. There, Jake had flown them all over some mountains and along the coast to San Luis Obispo, near where their house was. The flight in Jake�s plane had been rather crowded, with every seat taken up except the one in the small toilet (and Grace and Chase would have to alternate using that seat for takeoffs and landings on any flights where Aunt Laura was along for the ride as well�several such trips were planned during the vacation), but once they�d landed and all piled into three cars and made the twenty-minute drive to Jake and Laura�s radical house up on the cliff, the true adventure began.

She had her very own room in the house! It was a room that was twice the size of the room she and Gracie shared at home, with a bed that was also twice the size of hers, a walk-in closet, her very own bathroom (complete with a bathtub with little jets that shot water out), and a window that looked out over the ocean! The house had a pool table, a pinball machine, something called a shuffleboard table, refrigerators that were endlessly stocked with Pepsi, a bitchin� stereo system with a huge collection of CDs, and a big screen TV with a huge collection of recorded movies. There was a radical housekeeper named Elsa, who talked with a British accent, called her �Miss Chastity�, did her laundry for her (as long as she emptied her pockets and put it in the hamper), fixed snacks for them throughout the day, made awesome breakfasts and dinners, and then cleaned everything up afterward herself (as long as they finished what was placed on their plates and as long as they put everything else in the places she had designated they be put). And there was a hot tub out on the edge of the cliff the house sat on; a hot tub that she was allowed to use as much as she wanted. And she used it quite frequently, sitting out there for hours at a time, staring out at that amazing expanse of blue water that was the Pacific Ocean until her skin became wrinkled like a prune.

Their first full day in Oceano they had spent mostly in the huge sand dunes along the beach, riding four-wheel ATVs with big flags sticking up from the rear. She and Gracie had been allowed to each have their own ATV to themselves! And after the day of riding, they had come back to the home, taken showers in their private bathrooms, and been served a meal of homemade chicken tacos, refried beans, and Spanish rice.

Uncle Jake and Aunt Laura had the friggin� life! And all because he knew how to play his guitar and sing a little! Friggin� amazing!

But none of that could even come close to comparing to what was going to happen today. Celia friggin� Valdez! she thought with a near religious awe. I�m actually going to meet her in a about an hour! Oh my God! What will I say to her? What will she be like? Will she like me? Why would she like a kid like me? Will she even talk to me?

�Relax, Chase,� Uncle Jake said with a smile, obviously picking up on her thoughts to some degree. Uncle Jake was a very perceptive guy (and, she could not help but think, pretty friggin� hot in a bad-boy sort of way�after all, he wasn�t a blood uncle, right?) �Celia is just an ordinary person like you and me. She likes spunk, and you�ve got a lot of that.�

�You think so?� she asked.

�I know so,� he assured her. He seemed about to say something else, but then his attention was suddenly distracted. �Ohh, here it is,� he said reaching for the volume button on the car�s radio screen.

�That song you were talking about?� Chase asked.

�That song I was talking about,� he said. �It�s debuting this morning. Let�s listen. Tell me what you think about it.�

�Okay,� she said, sensing that he was not just trying to shut her up so that he could listen, but was genuinely interested in what her opinion of the song might be. That made her feel very adult.

The DJ on the local alternative rock station was introducing the new tune to the listening audience�a large portion of which were college students from Cal Poly. � ... from a band called V-tach, whatever that means,� he was saying. �Their debut album will be coming out in a few more weeks and is produced by none other than Jake Kingsley, our local cliff-dwelling, noisy-airplane-flying celebrity who used to front Intemperance. I�m told that the members of V-tach are all members of the band that backed Kingsley last year at the Tsunami Sound Festival in Indian Springs, Nevada, where all the reviewers report they stole the show from the headliner Matt Tisdale, former guitar player for Intemp. Bigg G, the piano playing rapper who was part of Kingsley�s band for the TSF is, alas, not one of the members of V-tach, but nevertheless, this is some good, solid alt-rock music. Give it a listen. It�s called When I�m Not Home.�

The song began to play. Chase instantly liked it. Unlike her parents, sister, and brother, who listened to nothing but country music (Uncle Jake was trying to arrange a visit from Obie II, who they all worshiped), Chase loved alternative rock, thought it was the best friggin� music ever invented, and had a keen appreciation for the jangling guitars and emotionally tragic lyrics that often went with the genre. She had no musical training of any kind, had never picked up an instrument in her life, but she had a love for music that transcended the average fifteen-year-old (or even the average forty-year-old) by a light year or two. As she listened now, she was drawn to the changing tempo and alternating distortion levels of the guitars between the verses and the choruses, the rhythmic backbeat that alternated along with the tempo, the lyrics, which she had no trouble at all interpreting even though it was a first listen, but most of all, the smoky, sexy sound of the lead singer�s voice as he sang out those lyrics.

The song came to an end and Ironic, by Alanis Morrisette began to play. Chase made a sour face as she heard it and was grateful when Uncle Jake turned the radio down to nearly sub-audible level.

�What did you think?� Jake asked, again, not with simple politeness, but seemingly with genuine interest.

�I liked it,� she told him. �It caught my attention right away. The guitar was good and the lyrics were totally bitchin�.� She flushed a little, forgetting for a moment that she was talking to an adult and not one of her peers. �Uh ... sorry, I mean cool.�

Uncle Jake chuckled. �I�m unoffended,� he told her.

�I really dig a song where I know what the singer is singing about,� she said.

Uncle Jake�s eyebrows went up a bit. �And you understood what he was singing about?� he asked.

She rolled her eyes. �Duh,� she said dramatically. �He�s talking about someone coming to his house and doing his girlfriend when he�s not home. How can you interpret that as anything else?�

Uncle Jake looked surprised and then smiled at her warmly (making her feel a little funny in the stomach). �That is, in fact, what he�s singing about,� he said. �You seem very astute at picking up lyrical meanings.�

She shrugged. It didn�t seem like that big a deal to her. �I love his voice too. Is he good looking? Please tell me he�s good looking ... and single.�

�Phil is a pretty good-looking guy,� Uncle Jake said. �And he is single.�

�Wow,� she said, already starting to fantasize about him.

�He�s also quite gay. He used to be Laura�s roommate when she and I first met.�

Her hopes came crashing down. This was tempered, however, by the shocking revelation that Uncle Jake had just laid on her. �Aunt Laura used to live with a gay guy?� she asked.

�For several years,� Jake said. �Until she moved in with me after we got together as a couple. They were really close friends. Still are, as a matter of fact. Phil walked Laura down the aisle in place of your grandfather at our wedding.�

�No shit?� she said, forgetting again that she was talking to an adult.

Uncle Jake did not even blink an eye. �No shit,� he assured her.

They talked more about the V-tach song as they continued the drive and Uncle Jake promised to give her a copy of the CD as long as she promised not to give any copies of it to her friends prior to its actual release. She promised not to. He then pointed to the radio. �I noticed a little wince on your face when Alanis started to sing,� he said. �You�re not a fan of Ironic?�

�No,� she said, making the sour face again. �Not only have they played that friggin� song to death�I mean, they play it at least once a friggin� hour on the alt-rock station we get out of SLC�but the lyrics are just dumb.�

�Really?� he said, that keen interest showing in his face again. �Why do you think so?�

�Because most of that shi� ... uh ... stuff that she�s singing about is not ironic. If you�re going to sing about things that are ironic, you should make sure they actually are ironic.�

�Explain,� Uncle Jake requested.

She explained something she had tried to describe to her dumb-ass friends who loved that stupid-ass song on multiple occasions. �Having it rain the day you get married is not friggin� ironic. It�s a bummer, yes, but not irony. Not taking someone�s good advice is not ironic either. It�s stupidity or ignorance. And having a dude who is afraid to fly die in an airplane crash is also not ironic. It just means he was right to be friggin� afraid. A fly in your friggin� glass of wine? That�s not ironic, it�s friggin� gross! And meeting some hot dude and then finding out he�s married? How is that shi-- ... uh ... stuff ironic? It isn�t! It�s just another bummer!�

Uncle Jake was laughing now, but not in a mean way. �Chase,� he told her, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder, �you are completely correct and years beyond your age in musical sophistication.�

She blushed again, both at his words and his touch. �You think so?� she asked.

�I know so,� he said. �And that makes me extremely glad that you enjoyed When I�m Not Home.�

�Why is that?� she asked, glowing at his praise.

�Because now I know it is going to sell like mad,� he told her.

�You know that just because I liked it?�

�Well, I already suspected that it was going to be a big hit�V-tach�s first of many�because that is my job, to find and produce good music. But there is always that little doubt in my mind before each new tune hits the airwaves. Am I wrong? Am I losing my touch? You are the first listener I have encountered who has actually heard the tune and you like it. My mind is now at ease, and for that, I thank you.�

�Uh ... you�re welcome,� she said, pleased. And then her mind went back to the lead singer. �When you say gay though, is he completely gay?�

�Completely and thoroughly,� Uncle Jake assured her.

�That really is a bummer,� she said.

�But not ironic,� Uncle Jake said, causing both of them to crack up.

When the laughter died down she looked meaningfully at her uncle. Something had occurred to her. �Did Aunt Laura used to walk around in her bra and panties in front of him?� she blurted. The thought of being able to walk around freely in your underwear in front of a guy without embarrassment was strangely intriguing to her.

Uncle Jake laughed again but did not answer the question. She got the feeling that he did not know the answer himself. Maybe she would ask Aunt Laura later�not in front of her parents, of course.

They arrived at the airport and Uncle Jake went about pulling his radical airplane out of its hangar and doing a bunch of the preflight stuff that needed to be done. She followed him around, keeping silent as he had requested, and he explained everything he was doing as he did it.

�Okay,� he said when the checks were finished. �You stay here and make sure no one flies off with my plane. I�m going to go file the flight plan. Shouldn�t take but five minutes or so.�

�You got it,� she promised.

He drove off in the Beemer and she wandered around the plane, looking at everything, paying particular attention to the strange front wings mounted just in front of the cockpit windows. She then read all the various warning stickers that were mounted near the sensors and the panel openings. After that, she examined the little doodads that stuck out here and there. She remembered Uncle Jake calling the little tubular doohickeys that were mounted on both sides of the cockpit and just below and in front of both main wings pitot static tubes and said they were what measured airspeed and angle of attack�which he further explained meant the angle the plane was going as it moved forward through the air. He had pulled little covers off of them during his walk-around. All of the covers had long red ribbons dangling from them with the words REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT written in large white letters. That made sense to her. Though Uncle Jake had not specifically said so, she intuited that the pitot static tubes worked by having air flow into them. If they were covered in flight, that air would not flow and they would not be able to tell the pilot how fast he was going and what angle he was flying up or down. If you did not know that information while in flight, that could probably cause all kinds of weird problems�some of which might end with you smashing into the ground or the ocean. But why would you have to cover them when you were not flying? Wouldn�t it be easier to just leave them uncovered all the time so you didn�t have to worry about whether or not you remembered to remove them? She decided she would ask Uncle Jake about this once they were up in the air and that sterile cockpit rule was no longer in effect.

Uncle Jake returned on foot and opened up the main door of the plane. They climbed inside and he actually let her sit in the copilot�s seat. Way cool! He started up the engines and went through another set of preflight checks, calling out things as he did them, one by one, though usually not stopping to explain what it was he was talking about this time. Soon, he declared his checklist complete and he spent a moment talking on his headset thingy to one of the controllers in the airport�s tower. Chase was not wearing a headset�Uncle Jake had offered her one but she did not want to mess up her hair before she met Celia Valdez�so she did not hear the tower guy�s responses to him. Jake pushed the two levers between the seats forward and they began to move. There were no other planes moving around right now so it did not take them long to get to the turn that led onto the runway. Uncle Jake went throughout another checklist�setting flaps, verifying something called trim (which made her giggle a little�trim meant doing it, something that she had never done before but which she and her girlfriends talked about endlessly) and a few numbers preceded by V�s. At last, he pushed the throttles up again and turned onto the runway so they were facing down it, directly on the centerline. He throttled back down and brought them to a stop.

�You ready to go?� he asked her.

�Let�s do it!� she said enthusiastically. She had found that she quite liked flying, especially in Uncle Jake�s plane, and that taking off was her favorite part.

�Okay,� he said. �Why don�t you help me out then? Put your hand on those throttle levers and slowly push them forward until I tell you to stop.�

�Really?� she asked, her enthusiasm kicking up a few notches.

�Really,� he said. �Just be sure that you advance them together at the same pace. Nice and slow, keep them together.�

She nervously reached out and put her left hand on the two side-by-side levers. They were not very big and she could grasp both of them easily. She pushed forward, surprised at how much force she had to use to get them to move. As they moved forward, the sound of the engines began to get louder and the plane began to move forward, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed.

�That�s good there,� Uncle Jake told her. �Thanks for the help.�

�Anytime,� she said with a smile.

They left the ground about fifteen seconds later, passing over the perimeter fence for the airport and climbing higher and higher into the sky. Uncle Jake flipped up a lever and the landing gear came up. He flipped another lever (�flaps to zero,� he said as he did so) and there was a whine of machinery from behind them and she felt the now-familiar sensation of falling as the nose came down a bit and they began to pick up speed. The town of Oceano, with the sand dunes they had ridden on yesterday and the bright blue ocean beyond was now visible in front of them. She thought she could actually see the cliff where Uncle Jake and Aunt Laura lived for a brief moment before they passed over the water and turned to the left.

They climbed to twelve thousand feet. Uncle Jake showed her the altimeter and taught her how to read it. It was easy when you saw how it worked. Just like an old-fashioned clock. The scenery was amazing as they flew. From up here in the front, she could see everything! Uncle Jake pointed out the sights as they came into view. There were the coastal mountains, and the city of Santa Maria, and then Oxnard�mere suburbs that were each more than twice the size of Pocatello. Off to her right, she could see the Channel Islands, and boats and ships down in the water looking like tiny little toys with V-shaped wakes stretching behind them opposite of their direction of travel. Far in front of them, beyond another set of mountains, was a brownish-gray haze. He told her that was the Los Angeles basin and the smog layer it was famous for.

As they descended over that last mountain range and over the huge expanse of houses, buildings, and freeways that was Los Angeles, she began to feel nervous again. Celia Valdez is down there! And I�m going to meet her as soon as we land! Oh my God! Can I do this? Do I have a choice at this point?

Once again, Uncle Jake picked up on this. Even though the cockpit was supposed to be sterile at the moment, he reassured her. �Don�t worry,� he said. �She really is nice. Much nicer than me.�

They touched down smoothly at the same airport they had left from two days ago. Uncle Jake drove the plane off the runway and followed a series of taxiways until he came to an area where a whole bunch of planes were parked and there was a large building adjacent. He pulled into a spot near the building and shut down the engines.

�We have arrived,� he told her. �And Celia is here. That�s her car parked over there.�

�Which one?� Chase asked, looking at the row of parked cars.

�The gray Mercedes,� he said.

�I don�t know what a Mercedes looks like,� she said.

�The most expensive looking car in that parking lot,� he said.

That was the clue she needed. She quickly found the vehicle in question and looked at it in awe.

They unstrapped from their seats and Uncle Jake opened the door just behind the cockpit and folded down the small set of steps. They stepped out into the warm air�it was noticeably higher in temperature and humidity here than it had been in San Luis Obispo�and out onto the tarmac. The sound of aircraft engines could be heard from several directions and the air had the distinct smell she had come to associate with the jet fuel that airplanes like Uncle Jake�s ran on.

�There she is,� Uncle Jake said as they reached the nose of the airplane. He pointed in the direction of the building.

Feeling a little jolt of adrenaline, Chase looked in that direction. At first she could not credit what she was seeing. Yes, there was a good-looking woman heading in their direction, a friendly smile on her face, but that wasn�t Celia Valdez, was it? She was wearing jeans and a sleeveless button-up peasant blouse. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had on a blue baseball hat with the letters L and A superimposed upon them. She looked just like anyone else in the world�perhaps a bit more attractive and fit than most�not a goddess. But then Chase noted the guitar case she carried in one hand and the suitcase she carried in the other. And she looked carefully at the woman�s face. She had no makeup on except lip gloss, but the facial resemblance to Celia Valdez could not be denied. It has to be her! she was forced to conclude. She felt all the spit in her mouth dry up at this realization.

Uncle Jake smiled and walked forward, meeting her about halfway and taking the suitcase from her hand, leaving her with just the guitar. The two of them exchanged a hug and Celia actually kissed him on the cheek affectionately. They exchanged a few words she did not hear clearly and then they turned and walked directly toward her. Chastity felt her heart beating faster in her chest as he idol approached.

�Celia,� Uncle Jake said when they were all face to face, �this is Chastity Best, my niece from Pocatello. She�s your number one fan and she likes to be called Chase, right Chase?�

Chase�s mouth was now open in awe. She tried to respond but all that came out was something that sounded like: �Arrgh gast a maw.� Oh my God! she thought desperately. I can�t friggin� talk! She�s going to think I�m a moron! Or that I�m having a friggin� stroke! Or both!

Uncle Jake chuckled at her, though in a sympathetic way, not in a mean way. �Well put,� he said. He turned to Celia. �I don�t think I�ve ever seen her speechless before.�

Celia�s smile grew warmer and she took another step forward. �It�s nice to meet you, Chase,� she said. She set her guitar case down on the ground and then held out her arms for a hug.

She wants to hug me?? Oh my friggin� God! �Blast a maw,� she said.

Celia chuckled and put her arms around her. Chase was amazed at how tall she was. She stood a good six inches taller than her, almost as tall as Uncle Jake. Her body was firm and fit as it pressed against her. She smelled of vanilla. Instinctively, she returned the hug. I�m actually hugging Celia Valdez! she thought in amazement.

It lasted only a short moment and then it was gone. Celia stepped back and regarded her for a moment. �How was the flight in?� she asked her.

Chase took a deep breath and commanded herself to articulate coherently. �It was ... uh ... you know ... fun.�

�Yes,� she said, nodding. �It is fun to fly in Jake�s plane. I used to be afraid of flying�I still am a little bit, to be honest�but it has grown on me over the years, especially flying with Jake in this plane.�

�I ... I love flying,� Chase managed to blurt. �I never did it before until I met Uncle Jake.� She flushed. �Flying that is. I still haven�t ... uh ... done ... uh...� She realized what she had been about to say at the last second and snapped her jaw shut. She took a deep breath again. �Never mind. I�m babbling.�

Celia patted her on the shoulder affectionately. �That�s okay,� she said. �I�m flattered that you like me so much that I can reduce you to babbling. But don�t worry. I�m just an ordinary person like everyone else.�

�I really love your music!� Grace told her.

�Thank you,� Celia said.

�And I found out on the way here that Chase has fairly deep appreciation for music,� Uncle Jake told her.

�Oh yeah?� Celia asked.

Uncle Jake nodded. �We heard the debut of Home on the way here. She liked it and correctly interpreted the lyrics. And she does not like the song Ironic because most of what Alanis is talking about there is not, in fact, ironic.�

Celia smiled, delighted. �I�ll take an endorsement like that to one of our projects any day of the week.�

Jake had the FBO services pump his tanks half full and then they immediately left for the return flight to SLO. Celia sat in the copilot�s seat�her always preferred location when flying with Jake�and Chase sat immediately behind Jake, where she could see and talk to Celia with ease. And talk she did. She quickly recovered her voice and spent most of the flight jabbering to Celia, asking her a thousand questions about her childhood in Venezuela, her time with La Diferencia, and her recent years as a mega-star. Jake, who listened to the conversation but contributed nothing, noted that Chase had enough tact not to bring up Greg Oldfellow or the allegations that Celia dallied with her pilot out on the road. This reinforced his already strong opinion that his recently discovered niece was actually a pretty good kid.

They came in to land just past 11:30 AM and Jake parked the airplane in his rented hangar. Chase insisted on carrying Celia�s guitar case for her while Jake carried her travel bag.

�How is Teach doing?� Celia asked as they made the hike back to the GA terminal. They had not seen Celia in more than a week now.

�Looking forward to seeing you again,� Jake said with a little smile.

Celia returned the smile. �I�m looking forward to seeing her as well.�

The little inflection that each of them put on the word seeing was no accident. Both knew exactly what they meant by it. Since that day nearly two weeks ago when the three of them had a session of steamy, erotic threesome sex at Celia�s Malibu house, they had gotten together one more time for more of the same. This had also been in Malibu, after the last KVA meeting prior to the debut of Home. It had been just as good and the three of them continued not to feel regrets, shame, or any other negative emotion associated with what they were doing except for a bit of guilt that they were not feeling any regrets or shame or other negative emotions. All in all, the three of them remained very enthusiastic about the new dynamic they had brought to life and looked forward to future endeavors.

Perhaps even tonight, Jake thought now as he saw the little sparkle in Celia�s eye. This was a realistic hope. Though Laura the Prude had reigned supreme when the two of them had stayed at the Best house in Pocatello, Laura the extremely horny second trimester Nymph was still firmly in command while the Bests were staying with them. She had to hold a pillow against her mouth every time she came, but she was certainly not being prudish.

They threw the luggage and the guitar into the back of Jake�s BMW and then climbed in, Chase in the back, Jake behind the wheel. They drove back to the house on the cliff and introduced Celia to the rest of the Best clan. All were pleased to meet her, particularly the males. Grace, however, had a hard time even meeting her eyes, let alone speaking to her. She managed to shake her hand briefly, but that was the extent of their first contact.

Dinner that night was New York steaks that Elsa had procured from a high-end butcher shop in San Luis Obispo near the historic mission. While she prepared a large garden salad, sauteed mushrooms, and made her famous garlic mashed potatoes, Jake went out on the deck and fired up the large charcoal grill that sat next to the more convenient gas grill. Joey and Brian followed him out there. While waiting for the coals to burn down so he could grill the steaks, Jake drank a few bottles of his favorite beer�Foghorn India Pale Ale from the Lighthouse Brewing Company in Coos Bay�while the two generations of Bests drank their favorite beer�Budweiser from the can. They had tried the Lighthouse Ale that Jake offered them on their first night�genuinely curious about what �hoity-toity beer� would taste like�but had been hard pressed to even finish their bottles before they became warm. �It�s too strong,� Joey had proclaimed. �Too heavy,� had been Brian�s opinion. And so, Elsa had picked up a few cases of the red and white cans for the houseguests. She knew that if the Bests did not drink it all before they left, the excess would sit in the bottom of the pantry until their next visit.

The Best males were impressed with Jake�s skill on the grill. No slouches with a charcoal grill themselves, they found it quite down-to-Earth that Little Bit�s highfalutin husband�who had most of his actual housework and other chores done for him by a live-in housekeeper�actually knew had to perform a manly skill like cooking a steak on the old Weber. And when they tasted their steaks at the dinner table, their opinion of him shot up a few more notches. The steaks were juicy, grilled perfectly, and had a smooth, exquisite texture unlike anything they had ever tasted before. Naturally (though perhaps a little reluctantly), they attributed this to Jake�s touch with the coals and the spatula and not the fact that they were eating expensive, restaurant-quality meat instead of the cheap cuts from the local Walmart meat counter, which was what they were used to.

After dinner, while Elsa cleaned up (Jake was paying her an extra three hundred dollars a day for the duration of the visit, though none of the Bests knew this), everyone else went out to the cliff to watch the sunset instead of breaking up into gender groups as was the Best family tradition. Chase and Grace donned their modest one-piece swimsuits and climbed into the hot tub to watch it from there. Joey, Sarah, Brian, and Julie all gave the cognac Jake offered a try, dutifully drinking it as directed. They then switched back to Budweiser in the can. Joey and Brian did, however, legitimately enjoy the Cuban cigars that Jake produced for them. They were, however, quite scandalized when Celia fired one up as well and sat in their circle, smoking with them and drinking her cognac just like one of the boys.

Hollywood people, Joey thought, resisting the urge to shake his head. He hoped that Grace was not being too influenced by the Mexican singer she worshiped.

And that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Celia, fresh out of the shower and wearing a long t-shirt and nothing else, crept out of the smallest of the guest rooms and slinked down the main hall to the master suite. She slipped inside, where her hosts were eagerly waiting for her, both of them naked and freshly showered themselves, the only light in the room that coming from a series of candles that had been lit. She slipped out of the t-shirt, climbed into their bed, and the three of them spent the next hour putting their bodies, fingers, lips, tongues, and genitals together in as many ways as they could think of. Celia was particularly fascinated by and drawn to Laura�s pregnant belly, which seemed to be getting a little bigger by the day now. She touched it and rubbed it and kissed it frequently. And they found a novel way to keep the entire house from knowing their business when Laura came. When it happened under Celia�s tongue, Jake would put his member in her mouth. And when it happened under Jake�s member, Celia would plant her wet vagina on her mouth.

Celia did not sleep in their room when the act was finished. No one commented on this or protested it or even thought much about it. It just seemed like the right thing to do and it happened by unspoken mutual agreement.

Everyone, even Elsa, spent the 4^th of July out on Brent Hadley�s charter fishing boat. As promised, Brent took out all ten of them, plus baby Everett, privately on his boat (which was capable of accommodating another twenty fishermen plus five or six more guests) for the price of letting him use pictures of Jake and Laura in his advertisements. They left Morro Bay marina at 6:30 AM, just as the sun was rising in the east, and motored out into the Pacific Ocean more than fifteen miles. The sea was reasonably placid, with gently rolling five-foot swells that imparted an almost soothing rhythm to the vessel as they chased after schools of ocean fish that lived and fed off the central coast of California. No one got sick and everyone had a great time. Everyone except Everett caught their limit of rock cod and Gracie even managed to hook into a ling cod, which she had to fight for the better part of thirty minutes before they could gaff it aboard and kill it. Brent�s deckhands took plenty of pictures of Jake and Laura, particularly when they were reeling in fish or holding their catch.

After stowing all the gear, the deckhands cleaned and filleted the fish for them, packaging it in plastic bags and stowing it all in ice chests filled with salt ice that the boat�s icemaker had produced. While this was going on, Brent motored slowly back to Morro Bay, arriving in the harbor just before sunset. He did not take them back to the marina, however. He motored over and wound his way through more than a hundred other boats that were anchored in clusters around the bay just offshore of the town itself. He found a suitable place and dropped his own anchor. The group sat around, munching on deli sandwiches and drinking cans of Budweiser (even Jake and Celia�there was a time and place in life for drinking watery canned beer). Jake produced Cuban cigars for all who wanted them (Celia once again scandalized the Best family by firing up), including Brent and the deckhands.

As darkness fell and the stars came out, Jake and Celia took out their guitars and spent about an hour entertaining everyone by playing and singing for them, taking turns for the most part, but occasionally throwing in a duet. They mostly did classic tunes, even venturing into what country music they were familiar with in deference to most of the Best family. Neither of them played any of their own songs. Soon, the applause and whistles were coming not only from the people on the boat, but from those on the boats surrounding them. Sound carries quite well across water and more than two hundred people first noticed and then enjoyed the unplugged performance, none but those on the boat with Jake and Celia realizing who they were listening to, but most realizing that whoever it was, they were very talented.

And then, at ten o�clock, the reason everyone was anchored out here began. It was the famous Morro Bay Independence Day fireworks show, known throughout central California as being one of the best. It went on for more than forty minutes, huge plumes of multicolored explosions that boomed and banged out over the harbor, sending thrilling concussions through the air and blinding afterimages to their eyes.

After the ten-minute grand finale, Brent motored them slowly back to the marina. It took nearly an hour due to the boat traffic all trying to do the same thing at the same time. Finally, however, they docked and were able to put their feet back on dry land. They took their ice chests and made their way to the three vehicles they had used to get here. Laura, Elsa, and Julie were the designated drivers (though Elsa and Julie had both put away more than a few cans of Bud during the day part of the adventure). It was after midnight before they made it back to Kingsley Manor.

Everyone was tired and grimy and smelled like fish. The house�s fresh water system and the hot water delivery system were given the test of their lives when seven showers were fired up all at once. It held up to the test with only a barely noticeable drop in water pressure or temperature. Jake and Elsa stored most of the fish in the walk-in freezer, setting enough aside in the main refrigerator for a beer-battered fish-fry that was planned for the next night. After that, Jake wearily trudged to the master suite. There, he found Laura and Celia, both freshly showered and dressed in lingerie, lounging on the bed and listening to soft-rock music. They were not touching each other, were, in fact, on opposite sides of the King-sized bed, leaving the entire middle section empty.

�Go shower up, sweetie,� Laura told him with a smile. �You have women to satisfy.�

He gave a faux-sigh of the long suffering. �If I must,� he said.

�You must,� Celia told him.

He took a shower. It was a fast one. And then he managed to satisfy both women (though they were active participants in satisfying each other as well).

Later, after Celia had slithered back to her own room to sleep off the day and night, Jake lay on his back in the darkness while Laura, smelling pungently like sex, lay cuddled against him under the covers. Her breathing was deep and regular and he assumed she was asleep. He was just starting to drift off himself when she suddenly stiffened against him and rolled completely onto her back.

�Oh my God!� she barked, excited.

Jake�s eyes flew open in an instant. �What?� he asked. �What is it?�

�It�s Ziggy!� Laura said. �I just felt her move.�

�Really?� he asked. He knew that she was now in the early stages of when such movement could be detected by the mother, but so far she had not felt anything that was even questionable.

�Really,� she said. �There was this flutter in my stomach. Here it is again!�

�Where?� Jake asked, putting his hand on her swelling stomach�by now it had gone beyond merely being a bump.

She took his hand and moved it a little lower, just to the right and below her belly button. �Right there,� she said. �There it is again! Can you feel it?�

Jake tried, but all he could feel was her breathing. �I don�t feel anything,� he said apologetically.

�That�s okay,� Laura said. �I do. And it�s Ziggy. I have no doubt about it. She really is in there!�

�Did you doubt that?� Jake asked.

�Not really,� she said. �But until now ... well ... it�s hard to describe. It didn�t really feel real.�

�But now it does?� he asked.

�Yeah,� she said happily. �Now it does.�

The Bests had the time of their lives during their trip to California.

The morning after the fish-fry, Jake flew Celia back to Los Angeles. Chase and Grace tagged along for that ride, as Celia and the shy seventeen-year-old had bonded a bit during their time together�they had had a lengthy, in-depth discussion about what it was like to be brought up in a religious family and then to later harbor doubts about the religion in question�and both girls received warm hugs and kisses on the cheeks from the famous singer. The next day Jake, Laura, and the two teens left everyone else to fend for themselves and flew to Hayward Airport just south of Oakland in the San Francisco Bay area. They drove a rental car into The City where Jake had booked them rooms at the Ritz-Carlton. They spent that day and the next exploring San Francisco, doing all the touristy things that people did there, like riding the cable cars, walking across the Golden Gate Bridge, taking in the Haight-Ashbury District and Chinatown, and visiting the wharf and Alcatraz. They dined in fancy restaurants and ate clam chowder out of bread bowls.

The four of them returned to Oceano and two days later the entire group climbed into the plane and flew to Gibbs Field just north of San Diego. Since Laura was along for this trip they had to utilize the toilet as a seat for takeoff and landing�though the door could be secured in the open position when the little room was used for this purpose. Grace and Chase were the two smallest people other than Everett so they were designated to this undignified position�Grace on the way out, Chase on the way back�but once the plane was at cruising altitude, the toilet-seater was allowed to emerge back into the main cabin and sit where Everett�s car seat had been strapped into one of the rear-facing seats (Jake prudently did not mention that if they crashed during landing or takeoff, Everett would stand a decent chance of being the sole survivor due to the seat and his positioning) while someone held the toddler in his or her lap.

In San Diego, the Kingsleys put everyone up in suites in the Sheraton hotel (Jake lied and told Joey that the rooms had been gratis thanks to yet another advertising deal�Joey did not even question that at this point) and the next day they went as a group to the world-famous San Diego Zoo, Balboa Park, Sea World, and rounded out the evening with a fancy dinner at a restaurant atop one of the high-rise hotels. The entire restaurant slowly rotated around, offering views of the harbor and the city during the course of the meal.

The final three days of the Best vacation were spent in Los Angeles. They flew once again to Whiteman Airport and then settled into the Granada Hills house. Though Chase and Grace were once again forced to share a room (and a bed, though it was a big bed), this minor inconvenience was offset by the fact that the house had a swimming pool. The two teens spent a good portion of their mornings and evenings in that pool, and the rest of the Best clan made judicious use of it as well (even Everett). While in LA, they did all the LA things. Jake took them to Hollywood, took them on a limo ride up into the Hollywood Hills, took them to Disneyland, and they had dinner at Pauline�s house and got to meet Obie II, their country music idol. Tabby enjoyed playing with Everett during the visit and Joey and Brian even choked down a few glasses of bourbon on the rocks after Obie informed them, in a voice that implied he was speaking the Word of God Himself, that that was what real men drank.

There was one sour note to the Best�s visit. It came during the LA portion. Joey, feeling an intense sense of family love and appreciation after hanging out with his sister and brother-in-law the last twelve days, decided to call his estranged parents and try to reconnect with them despite his sister Laura�s stern warning that it was a bad idea. He did manage to make contact, but the conversation did not go as he had envisioned.

�Well?� Laura asked gently when she found him sitting by himself on the couch shortly after the phone call. Apparently taking Obie�s words to heart, he was sipping from a glass of Jim Beam Black Label on the rocks.

�Mom answered the phone,� he said, taking a sip.

�Yeah?� she asked, turning and making a careful descent onto the couch to sit next to him. Ziggy had certainly thrown her balance and grace for a loop and she was still trying to adjust to it. �What did she say?�

�You don�t want to hear,� he said sourly.

�No, I really don�t,� she agreed, �but I think I should.�

�I told her that me and the rest of the family were here in town,� he said. �All of us, including little Evie.� He took a breath. �She told me that we had been instructed long ago to never come here, to stay in Pocatello and live our own lives.�

�That just warms my heart,� Laura said sourly.

�Yeah,� he said. �And then I told her that the reason we were here was because you and Jake had invited us, that we were visiting you because you were family and because you were pregnant and there was soon going to be another member of the family, another grandchild.�

�And what did she say to that?�

�She said she knew that you were pregnant, that she had read all about it in the papers, and that the child you are carrying is most certainly not part of her family.�

�Really?� Laura said, not terribly surprised, but hurt all the same.

He nodded. �She said it was Satan�s spawn at best, some nigger�s lovechild at worst.�

Laura�s eyes widened for a moment and then she actually giggled. And then the giggles turned to laughter.

�What�s so funny?� Joey asked, confused.

�That she thinks that having Bigg G be the father is worse than Satan being the father,� Laura said. �That�s fucking hilarious!�

Joey looked at her in astonishment for a moment and then started to understand the humor of the situation. Soon, he was laughing with her.

Meanwhile, out in the backyard, Jake was swimming in the pool with Grace and Chase. He had set up the water volleyball net and the two teens were taking him on, two to one, and losing quite badly thanks to Jake�s familiarity with the sport, his familiarity with swimming, and his keen athleticism that came from his daily runs and the fact that he had spent a good part of his life performing aerobic exercise night after night up on stages.

�You could at least let us win once,� Chase complained after he beat them for the third time, with scores of 11-1, 11-2, and now 11-4.

�Why would I do that?� he asked politely.

�Because it�s the nice thing to do!� she cried. �We�re just kids, and girls, and you�re a friggin� adult man!�

�But you outnumber me two to one,� he countered. �You should have the advantage.�

�That�s not the point!� Chase said.

�Perhaps not,� Jake agreed. �But I never let anyone win anything. It�s a rule that will carry you far in life.�

�Not even a stupid game of pool volleyball?� Chase asked, indignant.

�Not even that,� he said. �Suppose I had let you win. What impetus would you have to try to improve your skills at the game?�

�I don�t need to improve my skills at this game,� Chase insisted. �I�m not trying to be a professional pool volleyball player. I�ll probably never play this stupid game again until the next time we visit you.�

�That is not the point,� Jake said, using her own protest against her. �The idea is to nourish your competitive instinct and motivate you to learn and improve. That skill does not just apply to pool volleyball, but everything in life. No one is ever doing you any favors by taking it easy on you, by letting you have an easy out, an easy victory, an easy path through the proverbial forest. For instance, look at how you improved in just the three games we played. In the first, you were completely uncoordinated with each other, unable to work as a team to take advantage of your numerical superiority over me. You only scored that one point because of a lucky shot. But on the subsequent games, you started to learn to coordinate, to play as a team to some degree. You started to pick up on the strategy of one of you luring me over to one side while the other hit the ball to the other. It was rudimentary, and I�m not sure you were consciously aware you were even doing it, but that is how you scored one of the points in the second game and three of the four in this last one. I have no doubt that if you were to stay here another two days and we played ten or fifteen more games, you two would be mopping up the pool with me.�

Both girls considered his words carefully. �Do you really think so?� asked Grace.

�Absolutely,� he said. �Want to try again and put the theory to the test?�

They did not want to, pleading fatigue. Instead, they ducked under the net and paddled over to the underwater sitting ledge in the deep end so they could sit down and rest for a bit. Jake paddled over with them, giving them the ledge while he put his back to the edge of the pool and secured himself by spreading his arms wide while he lay on his back, his legs floating out before him.

�It�s such a bum that we have to go back home tomorrow,� Chase pouted.

�All good things must come to an end,� Jake quoted.

�True,� she said. �Pocatello is going to seem so boring after California though.�

�Maybe,� said Grace, �but it will be nice to get back home, back to our own room, our own things, the normal routine.�

�The normal routine bites,� Chase said. �I wish I could stay here forever.�

�This would quickly take on the routine of normal life and you�d be bored with it as well,� Jake suggested.

�I seriously doubt that,� Chase returned. �Do you ever get bored with the life you lead?�

�Honestly ... no,� Jake admitted. �But there are aspects of it that can be quite unpleasant.�

�Like what?� Chase asked.

�The list is quite long,� Jake told her. �Privacy is extremely hard to come by. Everything that Laura and I do is subject to being printed in some tabloid rag or announced on a Hollywood gossip show. And those same reporters are free to make things up about us if they don�t happen to have any actual facts to print or report and there is little to nothing that we can do about it. A vast majority of the town we live near despises us and believes anything they hear about us even though they do not know us at all. And we are constantly navigating in a world filled with people who are trying to exploit us and screw us in any way they can, which makes us mistrustful of the motivations of pretty much everyone.�

�Wow,� said Grace, awe in her voice. �That�s deep.�

�Hella deep,� Chase said, just as awed. �You know, that�s what I really like about you and Aunt Laura, Uncle Jake. You both talk to us like we�re adults instead of a couple of teenagers.�

�Yeah,� Grace said. �I really like that too.�

�I�m glad to hear that,� Jake said, circling things around to what he really wanted to talk about, �because I have a favor to ask of both of you.�

�What is it?� Grace asked.

�Yeah,� Chase said. �We�ll do anything for you.�

�It has to do with all those pictures you have been taking during your time here,� Jake said.

�The pictures?� Chase asked. �What about them?�

Both girls had brought cheap 35mm cameras with them and both had shot at least ten rolls of film over the past two weeks. Many of those shots had been of the famous sights and scenery of coastal California�particularly Grace�s, as she planned to paint many of the landscapes and seascapes she had encountered once she got home�but a good portion were also of Jake, Laura, and Celia. There were shots of them individually and together. There were shots of them posing with the girls, both individually and together, shots where they stood arm in arm on the ocean cliff, in front of the airplane, inside the airplane in flight, out on the fishing boat, on the ATVs, at Disneyland. Jake knew that he personally had had his photo taken no less than twenty times with one or both of the girls, sometimes with Laura or Celia in the shot, sometimes without. Chase, in particular, had exclaimed on multiple occasions that she couldn�t wait to show those shots to her friends in Pocatello, so they could see that she really had hung out with her Uncle Jake and Aunt Laura and, most significant of all, Celia Valdez.

�It�s like this,� Jake explained. �You heard about what happened with that photo that Laura and I took with that ramper at the Pocatello Airport, right?�

�Yeah!� Grace said. �With Ron! Brian went to school with him. Ron was a senior when Brian was a freshman.�

�Brian says he is a total computer geek with no social skills,� Chase added, a considerable amount of contempt in her voice at the thought of such a creature.

�Uh ... yeah,� Jake said. The was the first he had heard that Ron the ramper and Brian knew each other. �Anyway, Laura and I met Ron when he helped us with our plane when we visited you back in December. He took a bunch of shots of the plane, and of Laura and I with his coworker, and then the coworker took one of Ron and Laura and me. Are you familiar with what happened next?�

�Like... yeah,� Chase said. �Everyone in Pocatello knows what happened next. Someone got ahold of that shot of you and Ron and Aunt Laura, photoshopped it, and started spreading it around on the internet saying that Ron was a drag queen and that you and Aunt Laura had kidnapped him from South America and were keeping him as a sex slave that does the windows.�

�Right,� Jake said.

�But nobody believes that,� Grace said. �The newspaper put out an article explaining that it wasn�t true. They showed the original picture and interviewed Ron and he told them he sent the picture out to some photography club in an email. Everything was explained.�

�Everything was explained to the people of Pocatello,� Jake said, �where a lot of the people know Ron the ramper and were inclined to accept the evidence before their eyes despite the fact that I am evil incarnate to most of your quaint little community. In the rest of the world, however, that story was not published and a great many people actually believe that Laura and I are keeping a Venezuelan transexual in captivity and that our money and fame is compelling authorities to look the other way about it.�

�Really?� asked Grace, wide-eyed.

�That�s totally uncool,� Chase added, outraged at the thought.

�People actually believe that ridiculous story?� Grace asked, shaking her head.

�They really believe it because they want to believe it,� Jake said. �And none of the newspapers or media outlets want to publish the Pocatello story because they have no interest in telling the truth about us. They cannot write a story about the allegation because it is provably untrue and would open them up to libel charges, but they are under no obligation to declare the rumor untrue.�

�Wow,� Chase said. �I see what you mean about the bad side of your life.�

�I�m glad to hear that,� Jake said. �So, you�ll understand when I tell you I am a little concerned about all of those pictures you took of me and Laura and Celia, particularly the ones with you two in them.�

Both girls eyes got a little wider. �Are you saying,� Chase said, �that you think people will think that ... that ... me and Gracie and ... and you are ... you know... doing it?�

�If those pictures were to get out into general circulation,� Jake said, �yes, there are people out there who would suggest that, would possibly even come up with a story like what they came up with about me and Laura and Ron the ramper.�

�That is so disgusting!� Grace said, genuinely appalled at that thought. �You�re our uncle! And old enough to be our dad!�

�That doesn�t matter to the people who pass these sort of things around,� Jake said. �They could put any story they want on it and a certain amount of people will believe it. They might put in the story that you are my nieces and that I�m giving your mom and dad money to look the other way about what we or doing or they might say you�re a couple of sex slaves I bought in New York City. They might even say that Laura or Celia is involved in this thing as well.�

�Gross!� Grace said. �I mean, Aunt Laura is nice and all, and Celia is too, and they�re both beautiful, but they�re women! Older women!�

�That doesn�t matter to these kind of people,� Jake said.

�What are you saying then?� Grace asked. �You don�t want us to develop the pictures?�

�No, that�s not what I�m saying at all,� Jake told her. �I want you to have your pictures of your vacation and I want you to treasure them. I want you to be able to show the prints to your friends. What I don�t want is for any of those pictures or negatives or, worst of all, digital copies of the shots, to end up floating around on the internet or in a chain email. Where do you get your pictures developed?�

�At the Walgreens by our house,� Grace said. �That�s the closest place and the cheapest.�

�Very good,� Jake said. �Walgreens does them in the automatic machine. Most of the time, nobody even looks at them before they give them to you. And even if they do look at them, it is unlikely anyone would steal a copy because it would not be hard to trace where it came from. Go ahead and get them developed, show the prints to anyone you like, but please promise me that you will not give anyone any of the prints, or the negatives, or ever send any of the shots out digitally in email or any other way if they have Laura or me or Celia in them.�

�I promise,� Grace said. �I don�t want anyone thinking that I�m some New York sex slave or some incestuous slut.�

�I promise too,� Chase said. �Cross my heart and hope to die.�

�And stick a needle in your eye?� Jake asked.

Chase giggled. �And stick a needle in my eye,� she agreed.

�All right then,� Jake said. �I thank you for your cooperation in this matter.�

�Like I said, Uncle Jake,� Chase said. �Anything for you. You�re the raddist uncle ever.�

�A title I will embrace proudly,� Jake said, knowing that he was the only uncle on either side of their family that they had anything to do with. �Now then, are we ready for another match?�

The two girls looked at each other and nodded, smiles on their faces. �Let�s do it,� Chase said.

They did it. This time, they cooperated a little bit more and only lost by a score of 14-7.

Joey, in the tradition of the Best family when it came to thanking a host for having them stay in their house, took everyone out to dinner that last night. He insisted on paying for the meal himself. Since Jake knew that his pride demanded he do this, he did not argue the point and did not suggest a restaurant, knowing that anything he (Jake) suggested would probably bankrupt the waste management employee. Instead, he heartily agreed when Joey suggested the local Black Angus steakhouse in Santa Clarita. The entire group arrived there at 7:00 PM, all of them dressed in jeans and pullover shirts. The adults who were not pregnant drank bottled Budweiser. The kids and Laura all had soda of varying kind. Jake ordered the sirloin steak and shrimp and was happy to find that it was not all that bad. Joey paid the bill with his credit card. Jake did not even offer to pick up the tip, knowing that such a gesture would be offensive to his brother-in-law.

Once back at the Granada Hills house, Jake and Joey went out to the patio to enjoy a few glasses of Jim Beam on the rocks (Joey seemed to be developing a taste for the bourbon thanks to Obie) and a couple of Cuban cigars. Chase and Grace took the opportunity for one last swim in the pool and were splashing around happily as the two men puffed on their stogies.

�I just want to tell you one more time how much we all appreciate all this, Jake,� Joey told him. �This really has been the best vacation our family has ever had.�

�We were happy to have you,� Jake told him, speaking truthfully. �It was good to get to know everyone a little better. And I am so happy that Laura has some actual family now that she can talk to and get together with.�

�We�re happy to have her in our lives too,� Joey said. �The kids actually have someone they can call �uncle� and �aunt� now. They�ve never had that before.�

Jake nodded. �And I have a new brother and sister-in-law,� he said. �And nieces and a nephew that I didn�t have before. I still don�t have a mother-in-law or a father-in-law, but ... hey, is that such a bad thing?�

Joey chuckled. �I don�t think it is,� he said. He, after all, did not really have to deal with a mother-in-law or a father-in-law either.

�Laura and I were talking last night,� he said. �We would like to come out to Idaho and visit you all again if that�s all right. Maybe over the first few days of the Christmas break?�

�We�d like that,� Joey said. �Sarah and I were actually talking about the same thing.�

�Little Ziggy should be about six weeks old then,� Jake said. �As long as she and Laura are healthy, we�re up for it.�

�Let�s pencil her in then,� Joey said.

�Agreed,� Jake said. �But ... uh ... there is something that I�d like to talk about regarding the Christmas visit.�

�What�s that?�

Jake took a deep breath and then released it. �I don�t want you to get me wrong here, Joey,� he said. �We enjoyed your hospitality on our last visit and Laura explained to me that it is traditional that family stay with family when visiting. I understand that. I really do.�

Joey�s gaze darkened a bit. �Are you saying you don�t want to stay with us when you visit?� he asked slowly.

�Well ... not because we don�t like staying with you,� Jake said. �We had a good time. But I felt terrible that Laura and I displaced Chase and Grace from their room while we were there and they had to sleep on the couch.�

�It�s a minor inconvenience to them,� Joey said firmly. �They understand that they have to give up their room when family visits.�

�Uh ... yeah,� Jake said, �but it�s still an inconvenience to them, to you, to everyone. And it�s an inconvenience that is not necessary. We are perfectly capable of staying in a hotel room when we visit. It won�t hurt us financially even a little bit. I would like the girls to be able to stay in their room and everyone else to not have to fuss over us.�

Joey was shaking his head. �I won�t hear of it,� he said firmly. �Family stays with family. That�s the way it�s always been.�

�Uh ... yeah,� Jake said again. It was time to play his trump card. �You see, the thing is, the girls being inconvenienced is not the only issue at hand here.�

�It�s not? What do you mean?�

�You�re a man of the world, aren�t you, Joey?�

�What do you mean by that?�

�Well ... to be brutally straightforward, a man likes to have frequent ... you know... relations with his wife. You picking up what I�m laying down here?�

Joey stared at him for a moment and then slowly nodded. �I am,� he said.

�And the fact of the matter is,� Jake explained, �that Laura ... and myself ... cannot bring ourselves to have those relations while staying in our nieces� bedroom. And around Christmas vacation we will just be getting to the point where we will be able to resume said relations after a long period without them due to Ziggy and her birth. I would prefer not to delay the resumption of relations because we are in an environment that prohibits it.�

Understanding dawned on Joey�s face as this explanation sank in. �Ohhh,� he said at last. �I get it.�

�I was hoping you would,� Jake said.

�In that case,� Joey said, �I would recommend the Lancaster Hotel downtown. It�s pricey, but probably the best place in Pocatello.�

Everyone said goodbye when the limousine arrived to pick up the Best family at 8:00 AM. They had a first-class flight from LAX back to Salt Lake City that would board at 9:35 and take off at 10:05. They spent the better part of fifteen minutes giving hugs (the females and the females and the females and males could hug each other) and handshakes (the males could only do this, except for Everett, who got hugs and kisses from both Jake and Laura). Finally, they all piled inside and the long white car drove off down the street and disappeared from view.

Jake and Laura watched it go and then turned back toward the house.

�I already miss them,� Laura said as they walked back to the front door.

�It was a nice visit,� Jake agreed. �Your family is all right.�

�That part of it, anyway.�

Jake nodded and said no more.

�Well,� Laura said, �I guess we�d better start working on the laundry and getting the house back together so we can fly home today.�

�Let�s do it,� he said.

They stripped all the beds and started a load of linen in the washing machine. There was at least three more loads of linen and two of towels that would need to be washed, dried, and put back in their respective places before they could even think about heading home. By the time the second load was in the dryer, all of the other housework had been completed so they decided to go to the bedroom and have a nice fuck while they waited for the latest laundry cycle.

It was while they were going at it hot and heavy that Jake heard the phone ringing from the living room. He put it out of his mind and continued his rear-entry thrusting in and out of Laura�s vagina while he rubbed her swollen belly with one hand and played with her dangling breasts with the other. She was crying out loudly as he fucked her, without restraint for the first time in a few weeks. The phone eventually stopped ringing and he heard the beep of the answering machine fielding it. About two minutes later, his cell phone began to ring from its place on the charger on the dresser. He ignored this as well. And then Laura�s phone began to ring as well, going through two cycles of its own.

Jake�s cell phone rang through yet another cycle before he finally reached his climax and unloaded himself in Laura�s clutching chasm. They collapsed together on the bed, a pair of naked, sweaty messes, and lay there, panting, holding each other closely, feeling the blessed postcoital bliss they enjoyed so much.

Finally, Jake rolled over on his back. Laura did the same. She looked over at him. �It sounded like someone was trying really hard to get in touch.�

�Yeah,� he said with a sigh, knowing that such a thing was rarely good news.

�Are you going to see who it was?� she asked.

�In a minute,� he said.

It was actually closer to ten minutes before he finally rolled to his side and put his feet on the floor. He walked over to his phone and picked it up. He had never bothered to set up the voicemail box on the cell phone, but he did now have caller ID and missed call identification. He flipped it open and looked at the screen. Both calls had come from Nerdly.

�What the hell?� he muttered. He walked over to Laura�s phone and picked it up. The missed call on her device was also from Nerdly.

�Who was it?� Laura asked.

�Nerdly,� Jake said.

�What did he want?�

He gave her a look. �I don�t know what he wanted,� he said. �I am not a phone psychic.�

�You�re a funny man,� she said without humor in her voice. �Why don�t you go check the answering machine?�

�Right,� he said.

He walked naked into the living room. The answering machine was on the end table next to the couch. The red light indicating a message was blinking. He pushed it and heard the beep. A robotic voice told him the date and time of the message. It then began to play.

�Jake, this is Bill,� Nerdly�s voice said. �I need to you call me as soon as you get this message. This is important. I�ve just received the most peculiar phone call.�

Jake waited to hear the details but there weren�t any. That was the end of the message. The machine beeped and told him that he had no further recorded communications to ponder.

Peculiar phone call? he thought. What the fuck is going on now?

He picked up the cordless phone and dialed Nerdly�s number from memory. Bill picked up on the second ring. He had caller ID as well and knew who he was talking to.

�Jake!� Nerdly said. �I tried multiple times to achieve communication with you on multiple devices. Where were you?�

�I was engaged with something, Nerdly,� Jake told him.

�Engaged with what?� Nerdly returned.

Jake took a deep breath, irritated in advance at whatever news Nerdly had to share. �I was fucking my wife, Bill!� he barked. �I did not want to stop to answer the phone.�

�Oh,� Nerdly said simply. �I see. I hope it was enjoyable.�

�It was,� Jake assured him. �Now, what�s going on? What�s so important that you had to call four times in five minutes?�

�I just got the strangest phone call,� Nerdly said.

�From whom?�

�From Matt,� Nerdly said.

Jake�s eyes opened a little wider. �From Matt?� he asked. �You mean ... Matt Tisdale?�

�Matt Tisdale,� Nerdly confirmed. �He called me here at home thirty-four minutes ago.�

�What did he want?� Jake asked, with no idea what Matt possibly could want.

�He wanted to talk about the possibility of signing with KVA Records for his next solo album,� Nerdly said simply.

Jake stood stunned for a moment, naked, still reeking of his wife�s sexual musk, his penis still a bit swollen and wet with her secretions.

�Are you shitting me?� he finally asked.

�I am not shitting you,� Nerdly said. �The enquiry was sincere.�

Santa Clarita, California

July 18, 1997

The meeting between Matt Tisdale and the owners of KVA Records was scheduled for 11:00 AM at the KVA office where the rehearsal studio was located. Jake, Celia, Pauline, and Nerdly had all arrived by 10:00 so they could have a pre-meeting and discuss their various opinions on the matter at hand. This pre-meeting took place in the same place the meeting itself would: in the studio itself, which was currently not being used by anyone in the KVA organization. There was no drum set on the platform, no piano or keyboard set on the floor, no guitars or violins hanging on the racks. The microphone stands and the amplifiers and the effects pedals were all clustered together in the corner of the room, looking lonely and disused. Pauline had set up a large folding card table and some folding chairs just in front of the drum platform. In these chairs is where everyone was sitting currently.

�I am still mostly inclined to tell him to take a flying fuck,� Jake opined to the rest of them. �I don�t care if there is money to be made by signing him, he�s burned all of his bridges with me.�

Everyone nodded, having no problem whatsoever understanding Jake�s point of view. Matt had, after all, accused Jake of murdering Darren on multiple occasions. And even though those accusations had softened a bit over the years, he was still very much on public and private record as expressing the opinion that Jake, Nerdly, and Pauline were strongly responsible for Darren�s death.

�That is a very strong possibility,� Pauline said. �We have no reason to believe he has changed in any meaningful way. The very fact that he tried to push demands for production on us before we even agreed to talk to him about a signing strongly suggests this.�

Nods were exchanged all around. What Pauline was talking about was the offer that Matt had given to Nerdly initially, when he had first made contact. He had told Nerdly that he (Matt) would be willing to sign with KVA for his next solo album provided that he was given full control over the recording and production of the album�with maybe a little help from the Nerdlys in the mixing and mastering process� and as long as he did not have to meet with or have any interference from Jake, Pauline, or anyone else. Jake�s response�which he had given without even bothering to check with Pauline or Celia�had been to tell Nerdly to tell Matt to take that flying fuck. And Nerdly, being Nerdly, had done just that, using Jake�s exact words. Matt had hung up with a few choice words of his own, but he called Nerdly back the next day and, though he did not apologize in any way, asked if they could start over. It was then that he requested to meet with all of the owners of the label so they could talk the matter over. Nerdly had called Jake back and Jake had called Pauline and Celia at that point. Celia had been reluctant to agree to the meeting, as had Jake, but Pauline suggested that they at least hear him out. Perhaps there could be some profit they could pull in if they could agree to terms.

�I have never liked the man,� Celia said now. �From the very first moment I met him, he was rude and condescending to me. He insulted my musical talent, my family, my heritage. He has done nothing to redeem himself in my eyes since. I do not think he would be a good fit to the KVA family of acts. I think he would be nothing but trouble.�

�You are undoubtedly right,� Pauline said with a sigh. Of the four of them, she was the only one who was the least bit enthusiastic about the thought of signing Matt. And even she was not that enthusiastic. She would shed no tears, feel no regrets if they decided as a group to tell Matt to fuck off and die.

�He was respectful to me when Sharon and I helped him with his sound at the Tsunami Sound Festival,� Nerdly said. �He even thanked us for our efforts. I am not sure, however, that his gratitude and acceptance would extend into the recording studio. Matt has very strong opinions about how his music should be recorded, mixed, and mastered.�

�That�s the truth,� Jake said, remembering the endless arguments with him back in the Intemperance days. �And he is often wrong in those opinions. Look at his first solo CD, Next Phase. That is a perfect example of what happens if you let Matt have complete control. The CD barely made Gold, and that only happened last year, more than five years after its release. I think we should agree here and now that if, by some miracle, we do decide to sign him, he must agree to letting us have primary control over the recording, mixing, and production of the CD.�

�Agreed,� Pauline said without hesitation.

�Agreed,� said Nerdly.

�Agreed,� said Celia.

�All right then,� Jake said with a nod.

�Do we even know why Matt is asking to sign with us?� Celia asked next. �He�s been with National ever since the first Intemperance contract. Why is he suddenly backing away from them now?�

�Does the reason matter?� Pauline asked.

�It could help us if we know his motivation,� Celia said. �We know his last contract period expired with the end of the last tour. Shouldn�t he be in a position of strength at this point? What makes him think that we would offer a better deal than he could get with National? Especially considering the fact that we would have to pay National money for the right to do his earlier material if we were to send him out on tour.�

�That is a very good point,� Jake said with a few nods of his head. �We would also have to have Aristocrat or one of the other record companies finance the tour and we would have to split the profits with them. There is no way he could score fifty percent of tour profits under those circumstances.�

�Do you suppose this has something to do with the taxation problems Matt has been having of late?� Nerdly asked. Though Pauline had never revealed that she had been the one to hook Matt up with his tax attorney, everyone knew he was having tax trouble. The IRS and franchise tax board had both issued press releases multiple times on the matter and the fact that Matt had had to sell off his LA condo, his yacht, and a significant portion of his other belongings had been gleefully reported in the LA Times and other publications.

�Perhaps,� Pauline said carefully. She, after all, knew just how bad Matt�s tax issues really were. �I�m guessing that he has been backed into a corner by all the penalties and back-taxes. That could very well be a significant part of his motivation.�

�Enough to make him swallow his pride and come crawling back to us?� Jake asked her.

�Maybe,� she said. �I know Matt well enough to understand that he does not swallow his pride easily. In fact, this might be the first time he has ever had to do it.�

�Precisely,� Nerdly said. �It is for that reason I think we should at least hear him out and consider his proposal. It must have been very difficult for him to make a decision such as this. Let us not reject him out of hand just because of past differences.�

Jake and Pauline looked at each other for a moment. Though both of them knew they had not killed Darren, and both of them knew that they had only done what they knew to be the right thing at the time they had pushed to have the troubled bass player replaced by Charlie, both had also always harbored a chunk of guilt for the way things had worked out.

�Okay,� Jake said at last. �I will at least listen to the man before I decide whether or not to tell him to fuck off.�

�Me as well,� Pauline agreed.

They looked at Celia, who disliked Matt immensely and had never been around him long enough to know that he did have a few redeeming qualities. She sighed and then nodded. �I will listen to him,� she said. �Is this a majority rules decision?�

�No,� Jake said at once. �I think it needs to be stronger than that.�

�Unanimous then?� Pauline asked.

�There are only four of us with a vote,� Nerdly pointed out. �The only option besides majority rules is unanimous.�

�Oh ... yeah, of course,� Pauline replied. �Unanimous it is then.�

�Unanimous it is,� Jake and Celia said in unison.

In other words, an ice cube in hell probably had a better chance at survival than Matt did at securing a contract with KVA.

Jake manned the receptionist�s desk at 10:55 AM. The receptionist in question was currently on vacation and, since there was not a whole lot of phone calls to KVA during this part of the release of CD and music promotion cycle, they had not bothered to hire a temp to sit in for her. Jake sipped from a glass of iced tea and watched the security camera footage on one of the screens on the desk. At 10:58, a long black limousine pulled up out front. It sat there for the better part of two minutes before the door opened and Matt Tisdale stepped out. He was dressed in a pair of ripped and tattered jeans and a black tank top. He stood in the parking lot for another minute, just staring in the direction of the door. Finally, he trudged slowly forward and opened it.

Jake looked at him as he entered, noting that Matt appeared absolutely terrible since the last time he had seen him. His face was drawn and he had bags beneath his eyes. His body looked skinnier than was really healthy. His long hair was thinning in the front and starting to show a few strands of gray. He looked at the receptionist�s desk as he entered and froze in his tracks when he saw who was sitting there. It seemed for a moment that he was about to just turn around and walk back out. But, in the end, he took a step forward.

�Jake,� he greeted tonelessly, giving a brief nod of the head.

�Matt,� Jake returned, returning the nod. �Welcome to KVA.�

Matt looked around for a moment, obviously unimpressed by the office and its d�cor. �This is where you run everything from?�

�This is the face of the company,� Jake said. �It�s where Pauline keeps her office, where the receptionist answers the phone, where the mail gets delivered. It�s also where we keep our rehearsal studio.� He shrugged. �We don�t need some fancy-ass office up in a high-rise somewhere to do what we do.�

Matt thought this over for a moment. �I guess that shit makes sense,� he said at last. He locked his eyes on his former best friend, a man he had once called a brother. �I heard you knocked up your old lady.�

Jake nodded. �That is true,� he said. �It�s a girl. She�ll be born sometime around Thanksgiving.�

�How�d it happen?� Matt asked.

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. �Uh ... in the usual way,� he said. �You are aware of where babies come from, right?�

�Yes, I�m aware,� Matt said, rolling his eyes. �I meant what caused the fuck-up? Did your rubber come off like with Coop? Or did she �forget� to take her fuckin� pills?�

�Neither,� Jake said. �We wanted her to get pregnant. We want to have a baby.�

It was quite clear that Matt had absolutely no comprehension of why a dude would want his old lady to get knocked up. In his world, pregnancy happened through accident or deceit and there was no other option. �All right, all right,� he said. �I get you. None of my fucking business. I�ll say no more about it.�

�We really did want her to get pregnant,� Jake insisted, feeling the odd need to have Matt understand this.

�Right,� Matt said, clearly disbelieving him. �Of course you did.�

Jake gave up. He stood and opened the little half-door that guarded the entrance. �Come on in,� he told his guest. �We�ll have our meeting in the studio.�

�All right,� Matt said carefully. He stepped through the door.

Jake led him down the hall and to the solid, soundproofed security door that led into the rehearsal studio. He punched in the code that released the lock and pulled the door open. Matt followed him inside. Nerdly, Celia, and Pauline were back at the card table, sitting in their chairs, their eyes taking in Matt silently, with no hint of emotion on their faces.

�Go ahead and grab a seat,� Jake directed as he closed the door.

Matt said nothing. He simply walked over to the table and sat down at the end position. He did not greet anyone and they did not greet him. No hands were shaken. Jake secured the door and walked over and took his own seat next to Celia.

�All right then,� Jake said, breaking the awkward silence. �You know who all of us are and we know who you are. I would like to point out that we four at this table are the owners of the entity known as KVA Records LLC. We make all decisions regarding this entity together and we answer to no one except ourselves. Do you understand?�

Matt nodded. �You are the grand fuckin� poohbahs of KVA,� he said. �I get it.�

�Good,� Jake said. �Now, it is our understanding that you came here today with a proposal that we sign you to our label for your next solo release. Is that correct?�

�Yeah,� Matt said, his eyes looking down at the table in shame as he said this. �That�s correct.�

�Why?� Jake asked.

Matt brought his eyes back up and looked at Jake. �I�m tired of working for National,� he said simply. �And I don�t want to sign with any of the other big recording labels.�

Jake and Pauline shared a look with each other. Pauline picked up the thread for the moment. �There has to be more to it than that,� she said. �You�ve been with National since the Intemperance days. What is different now? If we are going to consider your proposal, we need to know your reasoning.�

Matt looked angry for a moment, looked as if he was going to throw out one of his famous angry tirades, but then seemed to think better of it. �They�ve lost faith in me and they�re trying to screw me,� he finally said.

�Explain,� said Jake.

�They think I�ve tapped out my creativity,� he said. �They don�t think that any further CDs I put out are going to be very profitable for them, but they know that having me go out on tour is extremely profitable in this day and age. All they want me to do is pound out a lame-ass CD in a few months so they can justify setting up another tour. And they are not willing to negotiate on a higher royalty rate for that CD. In fact, they�re trying to push me to accept a lower rate.�

�Interesting,� Celia said, speaking for the first time.

�It�s fucked up is what it is,� Matt said. �They�ve even been trying to get me to accept less than half of the tour profits too. I broke off negotiation with their asses two months ago. And I�ll fade into fuckin� obscurity before I agree to their terms.�

�I see,� Pauline said. �And I�m assuming that you�re here because you do not want to fade into obscurity.�

�Fuck no,� Matt said. �But ... well ... there�s another reason. A big reason.�

�What is that?� asked Celia.

He looked at Pauline. �I�m sure you�ve told them about my fucked-up tax situation,� he told her.

�No,� Pauline said simply. �I actually did not.�

Jake and Celia looked at each other in surprise, and then at Pauline, and then back at Matt. �Uh ... we�ve read about your tax situation in the papers,� Jake said. �It seems you owe a bit of money. But what does Pauline have to do with that?�

Now it was Matt who looked surprised. �You didn�t tell them about it?� he asked in disbelief.

�It wasn�t their business,� Pauline said. �I�m a lawyer and things that are said to me remain confidential unless there is a reason for them not to be.�

�What the hell is going on here?� Jake asked. �Are you saying that Matt hired you as a lawyer?�

�He did not hire me,� she said. �And I was not taking care of legal issues for him. He simply called me up and asked me to recommend a good tax attorney, which I did. He did explain his situation to me during the conversation, but it was not anyone here�s business, so I did not discuss it.�

�Not even with Obie?� Celia asked.

�Not even with Obie,� she confirmed. �It�s not his business either.�

�Damn,� Matt whispered, actual respect showing in his eyes for the first time.

�Perhaps you could explain the situation to us now, Matt,� Celia suggested. �Tell us how it relates to your proposal to sign on our label.�

Matt looked at the Venezuelan singer for a moment and then sighed. �I was given really bad advice by my accountant, and I was dumb enough to believe him,� he said. �He told me that since I owned a house in Mexico, I could claim that I was not subject to American or California taxes for everything I put out after Intemperance.�

Jake�s eyes widened. �And ... you believed that?�

�Yeah, yeah, fuck you,� Matt said sourly. �I know how fuckin� dumb it sounds now. At the time, it seemed pretty fuckin� reasonable though, especially since it meant I�d get to keep most of my money and buy all kinds of cool shit like yachts and crews to staff it and helicopters. And everything was cool until the fuckin� state franchise tax board audited my ass and found out about it. And once they found out about it, they ratted me out to the fuckin� IRS. Between the two of them, they hit me with about thirty million in back-taxes, interest, and fuckin� penalties. They garnished my royalty and endorsement and touring income so they can take fuckin� half of everything I bring in�and then I still have to pay fuckin� taxes on the original fuckin� amount. I had to sell my LA condo and my yacht and most of my fuckin� guitar collection and I still owe those fucks more than twenty-four million bones.�

�That is unfortunate,� Jake said. �And I sympathize. You did put yourself in this situation, however. How is signing with us going to help rectify it?�

�By providing me with fuckin� money so I can pay those fucks off,� Matt said.

�National is willing to give you money if you tour for them,� Celia said coldly.

�At the cost of putting out a shitty, substandard CD just so I can tour,� Matt said. �And if I put out a shitty, substandard CD, it won�t sell very much. Not only will it be crappy work that I have put my name on, not only will I be a fuckin� sellout if I do it, it will not bring in enough royalties for me to keep my head above the fuckin� water.�

The three owners nodded their heads in unison, starting to understand where Matt was coming from now. He was talking about the ebb and flow of royalty income that occurred due to the circle of life of an individual CD. When first released�as V-tach�s CD would soon be released�sales were generally slow, which meant the royalty rates in the first few quarters were correspondingly low. But as a few hit songs were heard on the radio, those sales would start to pick up exponentially, thus putting the CD into its most profitable run and increasing those royalties to their highest level. Eventually, however, most everyone who wanted to own the CD would own it and the sales would drop back down to a stable background level of a few thousand per month. That was where Matt was now. He no longer had any tour or endorsement income coming in and his quarterly royalty checks�in which he was paid for sales of all the Intemperance albums and all of his solo albums�would be a mere pittance compared to what they would be at the height of a CD�s popularity. Matt had nothing else to draw on, but he had the same expenses, bills, and obligations to fulfill.

�I need more royalty income,� Matt explained. �I�ll fuckin� drown without it. If I can�t slap down at least three-quarters of a mil on my tax debt every quarter, the fuckin� penalties and interest add more to the debt than I�m able to pay off. It will end up not getting any smaller no matter how much I pay and will probably even grow. If that happens, I�ll never be able to pay it off. The shit will hang over my head for the rest of my fuckin� life.�

�That is a very depressing situation,� Jake had to agree, �but I must ask you one more time: How will signing with KVA help you out? You understand that we are in the business of making money as well, right?�

�I know that shit,� Matt said, �but there�s a difference.�

�What�s the difference?� Jake asked.

�You are not a bunch of heartless corporate suits,� Matt said.

�That is true,� Pauline said, �but we�re also not a charity.�

�I ain�t askin� for fuckin� charity,� Matt said. �I�m asking you to sign me for a CD deal so that both of us can make some fuckin� money. Those suits at National don�t think I got another one in me�at least not one that�s gonna sell as well as the last two did. All they want is for me to pound out something that will sell just enough to cover the expenses of producing it so they can justify sending me back out on tour. I�m telling you that I do have another one in me, maybe even a couple more. I can put out another CD that will go fuckin� double or triple Platinum if you just give me the time to work it up and a studio to record it in.�

�An interesting offer,� Jake said thoughtfully. �And, for what it�s worth, I do believe that you have a few more multi-platinum CDs in you.�

�Well, all right then,� Matt said. �Where do I fuckin� sign?�

�Nowhere just yet,� Jake told him. �There are a few issues that need to be discussed before the four of us even take a vote on whether or not to sign you. And I should point out at this point that that vote needs to be unanimous. That means that all four of us will have to agree to sign you or there will be no signing.�

Matt looked at the four of them, his eyes tracking from one to the other. �Damn,� he whispered. �Should I just leave now then?�

�No,� Jake said. �I�m willing to keep an open mind about this. Hopefully everyone else will as well�including you, Matt.�

�My mind is always open,� Matt said righteously.

Jake could not help but laugh at this statement.

�What?� Matt asked angrily.

�You are the most closed-minded person I�ve ever met, Matt,� Jake told him. �And if this proposal of yours is even going to have a hope of working, you are going to have to change that.�

�What do you mean?�

�Where to begin?� Jake said. �How about we start with the fact that you have accused me and Nerdly and Pauline of murdering Darren. You have done this publicly on multiple occasions. Do you still feel that way?�

Matt flushed, finally giving some color to his face. His hands clenched into fists for a moment and then released. �No,� he finally said. �I don�t believe that anymore. Darren caused his own death by going back to the fuckin� heroin one too many times.�

�That is true,� Jake said. �You have also accused us of being the force that drove Darren back to the heroin because we voted him out of the band. If you�ll recall, you talked his mother into not allowing any of us to attend his fucking funeral�his bandmates who had played with him for years, his manager who lifted him off of the trash head, his fucking brothers who used to get stoned with him and party with him and bang groupies with him�we didn�t get to say goodbye to him because of you. Do you understand that we have a few hard feelings about this?�

Matt took a deep breath and swallowed a little more pride. �Yes,� he said. �I understand that.�

�You�ve done some hateful shit over the years, Matt,� Jake said. �I�m not sure that I�m able to forgive and forget, even if there is money to be made. I don�t know that it is possible for me to work with you after all of that.�

�You don�t need to work with me,� Matt said. �Just sign me up and you�ll never even have to be in the same room with me again. Just give me some place to work up my tunes and a recording studio to put them together and I�ll give you a multi-platinum CD to sell.�

Jake was shaking his head. �I�m afraid that is not how we do business.�

�What do you mean?� Matt asked carefully.

�Any release that we put KVA�s good name on is a release that is going to be mixed and mastered by the Nerdlys and produced by me. Any deal we agree to would stipulate that in writing in the contract and would give me absolute veto power over any cut on the album that I do not approve of and absolute veto power over the entire CD if I find that necessary.�

Matt�s anger returned in a flash. �I�m not going to fuckin� sign anything that says that!� he barked, raising up in his chair a little.

�Then I guess this meeting is over,� Jake said calmly. �We wish you luck on further ventures.� He began to push his chair back so he could stand up.

�Wait just a fuckin� minute!� Matt said.

�Why?� Jake asked. �You just said you would not agree to a non-negotiable stipulation of any contract we presented to you. That puts us at an unbreakable impasse. There is no need to waste our time talking further.�

�We can negotiate this shit,� Matt insisted.

�I just told you it is a non-negotiable stipulation,� Jake reminded him. �That means we cannot negotiate this shit.�

�We can talk about it though, can�t we?� Matt asked.

�What is there to talk about?� Jake asked.

�Come on, Jake!� Matt said. �You�re not some fuckin� heartless record company suit! I know you�re not! You don�t want to dictate how my music should be just because you can!�

�That is true,� Jake said. �But I also cannot just let you slap down whatever strikes your fancy onto a CD and put our label on it. Your first release�Next Phase�proves that you do not always act in your own best interest.�

�Next Phase was a mistake,� Matt said softly. It obviously pained him greatly to admit this. �I learned from it. I let them do engineering and overdubs on the next two releases and that is why they sold so well. I will do engineering and overdubs on my next CD as well.�

�If they are recorded under our label,� Jake said, �you most certainly will do them. And that engineering and overdubbing will be done at the direction of myself and the Nerdlys. I am not saying you will not be allowed input during the process, but I will have the final say so. That is the non-negotiable part. I will not put KVA�s name on a single track that I have not personally approved of. I am not doing this to be a dick or to throw my weight around or to get revenge on you for all the shit you�ve put me through over the years, but because I want anything that we release to be quality, to be something that all of us can be proud of.�

Matt continued to stare at Jake for a moment and then finally dropped his eyes. He muttered something inarticulate.

�What was that?� Jake asked.

�I said I can live with that,� Matt said curtly.

�That�s good to hear,� Jake said, �but can you live with me being at your sessions, telling you which tunes you should do, telling you where to put in that extra guitar section, where to double-track, how to shape your intros and outros?�

Matt took a deep breath. �I don�t know,� he said at last. �I guess we�ll have to give it a try and see.�

Jake nodded. �That�s kind of my take on the matter as well, but I�m willing to give it a shot.�

�As am I,� said Nerdly.

�Well, all right then,� Matt said. �Maybe we�re fuckin� gettin� somewhere here.�

�Maybe,� Jake allowed. �Let�s talk some numbers now. This does not mean we have an agreement to even sign you�we still have to vote on that�but we need to at least make sure we�re all in the same universe here when it comes to the financials.�

�Fair enough,� Matt allowed.

�Now,� said Pauline, �we know you are an established artist, Matt. We know you expect a certain amount of royalties from any deal you sign. You may or may not have heard that we at KVA are very fair to our artists, as fair as we can be, but that we need to maintain a reasonable profit margin of our own. Please keep that in mind during this part of the negotiation.�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said. �And I�ll make it easy on you. I�m not greedy, just needy. I�m willing to accept thirty-five percent. I was going to ask for forty with National on the next run, but they were not willing to go higher than twenty-eight. Thirty-five seems a nice middle ground, doesn�t it?�

�No,� Pauline said plainly. �Not really.�

�I can�t go much lower than that,� Matt told her.

�Then we probably won�t be able to agree to terms,� Pauline suggested.

�What is your offer then?� Matt asked, obviously struggling with his temper again.

Jake handled this part. �We�re paying twenty percent to Brainwash for their second CD,� he said. �Their first went multi-platinum so they are now an established band and have earned that much. V-tach is going to release their first CD next week. You�ve probably heard their debut song on the radio these past few weeks. We�re paying them fifteen percent.�

�But I�m Matt Tisdale,� Matt said. �Former guitar player for Intemperance and someone who is guaranteed to go multi-platinum.�

�Nothing is guaranteed in life,� Jake pointed out. �We would be taking a risk of losing a considerable sum of money if your CD tanks. And, though I�m pretty certain it will not do so, can we reasonably expect that you are going to sell more copies than Brainwash II? Not really. The more we pay you in royalties, the more copies of the CD we have to sell before we start operating in the black�which, as I�m sure you�re aware�is how a business is supposed to operate.�

�I�ve heard that,� Matt said sourly.

�I�m glad you appreciate the concept,� Pauline said. �Let�s take Brainwash as an example. At twenty percent band royalties, combined with the twenty-five percent royalties we are obligated to pay Aristocrat for promotion and the rather large sum we pay them in bulk for manufacturing and distribution, we will need them to sell approximately seven hundred thousand copies of the CD before we start making a profit from them. This is far above the profit point that any of the major labels are willing to accept.�

�You have to pay royalties to Aristocrat?� Matt asked, surprised.

�Did you think they were using their promotional apparatus to get us radio airplay out of the kindness of their hearts?� Jake asked.

�Well ... no,� Matt said. �I kind of assumed you paid them a lump sum at the beginning and that was that.�

�You assumed wrong,� Jake said. �They demand royalties for such a service, and, in a way, I�m glad that they do. Having the amount of profit they make from one of our releases be tied to how well they promote the release is a good thing. If we just paid them a lump sum at the beginning, what motivation would they have for pulling out all the stops?�

Matt nodded as he heard this. �I guess that�s a pretty good fuckin� point,� he had to admit.

�All the things you learn when you go independent,� Pauline said. �In addition to the band royalties and the promotion royalties, we also pay royalties to Obie II for the use of his recording studio.�

Matt looked at her. �Ain�t that the dude you�re boning?� he asked her. �The one who knocked you up?�

�That�s right,� Pauline said. �The dude I�m boning.�

�He fuckin� charges you for using his studio?� Matt asked, incredulous.

�He is a businessman as well,� Pauline said simply. �We occupy his studio for months at a time with each release, preventing other clients from using it while we are there. We utilize the services of his technicians, who must also be paid. Obie is not going to do this just because I let him hose me down on occasion and I�m raising his daughter.�

�That�s cold,� Matt said, shaking his head at the injustice of it.

�It�s a cold world,� Jake said. �We�ll offer you twenty percent, just like Brainwash.�

�I gotta have more than that,� Matt said. �I was making thirty percent with this last CD and twenty-eight was too fuckin� low for me to consider.�

�We�re not going to pay you thirty percent,� Celia said. �Not when whatever label we negotiate with for MD&P is going to demand at least twenty-five.�

�And there are a few things you�re not considering here, Matt,� Jake added.

�Like what?�

�Like the royalty rate we pay you will be set in stone,� Jake said. �We�re not like National or Aristocrat when they sign an artist to their label. There are no recoupable expenses in our deal except for any advance money we would give you. No breakage fees or stocking fees or fucking housing and limo clauses. There are no entertainment expenses. There is no distribution of touring costs because our contract would not include touring. If a tour was going to happen, that would be negotiated separately under a different contract.�

�And, in addition,� Celia put in, �you retain the rights in perpetuity to your own music. We can�t let them use it in a car commercial or some Pixar movie�s soundtrack. We can�t keep you from performing your music or selling the rights to someone else. Your music is your music to do with as you please.�

�So, you see, Matt,� said Pauline, �our twenty percent is really twenty percent. National�s thirty percent they were giving you was actually more like twenty-five when you added in all those recoupables and fees and other bullshit.�

�I see,� Matt said slowly. �I still can�t go twenty percent though. That�s insulting to me.�

The four owners looked at each other, passing around a bit of silent communication. Celia�s thought on the matter was quite easy to pick up. Fuck him then, was her take. There�s the door. Nerdly and Pauline, however, were a little kinder�or at least more profit-oriented�in their thoughts. We could go a little higher, they both broadcast. Just a little.

�Twenty-two percent,� Jake offered.

�Twenty-five,� Matt countered. �That�s the lowest I can accept.�

Another look was shared. Though Matt was not, by any means, negotiating from a position of strength�KVA had absolutely nothing to lose by telling him to take that flying fuck�nods were given by all but Celia. Perhaps it was lingering kindness in their hearts. Perhaps it was nothing more than cold, cool calculation.

�All right,� Jake said with a sigh. �If we agree to sign you at all, the royalty rate will be twenty-five percent.�

Matt smiled for the first time in days. �Now we�re talking some business,� he said. �What happens next?�

�Now that we have the basics of an agreement,� said Pauline, �we�ll call an end to the meeting. You head on home, or wherever it is you go when you�re not here, and I�ll give you a call later today, after we�ve had a chance to discuss the issue and vote on it.�

�And you�ll know by today?� Matt asked.

They all nodded. �Probably by the time you get home,� Jake said.

�Why don�t I just wait until you make your decision then?� Matt asked. �I can kick it in that front office until you have your vote.�

�Because we can�t guarantee that we will make the decision right away,� Jake said smoothly. �Some of us might want to sleep on it.�

�Oh ... well, I guess that makes sense,� Matt said, clearly not happy, but not protesting either.

He got up and Jake let him out of the studio and walked him to the front door after verifying Matt�s home phone number was the same as it had been back in the day. It was. The guitar player made his way out to the parked limo and got inside. Jake closed and locked the door and then headed back to the studio.

He had lied to Matt. They were not really concerned that they would not be able to come to a decision today. They were concerned, however, about having to tell him in person if that decision turned out to be a negative one for Matt�something that they considered an extremely likely scenario.

�Well,� Pauline said when Jake sat back down, �why don�t we see where we all stand here?�

�Sounds good,� said Jake.

�That would seem the logical first step,� agreed Nerdly.

�Let�s take a non-binding vote,� Pauline suggested, �just to see where we stand at this moment. After the vote, we can discuss the issues and then have our binding vote. Fair?�

�Fair,� agreed Jake.

�I vote yes on the deal,� Pauline said.

�I vote yes as well,� Nerdly said.

They looked at Celia. She shook her head. �No,� she said. �I vote no.�

Everyone nodded and then looked at Jake. It was clear they fully expected him to vote with Celia. He had, after all, taken the most abuse from Matt over the years and would have to be the one to put all of that aside and actually work closely with him and his volatile temper if they decided to go forward. But he surprised them. �I vote yes,� he said.

Celia looked at him almost as if he had betrayed her. �Are you serious, Jake?� she asked. �You want to work with Matt?�

�Want is a strong word,� Jake said. �I don�t really want to at all. I�m already envisioning the stomach ulcer the experience will undoubtedly cause. But I�m willing to give it a go.�

�Why?� asked Celia.

�I have several reasons,� he said. �Part of it is that I enjoy producing music. I enjoy it a lot and I�m good at it. My recent experience with V-tach reminded me of that. If Matt and I can put aside our differences�something which remains to be seen�I would like to have my name on his solo effort, have my brain help shape it and polish it. That�s the first thing.�

�What else is there?� Pauline asked.

�I kind of feel sorry for the guy,� Jake said.

�You feel sorry for Matt?� Celia asked incredulously. �The man who accused you of murder? The man who wouldn�t let you go to your bass player�s funeral? The man who said he would never set foot onstage with you again, who would never even be in the same room with you if he could avoid it?�

�It seems he was not able to avoid it,� Jake said. �And yes, I am well aware of what Matt has done in the past. I am well aware that he can be one of the most unpleasant human beings on the planet. All the same, I do feel sorry for him and I do owe a certain debt to him. While we�re all sitting here on top of the mountain, with so much money we don�t even know what to do with it all, he�s drowning and no one else is willing to help him. Despite what has happened, Matt and I have been through a lot of shit together and we produced some pretty damn good music over the years. He is a big part of why I am successful in the first place. Without him slinging his guitar in Intemperance, we never would have made it out of Heritage. The least I can do is throw him a fucking life ring when he�s going down for the third time.�

�Okay,� Celia said slowly. �I think I can understand that. Is that the real reason though?�

�It is a reason, but not the primary reason,� Jake admitted.

�Then what is the primary reason?� asked Pauline.

�I want him to succeed just to spite those fucks over at National,� Jake said.

�Come again?� Celia asked.

�Don�t you see?� Jake asked. �They threw him away like a piece of trash. And why? Because they got it into their mind that tour profits are the only profits that matter now. They tell themselves that he doesn�t have any more hit CDs in him because if they tried to have him pull one out it would take longer than they wanted to get him back out on the road and lining their pockets. Therefore, he�s a has-been, only good for putting out quickly developed token CDs so they can justify the next tour. And, if he were to go along with that, it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy because any CD he tried to come up with in the time period they want is inevitably going to suck no matter what kind of talent is behind it. Matt, for all his faults, is smart enough to see that and refused to be a part of it. I want to show those fucks that they are wrong about him. I want to produce a CD that is going to shine, that is going to go triple platinum, that is going to make those suits at National cry and wonder how they could have misjudged the situation so badly.�

Celia and Pauline looked at each other for a moment. They then looked back at Jake. �That is a pretty good reason,� Celia finally said.

�Good enough to change your vote for?� Jake asked.

She smiled. �Why don�t we vote again and find out?� she asked.

They did so. And this time, the vote was binding.

Upon arriving home at his oceanside mansion, Matt immediately made himself a potent Jack and coke to chase down the three he had enjoyed on the ride home. He lined up a few rails of cocaine and snorted them up as well. Only then did he go into the entertainment room, where Kim was watching some fucking soap opera on the large screen television.

�Well?� she asked carefully. �How did it go?� She knew, of course, how agonizing a decision it had been for Matt to go crawling back to Jake and Pauline to ask for help.

�I don�t know,� he said, sitting down next to her. �We came to terms on royalty rates and a few other things, but they still haven�t decided whether to actually sign me or not.�

�When will they decide that?� she asked.

He shrugged. �Maybe today, maybe tomorrow,� he said. �They wanted to discuss it and vote on it. The vote has to be unanimous.�

She nodded solemnly, her hopes falling a bit. �What kind of deal did you agree to?� she asked.

He explained the particulars to her. She was very surprised to hear that Kingsley insisted on producing any CD that Matt recorded under the KVA label. She was even more surprised that Matt had agreed to this stipulation.

�Will you be able to do that?� she asked.

A little bit of his anger and resentment made it through the wall of cocaine and alcohol. �What choice do I have?� he asked bitterly. �The only other option is to fucking drown. To let the IRS take this fucking house away from me when I can�t pay them what they want anymore.�

She put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed soothingly. �I know how hard this has been for you, Mattie,� she said. �Hopefully things will work out.�

�Yeah,� he said, putting his hand on her bare thigh. �You want to fuck while we�re waiting to hear the news?�

�Sure,� she said. �You want a blowjob first?�

�Fuckin� A,� he said, unbuttoning his pants.

He made it through the preliminary blowjob and was thrusting away inside of her in the missionary position on the couch when the phone started to ring. He quickly broke contact and walked over to the charging station, his shirt and socks still on, his wet schlong sticking out before him like a divining rod. He checked the caller ID screen and saw the number was KVA�s main line. He took a deep breath and then picked up the handset.

�This is Matt,� he said into it, bracing himself.

�Hey, Matt, Pauline,� the familiar voice said in his ear. �We had our vote.�

�And?� he asked.

�It was unanimous in favor of signing you to KVA�s label for a one CD deal,� she said.

Elation filled his soul at these words, but he was certainly not going to display any of it to Pauline. �Oh ... cool,� he said casually. �What�s the next step?�

�We want to meet with you on Friday at eleven o�clock,� she said. �We�ll have a contract for you to sign. You can bring a lawyer if you want.�

�I don�t have a lawyer except for that tax guy you hooked me up with,� he said.

�I see,� she said. �If you need more time to retain an entertainment attorney, I suppose we can accommodate that. Just let us know when...�

�Are you going to try to fuck me with this deal?� Matt interrupted.

�No, Matt,� she said. �We are not going to try to fuck you. That�s not what we�re about. The contract will be written in plain, easy-to-understand English and will contain the terms we have already agreed to.�

�Then I won�t need no fuckin� entertainment lawyer, will I?�

�No,� Pauline said, �but it is certainly your right to have one.�

�Fuck that,� Matt said. �I�ll be there Friday at eleven and we�ll sign. I�m really hoping that I can start getting to work on Monday.�

As it turned out, Matt was not able to get to work until the following Thursday. Part of the issue was that he had to gather his band back together. Since coming off tour, Corban, Austin, and Steve had all been doing their own things, mostly partying a lot and living off their royalty and touring income and not doing much else (including worrying about when that royalty and touring income would reach critical levels). None of the three had picked up an instrument since returning from South America, though Corban did pick up the clap and a nasty case of crabs from a groupie he had met in San Diego one night.

The biggest issue, however, was where to rehearse. The warehouse they had used before was leased by National Records and they were certainly not going to let Matt use it for a project that did not involve their label. Nor was KVA�s main studio an option. Celia had been composing for the past few months and had reached the point where she wanted to start putting things together for her next CD. She staked claim on the studio and planned to start making use of it by the first week in August, which was the soonest she could get Eric, Coop, Charlie, Liz, Little Stevie, and Laura to join her for sessions.

Pauline solved this problem by putting out some feelers. She was able to secure an abandoned warehouse building in Stonehurst in the east San Fernando Valley, only ten minutes from Whiteman Airport. The warehouse sat in a largely disused industrial complex not far from the local landfill. It only took a few thousand dollars and a few dozen man hours to fix the place up, secure it properly, and make it usable as a rehearsal studio. KVA decided to foot the bill for twenty-four-hour security to guard the facility and keep the local tweakers from stealing all the band�s instruments and equipment at night.

That left housing for Matt. It was nearly a two-hour drive from San Juan Capistrano to Stonehurst in morning traffic, an hour-fifteen from Kim�s mostly unused house in El Segundo, both too long to be practical. Since he no longer owned a condo in LA and since he had far too much pride to bunk with one of his band members during the week, they had to find some place to put him up. That place turned out to be the house that Jake and Laura owned in Granada Hills, only ten minutes away from the rehearsal warehouse.

Jake was extremely reluctant to let the infamous guitar player stay there, but in the end, decided to give it a go as Matt did not have the means to rent any place he would actually be caught dead in in LA and KVA was not willing to pay rent for him.

�You will not trash our fucking house!� Jake warned him sternly when he first suggested the idea to Matt. �I am dead serious about this. You will sleep in the guest room and clean up everything as you go along. Laura and I stay in that house on occasion�that�s why we have it�and if there is so much as a bedsheet ruffled or an orange peel on the floor or a single dirty glass in the sink when we go there, your ass is out on the street.�

�Yeah, yeah,� Matt agreed. �I�ll treat the place just like it�s my own.�

�That�s what I�m afraid of,� Jake said.

�Don�t sweat it,� Matt assured him. �I�ll keep it spotless and take care of it for you.�

�And no parties,� Jake added. �It�s there for you to sleep in during the week. No guests of any kind except for Kim.�

�Jeez, dude,� Matt said. �When did you get that big-ass stick shoved up your ass?�

�When I invited a guy who is known to punch holes in hotel suite walls to live in my house,� he said.

�I only did that when I was drinking and doing coke,� Matt said.

�You still do those things,� Jake reminded him.

�Yes, but I�m a lot more mature these days. I haven�t punched a hole in a wall in more than a year now.�

�You�re not making me feel better about this, Matt,� Jake said.

�Don�t worry,� Matt said. �I�ll treat your house like it�s a fuckin� shrine. You have my word on it.�

�Uh huh,� Jake said.

�But do be sure to call first before you and your old lady come by,� Matt suggested. �That way, I can make sure the sheets ain�t ruffled and there ain�t no glasses in the sink and shit.�

�Fair enough,� Jake agreed. �What about your car?�

�What about it?�

�Do you have a driver�s license these days? You�re not planning to take limos back and forth all the time, are you?�

�I have a driver�s license,� Matt assured him. �And I still have my Maserati.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �Please don�t engage in any police pursuits while this project is underway. And if you do, don�t lead them to my house. Can you do that?�

�Consider it done,� Matt agreed.

Last came the equipping of the warehouse so progress could begin. Most of the amps, speakers, and other sound equipment that Matt had used for previous workups had belonged to National Records and was part of their warehouse. In addition, Matt had sold off most of the non-instrument equipment that he had personally owned. KVA�s equipment was, like the studio itself, going to soon be used for Celia and her workups. That meant that new equipment needed to be purchased and installed. This was the most expensive part of the process to date as high-quality sound gear was not cheap. KVA laid out more than thirty thousand dollars for a new sound board, a speaker system, new amps, and all the cabling and wiring to make the equipment work. Jake, Matt, and the Nerdlys spent the better part of Wednesday afternoon putting everything together and wiring it up.

�All right,� Jake said as the four of them sat drinking beer or iced tea (the tea was for Jake, who would be flying later) once the project was complete. �Tomorrow you start working.�

�The boys are ready,� Matt promised. �We�ll be here at nine o�clock and work until five. You have that catering service ready to go?�

�They�ll start with lunch tomorrow,� Jake said�yet another expense that KVA was incurring in the Tisdale Project, as they were now referring to it.

�Out of fuckin� sight,� Matt said.

�Do you want us to come over in the morning to help you with your sound checks?� asked Nerdly.

Matt and Jake shook their heads immediately. �Naw, Nerdly,� Matt said. �We�re just starting the workups tomorrow. We don�t need to be perfect just yet.�

�That�s true,� Nerdly said, �but one should always strive to achieve the best sound possible, even if one is just doing a basic workup. Sharon and I have no plans for tomorrow. We would enjoy coming out to help.�

Matt looked at Jake for help.

�Don�t worry about it for now, Nerdly,� Jake told him. �We promised Matt he had the rest of July and all of August to work up his tunes before we started getting involved. I think production would be hampered if we started sticking our noses in right away.�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt grumbled. He was still resentful that Jake would be involved at all. �You�ll be sticking your noses in plenty come September.�

�As per our contract,� Jake reminded.

�Yeah,� Matt said. �Our fuckin� contract.�

They didn�t say much else. Jake and the Nerdlys each got in their cars and headed out for the day�the Nerdlys to their home, Jake to Whiteman Airport so he could fly home to his pregnant wife.

Matt stayed behind for a few more minutes, looking at the warehouse and the speakers and the amps which were just waiting for the instruments and the band members to arrive to plug in and start making music. He was excited about that part, could not wait to start introducing his new tunes.

But he was still wondering if he had sold his soul to the fuckin� devil in order to make it happen.

Santa Clarita, California

August 29, 1997

Jake and Laura Kingsley were back in the rhythm of making daily morning flights to Los Angeles, working all day in the KVA studio, and then flying back to San Luis Obispo at the end of the day. They had been doing this five days a week since the first week of August and, so far, were having no problem with the pace or the timing. With the Avanti and its twenty-five-minute flight time from airport to airport, they were actually spending less time commuting than many Los Angeles area nine-to-fivers�and the commute in question was considerably less stressful and soul-sucking. In fact, Jake found the actual flights to and from to be the highlight of each day.

It was just past noon on this final Friday before the final weekend of the month of August. Both of the Kingsleys were in the studio helping Celia Valdez work up the tunes for her next CD�which was tentatively titled Living in Limbo. The tune they had been working on all morning was called The End of the Journey. It was a mournful, sad piece about her divorce from Greg Oldfellow (though she did not name names in the lyrics�that would be uncouth). Jake, in particular, understood the meaning of the title quite intimately. It was the exact opposite of the title of the song he had written, composed, and performed at Celia and Greg�s wedding: The Start of the Journey (the similarity in title, Jake knew, was not coincidental).

Though Jake was committed to working with Matt Tisdale on his upcoming CD�his direct involvement in that project would start in earnest the following Monday when he would go to the rehearsal warehouse and evaluate the tunes Matt and his band had worked up so far�it had become obvious over the past month that he was going to have to involve himself quite heavily in Celia�s efforts as well if they were going to turn out to be all that they could be. Celia was an extraordinarily talented songwriter and composer of melodies, but she was nowhere near as talented as Jake when it came to shaping the basic tunes into complex musical compositions that would sound good on the radio and the CD. In addition, though Little Stevie was a talented guitarist, he was almost completely worthless when it came to composing riffs and solos. He could imitate to perfection anything that someone else had come up with�everything from simple acoustic pieces to full-blown Matt Tisdale riffs and solos�but he was incapable of coming up with anything original. Therefore, it would have to be Jake�s role to come up with the electric guitar parts, including the solos and riffs, and teach them to Little Stevie so he could reproduce them in the studio.

It was going to be a busy next few months. They were scheduled to enter the recording studio in Coos Bay on October 15^th to begin laying down tracks for both Matt�s and Celia�s efforts. They had until January 30^th to finish both projects. And, as if that wasn�t enough on Jake�s plate, Laura�who would be playing saxophone on at least six of the ten tunes on Celia�s CD�would be squirting out little Ziggy sometime near the end of November, well before there was any hope of having recorded all of her parts, let alone done the overdubs.

Jake was behind the sound board with the Nerdlys currently, a sheaf of musical score sheets before him, a pencil tucked behind his ear. They had already worked up the basic composition of Journey, as they called the tune, and were polishing it up now. Little Stevie was playing his high-end Brogan knockoff but Jake�s sunburst Les Paul was leaning against a wall and there was a secondary guitar cord leading to the amps that he could plug in with if further refinement of the guitar part seemed necessary. Nerdly, who had his own musical score sheet before him, was listening to the take through a set of headphones while Sharon was intently watching the levels on the board itself. Celia, her own 12-string guitar in hand, was sitting in a chair in front of her microphone. Laura, her belly now swollen and prominent with Ziggy�s third trimester of life, was standing, her alto sax in hand so she could blow out the secondary melody and the solo she had composed to go with the piece.

All in all, Jake thought the tune was coming along nicely. It would likely require only a few more changes to the instrumentation, most of which would be minor in nature. He was already thinking that Journey would be the first tune promoted when the CD was released.

A gentle elbow in his side took him out of his thoughts. It was Sharon, who was pointing at the phone mounted on the wall next to the door. A bright red light was flashing on the phone, indicating that someone�most likely Kayla, the latest KVA receptionist�was trying to reach them. For obvious reasons, the phone in the studio did not actually ring.

Jake got up and walked over to it. He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. �It�s Jake,� he said into it.

Even though the volume of the earpiece was turned all the way up, Jake could barely hear over the music. He heard enough though. It was indeed Kayla. She was telling him that the catering service had just dropped off lunch.

�Got it,� he said. �I�ll be out in a few minutes to get it.�

She said something else that he could not make out, but it did not sound important. He hung up the phone and then waited until the group wound up Journey (Jake still thought the outro needed some more work�maybe a violin solo from Eric?) and fell silent. He then announced that lunch was here and it was time to take thirty or so and feed themselves.

Lunch today was hamburgers and French fries. Jake and Laura brought everything into the studio and everyone settled down in various places to eat. Celia sat with Jake and Laura on the edge of the drum platform. They balanced their paper plates on their laps and set their bottles of water and tea down next to them. Celia noticed that between bites Laura was rubbing her belly just above the belly button.

�Is Ziggy kicking you again?� she asked, a big part of her full of envy at the life that her friend and occasional lover was growing in her body.

The kicks were now a regular occurrence, and strong enough now that others could feel them by putting a hand on her belly. Jake remembered with a sense of awe the first time he had actually felt an unmistakable fetal movement by his daughter. �She�s calming down now,� Laura said. �She was really hammering me when the music was playing a few minutes ago.�

�Oh yeah?� Celia asked.

�Ziggy definitely likes music,� Laura said. �Whenever we�re playing or when I�m listening to it at home, she gets really active in there. And then, when it stops, she calms down.�

�She�s certainly got musical genes in her,� Celia said.

�Or, it�s just part of God�s great plan,� Jake said.

Both ladies looked at him strangely.

�That�s what your brother told me when I suggested the existence of musical genes,� he explained. �He said there are no musical genes, that your musical talent and mine were instilled upon us by God so that we could fulfill our part in his plan.�

�What plan is that?� Laura asked.

�For us to meet and get married was how I understood the explanation,� Jake said.

�Just that?� Laura asked.

�What do you mean �just that�?� Jake asked. �Don�t you think that you and I hooking up was a good plan?�

�It was all right,� she said with a shrug. �It�s just that I�m not sure it rises to the level of divine intervention or anything. Wouldn�t you think that if God had a plan that involved instilling us with musical talent so we would find each other, it would have an end goal a little more profound than us jumping into the sack one night and then eventually deciding we actually loved each other enough to get married and have a little Ziggy?�

�Perhaps,� Jake said.

�Were you and your brother-in-law drinking, by chance, when you had this divine plan conversation?� asked Celia.

�Uh ... well, yeah, we kind of were.�

�Kind of?�

He shrugged. �It was Budweiser from the can,� he said.

She nodded her head wisely. �That explains a lot,� she said.

�You don�t actually believe that, do you, sweetie?� Laura asked. �That some supreme being who controls everyone�s fate just wrote my musical talent into me for the express purpose of having me meet you some twenty-six years later?�

�No, not really,� he said. �It was an interesting point of view though.�

�Budweiser from the can will do that for you,� Laura said with a giggle.

�I suppose,� Jake said with a sigh. He took a drink of his green tea and then popped another French fry into his mouth.

�So ... speaking of getting laid,� Celia suddenly blurted, though with her volume somewhat muted to keep others from overhearing.

Jake and Laura both looked at her. �Were we speaking about that?� Jake asked.

�Well ... no,� Celia said, �but we should be.�

�Should we?� Laura asked, a little shine in her green eyes. Though she was now well into the third trimester of her pregnancy, the second trimester hormones had still not given up their prominent position.

�We should,� Celia whispered. �I was hoping that maybe the two of you could come over for a little visit after rehearsal today. It is Friday, after all.�

�Yes it is,� Jake said, smiling a little, already starting to feel warm inside. �No need to get up early tomorrow.�

�No real reason not to have a visit, right?� asked Laura.

They looked at each other and exchanged sly smiles. No, there was no real reason not to, those smiles said.

�Perhaps we could pop by for a bit on our way to the airport,� Laura offered, although Malibu was nearly an hour away from Santa Clarita (assuming reasonable traffic, which most certainly could not be assumed on the LA freeways) and the airport in question was only ten minutes away in the opposite direction. �What do you say, sweetie?�

�Yeah,� he said casually. �I think we can make a little side trip for a friendly visit.�

�All right then,� Celia said happily. �It�s a date.�

�I�d better go call Elsa,� Jake said. �Remember what happened the last time we decided to visit without giving her advance notice.�

Laura remembered. Elsa had made a pot roast dinner that had gone uneaten because the people she had prepared it for had decided to eat something else in Malibu. It had not been a pleasant scene when they finally arrived home. You have never really been dressed down until you�ve been dressed down by an angry Nigerian housekeeper who had put food on the table for someone who hadn�t bothered to show up or even call to say they weren�t going to show up.

�Good idea,� Laura said solemnly.

Jake trotted back to the phone and made the call. Elsa listened to him and politely thanked him for letting her know they were not going to be home at the usual time.

�Will you be home at some point this evening?� she asked.

�Oh yes,� Jake said. �We�re still flying back tonight. Celia just invited us over for dinner at her place. We should be back between nine and ten.�

�Very good, Jake,� she said. �There are two dozen of those farm fresh eggs you like and a pound of that Italian sausage in the refrigerator if you want to make breakfast in the morning.�

�Sounds good, Elsa,� Jake said. �Have a good evening and enjoy your weekend off.�

They finished their lunch and then went back to work. Having become a bit burned on working up Journey, they spent the second half of the workday getting familiar with another tune. This one was called When You�re Lonely. It had been introduced to the band only two days before and, while the average listener would likely not be able to pick up on the meaning of the lyrics beyond the fact that it was a testament to moving on from a failed primary relationship to a rebound relationship that had no real hope of lasting, every one of the band members�who knew Celia and her secrets quite well�understood on the first presentation that she was singing about her affair with Suzy the pilot. It was a melancholy piece that evoked strong emotion, especially now, considering the fact that Suzy and Celia had not seen each other in several months. Suzy did not know who Celia had found to replace her, but she knew she had been replaced. Heartbroken, she had accepted a pilot-in-command position in Houston, flying Gulfstreams out of Ellington Field, and had made no attempts at communication with Celia since. The references to the rebound lover in the lyrics were deliberately gender-neutral, which would lead most to conclude she was singing about some nameless guy, but composed with clear affection and love with an unmistakable undertone of sadness.

No one mentioned to Celia that they knew what the tune was about. They did not have to. They simply worked on it professionally, like the musicians they were. Today they progressed beyond the basic acoustic version of the piece and started the process of working it up into what it would eventually be. This was where the teamwork and musical relationship between Celia and Jake truly shined. Celia suggested that the verses of the song remain at the tempo she had composed it and that her twelve-string would remain the primary melodic instrument. Jake agreed that this would work but suggested that for the choruses they go up-tempo and switch to a moderately distorted electric guitar for the melody here, backed by a strong backbeat of drums and bass.

�That could work,� Celia said thoughtfully after pondering this. �Show me what you mean.�

He showed her. He plugged in his Les Paul and spent the better part of twenty minutes working out a suitable translation of the acoustic melody into a distortion riff. Finally, he hit upon something that seemed to work. Coop and Charlie then jumped in and they ran through it a few times until it sounded reasonably like music. Then Celia joined them, singing the lyrics at the new tempo but keeping her own guitar mute.

�I like it,� said Celia with a smile. Since it was her tune, she had the final say. �Let�s work it up a little and see if I keep liking it. If I do, we�ll try to get Liz and Eric in on it somehow.�

�What about me?� asked Laura, who was sitting in a chair, still sipping from her tea, her alto sax still hanging on the rack.

�I don�t know,� Celia said. �I can�t envision any sax on the choruses, but maybe as a secondary melody on the verses?�

�It would have to be a light melody,� Nerdly said sternly. �You don�t want to overpower the guitar.�

�That is a good point,� Jake said, nodding.

�What if I used the soprano sax?� Laura suggested. �Like I did on Blur?�

Celia thought about this for a moment. �That might just work,� she said. �Let�s run through the choruses until we get it down and then we�ll try you out on the verses, Teach.�

�And maybe we can have Eric do some fills on top as well,� Jake suggested.

�Maybe,� Celia said.

They spent the next three hours playing around with the song. They decided that there should be no percussion at all on the verses, just a light bass line to set the rhythm. Laura on the soprano sax did compliment the acoustic guitar melody quite well, as did some fills by Eric on the violin. Liz and her piano, however, did not mix well on the verses and they abandoned that experiment rather quickly. On the heavier choruses, on the other hand, Liz was able to lay down a secondary melody atop the distorted guitar that kept the tune from broaching into the land of hard rock by just the barest of margins. After they settled on the distortion riff, Jake unplugged his guitar and let Little Stevie start working. As always, he perfectly imitated the riff that Jake had composed, the only difference a slight variance of phrasing.

They knocked off for the day just before five o�clock. Everyone stowed their instruments in their accustomed places while the Nerdlys made sure all of the electrical equipment was shut down. Nerdly then gathered up all of the notes and musical scores they had generated that day and scanned them into the computer in the office, where one copy was saved to the hard drive and another copy was saved to a disc that Nerdly would take home with him and put in his safe. The studio was then locked up and secured with the alarm (there was over a hundred thousand dollars worth of musical instruments and audio equipment in there). Everyone said their goodbyes to one another and climbed in their vehicles for their respective commutes home.

Celia deliberately left first in her Mercedes. Jake and Laura deliberately left last in Jake�s truck. They thought they were being discreet and perhaps they were. They need not have bothered, however. By this point, everyone in the band�even Eric�had realized that there was something going on between the Kingsleys and Celia Valdez. No one had overheard any remarks made, any plans being laid down, or any other confirming information. None of them had even talked to each other about their suspicions (except the Nerdlys among themselves). But all had noted the way the three of them always sat together, how they looked at each other, how they whispered to each other at times.

They were fooling no one but themselves.

By this point, Jake and Celia had their own garage door opener and key to Celia�s Malibu house. Jake parked next to the Mercedes and closed the garage door using the opener before either he or Laura stepped out of the truck. Once the door was closed, they made their way into the foyer and down the stairs to the second level. The lights were all off in the lower level, the blinds all drawn. The hallway that led to the master bedroom was lit up. They turned right and headed that way.

In Celia�s bedroom, the covers on the bed had been neatly turned back. The lights were on. Soft music was playing from the sound system. From the master bath, they could hear the sound of the shower running, could smell the steam and the scent of body wash. Both of them began to feel their libidos kick up a few notches.

Laura smiled and looked at her husband. �This still doesn�t feel wrong,� she said.

�No,� he agreed, leaning in and giving her a kiss. �And hopefully it never will.�

Hand in hand, they walked into the master bath. They could see the side profile of a naked Celia Valdez behind the steamy glass of the enclosed shower. She was scrubbing herself with a loofah sponge, currently working on her lower belly. They stepped closer.

�Should we join you in there?� Laura asked, her Nymph voice clearly coming forth. The shower was certainly big enough for all three of them.

�As tempting as that sounds, no,� Celia replied with a giggle. �I�m almost done in here. Hopefully you won�t mind if I don�t wash my hair?�

�I can live with that,� Jake said.

�Me too,� Laura agreed.

Celia laughed. �I ordered a pizza on the way home. It should be here in another five minutes or so. I�ll collect it while you two get showered up.�

�Oh ... okay,� Laura said, giving a naughty look at her husband. �We�ll shower right up.�

�No starting without me,� Celia said, now scrubbing between her legs. �In Casa Valdez, it�s all for one or none for all. Just get clean so we can get dirty.�

�I wasn�t going to do anything,� Laura said with a pout.

�You were going to suck his dick,� Celia said. �Don�t even try to claim otherwise.�

�Just a little,� Laura said.

�It is a good warmup exercise,� Jake added. Laura did give a mean blowjob�always had, always would.

�Save it for the bed,� Celia said. �I will not be denied in my own home.�

They reluctantly agreed to save it for the bed.

The shower door opened and Celia stepped out in all her glory. She looked and smelled incredible. Both of the Kingsleys stared at her nakedness in lustful awe. Though they had both seen her this way multiple times now (Jake one more time than his wife, unbeknownst to her) they never got tired of the view. Celia had a truly magnificent body in all dimensions of the word.

�I left the water running for you,� Celia said as she picked up a large bath towel and began to dry herself off. �Stop gawking at me and get in there.�

�Right,� the Kingsleys said in unison.

They stripped off their clothes, leaving them in a neat pile next to the bathtub. Now it was Celia who was staring, her eyes shifting from Laura�s pregnant body to Jake�s rapidly inflating manhood and then back again.

�Stop gawking and go get that pizza,� Jake admonished as they stepped into the steamy shower.

�Right,� Celia said, putting on a fuzzy white robe over her nudity and tying it tightly around her waist.

The Kingsleys showered quickly, using the large washcloths and the bottle of body wash that smelled like watermelon and cucumbers. They kept their hands and mouths to themselves for the time being. After rinsing, they turned off the shower and stepped out, picking up the two towels that Celia had left for them. They dried off and then walked naked back into the bedroom. Celia�s robe was now hanging on a hook and Celia herself was laying naked on the bed, her fingers idly playing with herself.

�We don�t want to eat the pizza first?� asked Jake.

�No,� Laura said, licking her lips. �We don�t want to eat the pizza first.�

�What a rip,� he said with mock indignation.

They climbed into bed with her, Jake on the left side, Laura on the right, Celia in the middle. They spent a while just kissing and caressing, Jake kissing Celia, Celia kissing Laura, Jake and Laura kissing each other, and then all three of them swirling their tongues together while their hands touched and probed in forbidden places. Laura then spent awhile licking and suckling Celia�s nipples while Jake went down between Celia�s legs and licked her swollen vagina. He kept it up until he managed to pull an orgasm from her.

�All right,� she panted once she recovered from it. �I want to eat some pussy now. Lay down here, Teach.�

�If I must,� Laura said, giving a little mock indignation of her own.

While Celia lay on her belly and licked and sucked between Laura�s legs, Jake went around behind her and raised her hips into the air. He then slid himself into her body from behind. She moaned out her approval of this action. Grasping her hips, he set a steady, deep pace of thrusting, keeping his mental block firmly in place for now.

Soon, all three of them were sweating and reeking of musk. Laura was the next to come, crying out loudly as Celia sucked on her clitoris and fingered her at the same time. After the orgasm, Celia moved up her body, kissing her passionately for a few minutes and then moving back down to suckle her pregnancy swollen nipples. Celia had found that her favorite part of making love to a woman was deep kissing her and touching and sucking on breasts (not that she minded the other aspects) and she got her fill of all of this. Laura reached between their bodies and began to play with Celia�s clitoris. Soon, she was bucking out another orgasm.

�Your turn, sweetie,� Laura panted to Jake. �Come in her! You know what I want to do next!�

Jake did know. Laura�s favorite part of the games they played was licking and sucking his semen out of Celia�s vagina after he deposited it there. He let himself go and fired off inside her body while she was still shuddering out her own climax. The moment he was done, Laura rolled their lover over onto her back and put her face between her legs. Celia sighed contentedly as she felt the soft lips and tongue working on her, as her mind turned over the sheer eroticism and nastiness of what Laura was doing.

�Come up here,� Celia panted, pulling on Jake�s leg. �I want to suck you.�

�Okay,� Jake said agreeably. A moment later, her mouth was on his manhood, slurping their combined juices off and getting him ready for round two.

Once he was back to a full erection�it did not take long�he moved back down the bed and positioned himself behind his wife. He lifted her hips up this time and slid into her body. He and Celia both caressed her swollen belly while he thrust in and out. After doing this for a while, they repositioned again, this time with Jake on his back and Laura mounting him in the female superior position. Celia leaned forward and alternated between kissing Laura�s mouth and suckling her bouncing breasts until Laura came again and Jake was given the go-ahead to finish up. He did so, blasting a second load up into his wife�s body. The three of them then collapsed in a heap onto the mattress, Laura in the middle this time.

They shared a few more kisses and caresses with each other and then Jake looked at the clock. They had been going at it for almost an hour. He felt sleepy but he also felt hungry.

�How about that pizza now?� he asked.

�Yeah,� Celia said, nodding, her face still flushed with excitement. �I seem to have worked up an appetite.�

�Me too,� agreed Laura.

They got out of bed and Celia put her robe back on. Jake and Laura talked about taking a quick shower but decided not to since they were just going to put back on the same clothes they had worn all day. They did decide that they would get in the habit of carrying a change of clothes with them on Fridays.

�Good idea,� Celia said as she watched them get dressed. �This is starting to become an end of the week tradition, isn�t it?�

They agreed that it was. They all went downstairs and tore into the pizza, annihilating two thirds of it in only twenty minutes. By then, it was approaching eight o�clock. There was no discussion about the Kingsleys staying the night. They said their goodbyes, exchanged affectionate kisses with their lover, and then headed for the airport so they could go home.

Laura slept for most of the drive back to the airport. She woke up long enough to strap into the plane and was back to sleep again before he even made it to his cruising altitude of ten thousand feet. She woke up, as always, when she heard the sound of the flaps being deployed just prior to landing.

�You know what I want?� she asked him as they climbed into Jake�s BMW for the drive home.

�What�s that?� he asked.

�One of those big microwave burritos from the 7-11.�

He looked over at her. By now, he was used to her strange and extremely specific cravings. �You just had pizza an hour ago,� he reminded her.

�Ziggy is hungry,� she insisted.

�Ziggy is hungry a lot,� he said. �How about I make you a burrito when we get home? We still have some of that leftover tri-tip from last night, I�m sure there�s a few cans of refried beans in the pantry, I can shred up some of that pepper-jack cheese we have, and Elsa always has tortillas laying around.�

She was shaking her head. �Ziggy wants the burrito you get at 7-11,� she insisted. �The spicy one that comes in the red package.�

�I think Ziggy might be a stoner,� Jake suggested.

�Don�t talk about your daughter that way,� she told him. �Just stop at the 7-11 and get her one of those burritos.�

�Will do,� he said with a sigh. The 7-11 was a bit out of the way, but Ziggy ruled supreme.

They arrived home at 9:45. The house was dark except for the security lights that clicked on as they made the trip from the gate to the garage. There were a few lights on in Elsa�s quarters. This was the usual situation. Elsa�s bedtime was generally 10:00 PM and she would wake up at 6:00 AM, whether it was her worknight or not�and tomorrow and Sunday were her days off.

They made their way into the house and Laura went immediately to the kitchen so she could pop her 7-11 burrito into the microwave and get it cooking. Jake went to the entertainment room and turned on the lights. He began to construct a Captain and coke at the bar so he could mellow a bit for the start of his weekend off. Just as he was putting the bottle of Captain Morgan back in its place, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock at the side door that led from the outside into the kitchen. A moment later, the alarm panel inside that door began beeping its countdown while it waited for the security code to be input. The code was put in quickly, which meant that it was Elsa who just entered the house and not some deranged fan who wanted to kill them all with a kitchen knife.

He carried his drink back to the kitchen, where Laura was just sitting down in the nook to eat her burrito and drink a large glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade from the large pitcher of it that Elsa always kept in the refrigerator since Ziggy had decided that was her favorite beverage. Elsa was there, dressed in her sweatpants and an oversized pullover shirt that fell to her knees.

�Hey, Elsa,� he greeted. �What�s up?�

She was standing next to Laura and only a few feet from Jake. Jake saw that her nostrils were flaring a bit and that a knowing look was in her eyes. Oops, Jake thought, a little embarrassed. I guess we probably smell a little strongly of sex right now. Hopefully she won�t guess that Celia was involved.

But Elsa made no mention of their odor or what they might have been doing to acquire it. �Sorry to disturb you,� she said, �but the Los Angeles Police called this afternoon.�

Jake sighed. �Again?� he asked.

�Again,� she confirmed. �It was Sergeant Cranston, the same one who called on the other occasions.�

Jake nodded. Sergeant Cranston was a supervisor for the LAPD�s Community Resource Team, a hand-picked group of officers and civilian workers who, among a few other things, were assigned to deal with most of the minor issues involving celebrities who lived in the Los Angeles city limits. And since Matt had moved into Jake and Laura�s Granada Hills house, which was inside those city limits and under the LAPD�s jurisdiction, he had talked to Cranston on three occasions now. The first had been the day Matt had moved in and the neighbors, seeing the scrungy, long-haired and tattooed man moving things in from a Maserati, had called the police and reported a burglary. The second time had been a few days later when they saw Jim, Matt�s paramedic, set up residence in the house as well (Jake reluctantly allowed Jim to stay in one of the guest rooms, though he was still not really sure what the relationship between those two was all about�other than it was not a sexual one). The third time had been when Jim and Matt had been using the pool one night after rehearsal and playing Metallica�s Master of Puppets CD at ear-shattering volume.

�Did he say what the issue was this time?� Jake asked Elsa now.

�He did not,� Elsa replied. �He did ask that you give him a call on his department phone on Monday morning to discuss the situation. I have written the number down and placed it on the office desk.�

Jake sighed. �All right,� he said. �Thanks, Elsa.�

She nodded, flared her nostrils one last time, cast one more knowing look, and then retreated from the house.

�What do you think he did this time?� Laura asked as she poked at her burrito to feel if it had cooled enough for human consumption.

�God only knows,� Jake said. �I guess I should give him a call.�

�He�ll be drunk,� she said.

�And stoned as well,� Jake said, �but at least he�ll be in a reasonable mood.�

He left Laura and Ziggy to their burrito and made the walk into the office with its security camera monitors and the computer. Out of habit, he took a glance at the screens, seeing that all were showing the night vision view and that everything appeared to be in order. He then sat down at the desk and took a look at the note that Elsa had left. It listed Sergeant Cranston�s name, title, and phone number in Elsa�s disturbingly neat handwriting. He pushed it to the side and picked up the phone, dialing the area code and the number for the Granada Hills house from memory.

A male voice picked up on the third ring. It was not Matt. �Kingsley residence,� the voice said politely, though with an obvious slurring of speech.

�Hey, Jim, it�s Jake,� Jake said. �Is Matt around?�

�Yeah, sure,� Jim said. �I�ll go grab him for you.�

�Thanks.�

The phone clunked down. In the background, Jake could hear music playing from his sound system. It was the intro for Camera Eye from Rush�s Moving Pictures CD. Just as the primary riff for the tune began to play, Jake heard the sound of footsteps stomping closer. There was another clunk and then Matt�s voice was speaking to him�a little loudly and a lot slurred.

�Jake, wassup?� Matt enquired.

�I might ask the same thing,� Jake replied.

�What do you mean?�

�I just got home and was informed that Sergeant Crandall of the LAPD wants to speak to me again.�

�That fuckhead?� Matt barked. �I swear to God, he�s such a fuckin� narc.�

�He�s a cop, Matt,� Jake explained carefully. �He�s supposed to be a narc.�

�Oh yeah,� Matt said with a laugh. �I guess that shit makes sense!�

�I�m glad you agree,� Jake said. �What happened?�

�It was no big deal,� Matt said. �Your snooty-ass neighbors called the cops again.�

�Why did they call the cops?�

�They said I was out smoking some weed with Taco and Taquito.�

�Who are Taco and Taquito?� Jake asked, rubbing at the back of his head to stave off a tension headache that wanted to form there.

�Those two beaners that do your fuckin� landscaping,� Matt said. �The big beaner and the little beaner.�

�Ahh,� Jake said. �That would be Ramone and Miguel, not Taco and Taquito.�

�Yeah ... whatever,� Matt said.

�Were you, in fact, smoking weed with them?� Jake asked.

�Not when the cops showed up,� Matt said.

Jake closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. �But, at some point during Ramone and Miguel�s visit to cut the lawn, you were smoking weed with them?�

�Yeah, of course,� Matt said. �I mean, why not? Those motherfuckers work hard. I thought they might like a little break from all that manual labor shit, so I took a doob out and shared it with them. They were very grateful�at least I think they were. I couldn�t understand a fuckin� thing they were saying.�

Jake nodded. He knew that Miguel spoke fluent English and wondered if the man just didn�t want Matt to know that or if he had been speaking English and Matt had not been able to follow the landscaper�s thick accent. Probably the former. �What happened when the cops got there?�

�Nothing much,� Matt said. �We�d already burned the whole doob by that point and I�d swallowed the roach. The two beaners don�t speak English and the two cops didn�t speak Mexican and I just denied the shit out of the accusation and told them I was just having a friendly chat.�

�And they bought that?� Jake asked.

�Who gives a shit if they bought it?� Matt asked. �There wasn�t no fuckin� evidence. They let Taco and Taquito go and then had that Sergeant fuckhead come out and talk to me.�

�And what did he say?� Jake asked.

�The usual bullshit that cops say when they ain�t got nothin� on you,� Matt said. �He told me that weed is still illegal in California unless you got one of them cards from a doctor, and even if I did have one of them cards, I don�t get to smoke the shit on a public street or share the shit with a couple of beaner landscapers unless they got cards too.�

�And you replied to him politely and respectfully?� Jake asked.

�Well ... for me, yeah,� Matt said. �I told him that your fuckin� neighbors need to mind their own goddamn business instead of mine.�

Jake sighed, giving a few more rubs of the head. �Are you deliberately trying to be a pain in my ass, Matt, or does this just come naturally to you?�

�It�s fuckin� natural, dude,� Matt said simply. �If I wanted to be a pain in your ass I would�ve gotten in a fight with the cop.�

Matt did have a point there, Jake supposed. �All right,� he said. �Will you please refrain from smoking weed or doing anything else illegal where my neighbors can see, hear, or smell you doing it?�

�No problem, Jake,� Matt said. �And it was no big deal. I�m surprised that cop even called you about this shit.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �How�s the rehearsal coming along? Will you and boys be ready to start working for real on Monday?�

�We�re ready,� Matt assured him. �We got twelve solid tunes pretty much dialed in.�

�I can�t wait to hear them,� Jake said. �Monday at nine, right?�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said.

�I�ll see you then,� Jake said. �Until then, however, can you please try to avoid having the cops respond to my house?�

�Hey,� Matt said, �I never fuckin� called them.�

�I�ll take that as a yes,� Jake said. �Catch you later.�

�Later,� Matt said and then hung up.

Jake put his extension down and then stood up. He headed back to the kitchen to grab a couple of Tylenol tablets out of the medicine cabinet.

Jake and Laura spent the weekend doing absolutely nothing of consequence. They played no music. They did not leave the house a single time except to go out on the back deck or out to the hot tub on the cliff to watch the sunsets. Jake thawed out some baby back ribs from the local meat market and spent all day Saturday smoking them out on the Weber barbeque. They ate them with canned baked beans on Saturday and Sunday night. Jake had a few beers while they were smoking, a few glasses of white wine with the meals, and scotch on the rocks before retiring each night, but otherwise drank no alcohol. It just wasn�t fun to drink when there was no one able to drink with him. He smoked no marijuana for the same reason.

On Monday morning, it was back to the routine. They woke up at 6:45 AM, showered, got dressed, and then went to the kitchen for coffee and the breakfast that Elsa had prepared for them (it was eggs benedict, Laura�s favorite). At 7:25, they left the house in Jake�s BMW and drove to San Luis Obispo Regional Airport, arriving there at 7:45 AM and parking the car in the hangar after using the electric tug to pull the Avanti out. The aircraft was preflighted and the flight plan filed by 8:00. They roared into the sky at 8:10 and landed at Whiteman Airport at 8:35, parking in the general aviation tie-down area and then retrieving the Ford F-150 from the hangar by 8:42. Jake then drove to KVA�s studio and dropped Laura off out front, watching to make sure she made it safely inside before beginning his drive out to Stonehurst and the rented warehouse where Matt and his band had been rehearsing. He arrived there at 8:55 and nodded in satisfaction that the timetable he had worked out for the days he would working with Matt had got him there on time.

Now the only thing left was to see if the two of them could actually work together.

Jake secured his car and walked to the man entrance that was guarded by a uniformed private security officer sitting in a chair and drinking coffee. The young guard looked at Jake in awe as he approached.

�Hey,� Jake greeted. �Matt is expecting me.�

The guard nodded rapidly. �He said you would be here today,� he said. �Does this mean ... uh ... you know ... that Intemp is getting back together?�

�No,� Jake said simply. �It doesn�t mean that at all.�

The guard�s face fell a bit. �That�s a bummer, dude,� he said.

�I suppose,� Jake said. �Is the door unlocked?�

�Oh ... yeah, go right in, Mr. Kingsley.�

�Thanks,� Jake said. �And call me Jake, if you don�t mind.�

�Right ... Jake,� the guard said.

�And ... you are?� Jake enquired.

�Huh? Oh, I�m Aaron,� the guard said. �Aaron Jackson.�

�Nice to meet you, Aaron,� Jake said, holding out his hand for a shake. �I appreciate the work you�re doing here.�

�Oh ... thanks, Mr. K�uh ... Jake.� They shook hands. Aaron seemed to be pleased by the gesture and by Jake�s expressed appreciation for what he was doing.

Jake opened the steel door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The band�s equipment was still sitting in the same place it had been in when they had set everything up last month. The band itself was present but Matt was not here yet. Jake walked over and greeted Steve Calhoun, the drummer; Austin Jefferson, the bass player; and Corban Slate, the young rhythm guitarist. It was only his second time meeting them. All shook hands politely with him and treated him respectfully and with perhaps a bit of awe of their own.

�What time does Matt usually roll in?� Jake asked them.

�Nine o�clock on the button,� Steve said. �You can set your fuckin� watch by him.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said. �How�s everything going with you guys? You getting by on the advance money okay?� KVA had fronted Matt and his band two hundred thousand dollars in advance money, which would be their only recoupable expense under the contract. Matt, of course, had not divided that up equally, but had given each of them twenty thousand to live on until such time as actual KVA royalty checks started rolling in.

�So far, so good,� said Austin. �I haven�t had to spend much of it yet. We�re still getting pretty good royalty checks from National�at least in our eyes.�

�Yeah,� said Corban, �we don�t have to give half of it to the IRS like Matt.�

�We also don�t live in mansions that have huge fuckin� tax bills due every quarter,� added Steve.

�Good points,� Jake said.

The door opened a minute later and Matt stepped inside. He was dressed in a pair of denim shorts that hung to just above his knees and a faded Corona t-shirt that had its sleeves cut off. Jake glanced at his watch and saw that Steve had been right. It was nine o�clock, right on the button.

�Wassup, motherfuckers!� Matt greeted his bandmembers. They all returned the wassups with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Matt then looked at Jake. �Jake,� he said softly.

�Matt,� Jake returned. �Where�s Jim?�

�He doesn�t come in every day,� Matt said. �Usually only when we plan to go out and score some gash after the session.�

�I see,� Jake said.

�He gets better gash that way,� Matt explained. �If he goes to score some on his own, he can�t attract the high-class skank and has to settle for mediocre skank. When he�s with us, though, the bitches treat him just like a member of the band.�

�It�s good to hear you�re having a positive effect on his gash scoring,� Jake said. �What�s your normal routine for first thing in the morning?�

�We do a quick sound check and make sure everything is in tune and then get to work,� Matt said simply. �Usually, we�ll work on tunes we�ve already established in full for the first part of the morning and then work up some of the newer shit after lunch.�

�I�ll just watch from over here,� Jake said, pointing to a lone stool that sat twenty feet in front of the microphone stand where Matt would be playing. The stand had no less than eight separate effects pedals arranged at its base, all of them wired together and then patched into a master cable that led to the amplifier.

�Good deal,� Matt said. �We were just going to run through everything we�ve got for the morning session. That way, you can check out what we�ve come up with so far.�

Jake nodded. �Sounds like a plan,� he said.

Matt seemed a bit on edge but seemed to relax a bit now. He turned back to the band. �All right, motherfuckers,� he said. �Let�s get everything powered up and get started.�

Jake took his seat and opened up an eight and a half by eleven notebook he had brought with him. His plan was to write down the tunes as they were played and scribble down any thoughts he developed as notes. Matt went over and opened up a guitar case that sat on the drum platform. He pulled out a red Fender Stratocaster�a much newer model than the iconic black Strat he played on stage (that one was currently locked in a display case in his house). He slung it over his shoulder and then went to the sound board and powered it up. Once it was live, he picked up a guitar cord and plugged in. He then sat down on the stool before his microphone and began making sure the instrument was in tune. It was slightly off but this was quickly rectified.

Corban and Austin tuned their instruments as well and then Steve went through his drums and cymbals one by one, warming up and making sure all of his equipment was in tune as well. Matt then made a few adjustments to the sound board, tweaking the volume levels here and there and then directing adjustments to the individual instruments. In all, the entire warmup took about fifteen minutes, about a third of the time it would have taken had the Nerdlys been involved.

�All right,� Matt said, sitting back down in his stool. �I think we�re ready.�

�Let�s hear what you got,� Jake said, actually looking forward to what was coming.

Matt nodded and then turned to his band. �Let�s do Faithless first,� he told them. They all nodded in understanding. He turned back to Jake. �This is Faithless. It�s the first tune we started working on and the one we�ve nailed down the best so far. I�m thinking it might be the first cut on the new CD, maybe even the title cut.�

Jake saw that there was a bit of challenge and defiance in Matt�s eyes and realized what it meant. Matt was expecting Jake to start throwing his weight around immediately, just to prove that he could, to say something like: �I�ll be the one to decide which tune is the title cut and which is played first.� Jake had no intention of doing this, however. He knew that this experiment could only work if he used that weight only when necessary and then as gently and delicately as possible when he did have to throw it about. He simply nodded and said, �fire it up.�

They fired it up. It opened with a fast-tempo riff backed by a solid drumline and strong rhythm guitar. The lyrics seemed to be a proclamation that the vast majority of the human race was untrustworthy and hopeless. Jake did not entirely disagree with this sentiment, though his view was not quite as bleak as Matt�s. The primary melody was a complicated six-chord riff that was only semi-repetitive�it cycled in and out of three distinctly separate manifestations. It was classic Matt Tisdale shit. For the choruses however, he switched down to a slower tempo, shedding sixty beats per minute, and changing to a complimentary four chord riff to support it. Jake listened with the ear of the professional musician and producer that he was and found he liked what he was hearing. He also could hear where improvements could be made. He began jotting notes down under the heading FAITHLESS on his notepad.

More abrupt changeover from verse to chorus? Rhythm guitar semi-clean for the chorus? More fills from the drums on the verses! Gradual build-up on the intro instead of launching right in? Will have to if this is going to be the first promoted and the title cut.

They ended the tune with an extended solo that transitioned into a dual guitar outro of the main riff. They then silenced their instruments and looked at Jake expectantly, Matt with that expression of defiance on his face once again.

Jake simply nodded. �I like it,� he told them. �That riff on the verses is amazing, Matt, especially with the variations you lay down. You definitely have not lost your touch.�

Matt seemed surprised by the praise. �Oh ... thanks,� he said. �I saw you jotting shit down though. Any ideas yet?�

Jake shook his head. �Not really,� he said. �I�ll need to hear the tune a few more times before I start pondering anything solid. We�ll get together at the end of the week, have a beer or two, and then talk it over.�

�Really?� Matt asked, his voice nearly dripping with cynicism.

�Really,� Jake assured him. �What�s next?�

They went through all twelve tunes they had put together, playing them one by one. This took a little more than an hour. Jake was very impressed with six of the tunes and moderately impressed with two of the others. The remaining four, he was not so sure about. Maybe they would grow on him after he heard them a few more times. Maybe he could direct a little polish on them to shape them better. He kept his misgivings to himself for the time being, but did make a point to praise each of the tunes he liked on first listen, always offering a specific reason why he liked each individual tune. It was far too early to tell for sure at this point, of course, but he was getting a good feeling about this project (he had already named it Project Tisdale in his mind).

�That�s what we got so far,� Matt said after the final piece�it was called Without a Doubt and was one of the ones that Jake liked the most on first listen�came to a close. �What do you think?�

�I think you got the makings of a good CD here,� Jake said.

�Really?� Matt asked, as if he thought Jake was just fucking with him, or telling him what he wanted to hear.

�Really,� Jake assured him. �We�ll need to polish everything up some, naturally.�

�The overdubs and the engineering and all that shit,� Matt said, though with resignation instead of hostility, which was a vast improvement over the last time Jake had worked with him.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �We don�t want to put out another Next Phase here. Now, don�t get me wrong, I liked your riffs and solos on Next Phase. It was good, solid music. The reason it wasn�t radio friendly and didn�t appeal to anyone but your hard-core fans was that lack of engineering�that and the fact that the tunes tended to be too long.�

�Yeah, I have acknowledged that shit multiple times now,� Matt said sourly. �I made a mistake with that one.�

�We all make mistakes, Matt,� Jake told him. �Even you. Even me. My point is that the engineering and polishing is a necessary part of producing a quality CD that is going to not only satisfy your core demographic, but have some crossover into the other demographics as well. Does that make sense?�

Matt thought that over for a few moments and then nodded. �Yeah,� he agreed. �It does make sense.�

�You guys up for going through everything again?� Jake asked them. �I�d like to hear it all for the second time and make a few more notes.�

�Yeah, sure, we can do that shit,� Matt said.

�Excellent,� Jake said. �And at some point, I�m afraid to say, we�re going to have to bring the Nerdlys in to hear your set as well.�

Matt sighed. �I was afraid you were going to say that.�

Jake alternated his days that week between the KVA studio where Celia was working up her tunes and the Stonehurst warehouse where Matt was working up his. Tuesday was with Celia, Wednesday with Matt, Thursday with Celia again. On Friday, things went a little differently. Jake still spent the day with Matt and his band, but this time the Nerdlys came with him. They were reluctant to leave Celia and the rest to their own devices (�who will supervise the sound check?� Nerdly cried. �Who will inscribe any changes to the master score sheets?�) but finally agreed to let them work on their own for just one day.

In preparation for the visit, Jake had instructed Matt to transcribe all of the tunes onto clean musical score sheets for the Nerdlys to peruse and make notations on. He had also leased a copy machine and a computer with internet access and a scanner so the Nerdlys could forever enshrine digital copies of the scores and notes.

�You are actually getting along with him?� Nerdly asked Jake as they made the drive that morning.

�So far we have had no major problems,� Jake said. �Things were a little tense at first because he thought I was going to come in and start ordering him around.�

�That would not be the best way to facilitate progress when dealing with Matt Tisdale,� Nerdly observed.

�No, it would fuckin� destroy it,� Jake said. �And I know that. I�ve felt like I�m poking around with an unexploded bomb every time I make a minor suggestion, but I�m careful to phrase everything in that manner: as a suggestion, not an order.�

�And he responds well to this methodology?� asked Sharon from the back seat of the truck.

�Better than I had any right to expect,� Jake replied. �I think it just goes to show how desperate Matt really is.�

�Or perhaps he has just matured?� asked Sharon.

Jake shook his head. �No, it�s not that at all. It�s desperation.�

�Interesting,� said Nerdly.

�Why do you have all of these clothes back here?� asked Sharon. There was a pile of jeans, shirts, a maternity top, and men�s and women�s underwear piled up next to her.

�Oh ... Laura and I are going to stay the night at Celia�s place,� Jake said casually.

�You�re not flying home tonight?� asked Nerdly.

�No, I�m taking Matt and the boys out for a few beers after rehearsal. That�s when I�m going to start hitting them with some of the stronger suggestions on the tunes. I figured that would be the best setting to accomplish that particular mission.�

�A wise choice,� Nerdly said. �You�re staying with Celia because you�ll be drinking beer tonight?�

�Eight hours from bottle to throttle,� Jake said. �I�ve never broken that rule yet and do not intend to start tonight.�

�Celia�s house is so far away though,� Nerdly said. �Why don�t you stay with us instead? Our house is much closer than Celia�s. We have the guest room all made up and Kelvin would love to see you.�

�Uh ... well ... uh ... thanks for the offer, Bill,� Jake said, �but we�ve already made the plan. Laura is going to ride home with C tonight and I�ll just meet her there after my business dinner with Matt.�

�Laura could just as easily ride home with us,� Sharon suggested, a little smile on her face.

�That�s right,� Nerdly said. �It would be no big deal for us to swing by and pick her up.�

�Uh ... well ... I don�t want to put you out,� Jake said.

�It would be no imposition whatsoever,� Nerdly said. �And you would be much closer to Whiteman Airport for your trip home in the morning.�

Jake, who did not realize he was being baited, became uncharacteristically flustered. �Uh ... yeah,� he stammered. �The fact of the matter is ... uh ... you know ... that we already promised Celia we would be there tonight ... and she�s made ... you know ... accommodations and things ... and ... uh ... you know?�

�We know,� Nerdly said. �And we understand. Keep us in mind next time though.�

�Will do,� Jake said, obviously relieved.

He did not see the sly little looks that were passed between the Nerdlys.

Jake may have been judicious in directing Matt and his band on what they should do and how they should do it, but the Nerdlys had no such compunction. They entered the rehearsal warehouse like Macarthur returning ashore in the Philippines and took immediate charge of the sound check and the sound board. Matt and the group did not express any resentment toward them, however. On the contrary, they actually appreciated having the experts dial in their sound for them�even if it was just for a standard rehearsal. As Jake had surmised at the beginning of the week, the sound check portion of the day took a little more than an hour to accomplish.

�All right, guys,� Jake said once he and Matt managed to get the Nerdlys to declare a halt to the endless adjustments, �how about you show them what you got?�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt agreed. He turned to his band. �Let�s do it, motherfuckers.�

They did it. They ran through all twelve songs one by one. Jake and the Nerdlys sat behind the sound board and listened. Jake shared his notes with them, pointing out things he had jotted down about each song. They each had copies of the scores before them and made a multitude of notes of their own.

�Well?� asked Matt once the performance was at an end.

�I think we can work with this raw material,� Nerdly said after a moment�s thought.

�It will most definitely need some major engineering though,� added Mrs. Nerdly.

Again, Jake would have never said anything so blunt to Matt because it likely would have sparked an angry confrontation, but when the Nerdlys said it, the entire band, Matt included, simply nodded, silently acquiescing to their wisdom.

�Do the entire set again,� Nerdly directed. �I want to make some notes regarding my second impression of your work.�

�Right,� Matt said. He turned to his band. �You heard Nerdly. Let�s do the motherfucker again!�

They did it again. And then they did it one more time. The Nerdlys furiously scribbled away on the scores until every sheet was filled with notations and little arrows pointing to various places. Only then did Nerdly begin offering some praise. He was particularly fond of Matt�s work with the effects pedals and the way he combined them to draw unique and unconventional sounds from his guitar. Matt mostly used this technique on his solos, but Nerdly suggested that maybe he could apply some of it to the riffs and changeovers as well.

�Where would I do that?� Matt asked, pondering thoughtfully.

Nerdly flipped through his notes for a few moments. �That distortion you used on the solo for Looking Down,� he said. �You could apply something like that to the chorus to bridge transition on Faithless.�

Matt thought that one over and then nodded. �Maybe,� he said.

�Wouldn�t you have to eliminate the backing guitar for that section though?� asked Sharon. �It would override the effect you�re looking for.�

�Not necessarily,� Jake put in, already liking the idea. �You could just have Corban switch to clean output and keep it soft.�

�And then switch back to distortion after the bridge?� asked Matt.

�Why not?� Jake asked.

�I�d have to get my own step-down pedal in order to do that,� Corban said. �Either that, or I play my double neck.�

�You have a double neck?� asked Matt.

�Goddamn right, I do,� Corban said. �It�s the bomb!�

�Isn�t that a little seventies?� asked Austin.

�Fuck no!� Matt said. �Double necks rock! I used to have three of them�one was the exact guitar that Alex Lifeson played on Xanadu in Toronto when they recorded Exit, Stage Left.� He soured a little. �Of course, I had to sell the motherfucker to help pay off the fuckin� IRS.�

�Dude,� Jake said longingly. �You should have talked to me first. I would�ve bought it.�

�We weren�t talking to each other then,� Matt reminded him.

�Oh yeah,� Jake said. �Anyway, maybe Corban could play the double-neck during live performances if we like how this goes. For now, do you have another step-down pedal here?�

�Does the Pope shit in the woods?� Matt asked.

�Set it up,� Nerdly said. �Let�s see how it sounds.�

They set it up. It took another thirty minutes for the Nerdlys to adjust everything so it sounded as close to perfect as they could make it. They then began to play around with Faithless some more, focusing particularly on the second chorus and its transition to the bridge and back. It was very awkward at first. Matt had to come up with the proper phrasing of the unconventional effect he was using. From there, they struggled with the actual transitions. They did discover, however, that Jake�s suggestion of having Corban switch down to clean output on the bridge complimented the distorted riff quite well, especially when they dialed down the drum strikes and the bass line proportionately.

�I�m thinking we go with this,� Matt said after they finally managed to squeak out a few reps of the measure without fucking it up.

�I agree,� said Jake. �It sounds badass!�

And, though none of them really paused to ponder the situation at that moment in time, the first modification of a Matt Tisdale tune under the direction of KVA Records was accomplished. And it was accomplished without argument or hostility.

There was only about ten thousand more to go.

The Nerdlys joined Matt, Jake, and Matt�s band for the post-rehearsal dinner meeting. They went to a local Mexican place. Everyone ordered Mexican beer and ate chips and salsa from well-stocked bowls. Jake deliberately waited until everyone had at least two beers in them�this was the point in the meal between ordering and receiving the food�before he started to talk music.

�All right,� he said. �I�m encouraged by the progress we�ve made today.�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said. �I dig what we did with Faithless. It fuckin� rocks!�

�I�m glad to hear that,� Jake said. �It means that despite our past differences, maybe we can work together and put something out that will catch attention and sell a lot of CDs. I was a little worried about how this was going to go, but so far it seems to be working.�

�So far,� Matt agreed, sipping from his third beer, which had just been delivered.

�Having said that,� Jake went on, �I want to go over a few suggestions I came up with while watching and listening these past few days.�

Jake could see Matt tensing up at his words. But he did not say anything disrespectful. At least not yet. �I�m listening,� was what he did say.

Jake nodded. �It�s just minor things at this point in the game,� he said. �Let�s start with Faithless. We did some good modification to it today in the chorus to bridge measures. Let�s talk intro now.�

�What�s wrong with the intro?� Matt asked.

�Well ... there�s nothing really wrong with the intro other than the fact that there isn�t one. The tune just jumps right into the main riff. Now, there is a place for that�don�t get me wrong here�but if Faithless is going to be the title cut and the first cut on the album, and the first song promoted as you suggested, I think it needs a little more flair at the beginning.�

�What kind of flair?� Matt asked.

�Any kind of flair,� Jake said. �It has none currently. You could start with a bass intro that gradually increases in tempo until it hits the main verse tempo. You could start with a slowly building guitar solo that transitions to the double distortion riff of the primary. The sky is the limit and I�ll leave the composition up to you, Matt. It is what you do best. My point is that something should be there if it�s going to be the first tune that people hear from the new CD. If you want to leave the intro as it is, I don�t think we should promote Faithless first when the CD comes out. It can still be the first cut and the title cut, but not the first promoted.�

Matt looked at Jake thoughtfully. It was clear that he wanted to be angry at the suggestion but just could not seem to accomplish it. �That makes sense,� he said with clear reluctance.

�Do you think you could come up with something?� Jake asked him.

�Yeah, I can come up with something,� Matt said.

�Cool,� Jake said.

In all, they talked about three of the tunes on the list and how Jake thought they should be modified in some way. He made a point to offer his suggestions as just that�suggestions and not orders. He carefully explained his reasoning for each suggestion and was usually backed up by the Nerdlys. Matt listened each time and agreed to modify in the manner suggested in every case�always after being told that it was he, Matt, who would be responsible for just how the modification would be composed and carried out.

They got through dinner without an argument. Jake paid the bill and they all headed back to their respective vehicles in the parking lot. Before Jake could climb into his truck, Matt called him over to his Maserati.

�What�s up?� Jake asked.

Matt looked him in the eye. �I think this is going to work,� he told him.

�What�s going to work?�

�All of this,� Matt said. �Me signing with your label, you producing my CD. I gave it about a ten percent chance when I first agreed to all this, but now I think it�s really going to work.�

Jake smiled. �Ten percent?� he asked. �You were optimistic, weren�t you?�

�What did you figure?� Matt asked.

�About half that,� Jake admitted. �You�re going to start working on the mods on Monday?�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said.

�I�ll come in on Tuesday and Thursday then,� Jake told him. �We�ll see how things are going then.�

Matt nodded. �See you Tuesday, then,� he said. He then stepped in his car and closed the door. A minute later, he was roaring out of the parking lot on his way to Jake�s Los Angeles home.

Jake arrived at Celia�s Malibu home just over an hour later. He found that the two ladies had picked up Chinese food from a chain restaurant on their way there. Both had already eaten, already showered, and were now dressed in their robes.

�Did you shower together?� he asked them, feeling his libido kick into high gear at the sight and smell of freshly bathed female squared.

�Maybe,� Laura said coyly. �There is a drought after all.�

�How green of you,� he said with a chuckle. �I trust you adhered to the rules.�

�Yes,� Celia said sourly. �I tried to cheat a little and suck one of her chichis�you know how I love those big pregnant boobies she has�but she wouldn�t let me.�

�We have an agreement,� Laura said sternly.

�It can�t be bent for one little nipple suck?� Celia asked.

�It wouldn�t have been just one,� Laura told her.

�Yeah ... probably not,� Celia had to agree. She turned to Jake. �Anyway, we�ve been waiting patiently for you to get here. Why aren�t you in the shower yet?�

�Good question,� he said, dropping the pile of clothes onto a nightstand. He headed for the shower.

They had sex together for the better part of an hour once Jake dried off and joined them in the bed. It was very good. Still not as good as the first time, but nothing to scoff at. After the last orgasm faded away, they fell back on the bed, sweaty, stinky, all of them satisfied and exhausted. And, one by one, they fell asleep there, Laura in the middle laying on her right side, Jake behind her, cuddling her with his hand on her bare belly (and occasionally feeling a little kick from Ziggy the passenger within), Celia on her right side being cuddled by Laura (and occasionally feeling a little Ziggy kick in her back).

They slept that way until the morning came, the first time they had spent the night together after enjoying each other�s bodies.

Sunday afternoon found Jake sitting out on his deck in one of the chairs. His Fender guitar was in his hands and a glass of wine was half empty on the table next to him. On the Weber he had a chicken cooking and the fragrant mesquite smoke would occasionally drift over him. The sky was a brilliant blue and there were a few fishing boats out on the ocean. Further out was a container ship slowly making its way toward Long Beach.

Jake was strumming absently on the guitar. He had brought it out here to get in a little practice on the tune he and Gordon were working on�it was called Let�s Do It Tonight and it was indeed about sex�but had gotten bored with that a few minutes before and was now just letting his mind run freely. He had settled into a basic melody that had been playing in his head the last few days. It was something mellow, something that likely would not transition well to a distorted electric. As of yet, he had no lyrics to go with it, but he fancied that it might be something to do with little Ziggy and his feelings about becoming a father for the first time. He played the melody over and over again, not modifying it or trying to improve it, just enjoying it. It was a four-chord melody, the first three soft, the final with a strong emphasis to set the cadence of the rhythm.

The sliding glass door opened behind him and Laura stepped out. She was wearing a maternity t-shirt with a picture of a puppy on it and a pair of baggy grey sweat shorts. She had no bra on since she was home and had no plans to go out today. She carried a glass of lemonade on the rocks in her hand.

�Hey, babe,� he greeted, pausing in his playing and picking up his wine glass. �What�s up?�

�Nothing,� she said with a smile. �Just coming out to see what you�re doing and get a little air.� She sat down in the chair next to him. She looked at his wine longingly. �Oh god, that looks so good. Let me smell it.�

He handed her the wine glass and she took a large sniff. �Oh ... heavenly,� she said. �I can�t wait until Ziggy is born so I can enjoy some chardonnay every now and then.�

�Another eleven weeks,� Jake said.

�Eleven long weeks,� she said with a sigh, handing him back the glass.

He put his hands back on the guitar. �Tell me what you think about this melody,� he said. He began to strum it out for her. One two three FOUR, one two three FOUR, one two three FOUR.

�I like it,� she said, nodding her head. �Something new?�

�Yeah,� he said, continuing to strum it out. �It�s been running around in my head the past few days. When that happens, I have to strum it out, write it down, come up with something to go with it.�

�It�s got a pretty sound to it,� she said. �I�m not sure it would sound good as a distortion riff though.�

�Me either,� he said. �When I come up with some lyrics and put it together it will have to stay acoustic.�

�Hey,� Laura said with a smile. �Ziggy likes it too. She just started kicking me.�

�Oh yeah?�

�Yeah,� Laura said, delighted, as always when Ziggy responded to music. �She�s keeping time. Keep playing it.�

Jake kept playing the rhythm. One two three FOUR, one two three FOUR, striking the strings a little harder, increasing the volume so Ziggy could hear it better.

�Look at this,� Laura said, pulling the bottom of her shirt up to reveal her swollen belly. �She�s keeping time.�

Jake saw that she was right. On the fourth chord of each repetition Ziggy was giving a kick in time with it, a little bulge pushing out just above and to the right of Laura�s belly button. He continued to run through the melody and she kicked every time on each fourth chord. There was no way to claim that she was not responding to the music.

�That�s wild,� Jake said, a big smile on his face as he continued to play, a strong tug of love for his unborn child sounding in his heart. �She�s keeping cadence.�

�Yep,� Laura said, feeling much the same. �That�s exactly what she�s doing.�

Jake strummed out three more reps, watched three more outward bulges as Ziggy kept cadence. And then his fingers came to a sudden halt and his mouth dropped open.

�Why�d you stop?� Laura asked.

Jake looked at his wife. �Cadence,� he said softly. �Cadence.�

She looked back at him, at first not picking up what he was laying down. But then she understood and smiled back at him. �Cadence,� she said with a laugh. �Oh my God. It�s perfect!�

Posted: 01.08.2023, 04:34:11

Malibu, California

October 10, 1997

It had been a long, busy Friday for Jake, Laura, and Celia. The workups for both Celia and Matt had come to an end the day before and it was now time to move the entire operation up to Coos Bay to begin the recording process. The bulk of the day had been spent packing up audio equipment into the moving truck that would take it north to Blake Studios. Packed in with KVA�s equipment was Matt�s equipment and instruments as well�though at least Matt and his band had done their own packing. In the morning, everyone from both bands would be Oregon bound, though most of the crew was going by ground transport and it would take them a few days. The Nerdlys, who wanted to start getting things together at the studio, had already left the day before and would be arriving the next morning. Jake, Laura, Celia, Matt, and Jim, Matt�s paramedic, would be flying up there in Jake�s plane, leaving Whiteman at 11:00 AM. It would be the first time that Laura met Matt in her life. It would also be only the third face-to-face encounter between Matt and Celia since the infamous Grammy Awards ceremony of 1985, the night that the guitarist had gotten into a fight with Miguel, La Diferencia�s bass player and Jake had gotten a black eye from Celia�s brother, Eduardo, who had been trying to punch Matt but missed. It promised to be an interesting trip. Jake was not particularly looking forward to it. Neither was Celia. But it would have been insulting to ask Matt to drive all the way to Oregon when he was one of the primary performers being recorded.

After seeing the equipment safely on its way and turning Celia�s keys and Mercedes over to Coop (he, Charlie, and Eric would be driving it up to Oregon together�a strange combo of their own), the three of them had piled into Jake�s truck and driven back to her Malibu mansion together. They arrived just after sunset and Celia ordered Chinese food to be delivered. While they waited the food to arrive, they all took showers individually to cleanse the grime and sweat of their daily labors from their skin. All dressed in night clothes�Laura a shiny pair of silky green maternity pajamas, Celia a long t-shirt with nothing on underneath, and Jake a pair of sweat shorts and a Harley-Davidson t-shirt. They ate their Chinese food and then cleaned up the mess. And then it was time for bed. Jake and Celia had been eagerly anticipating the usual Friday night threesome all day. The problem was that Laura, swollen, uncomfortable, and cranky in her thirty-fourth week of pregnancy, was not in the mood. This led to a dilemma.

�It�s okay,� Laura insisted to her two lovers. �I am honestly and sincerely telling you two this: Go in the bedroom and fuck each other. I don�t mind.�

�We can�t do it without you there,� Jake insisted. �That is the rule and I think we should stick by it.�

�So ... you want me to just sit in the room and watch you two fuck?� Laura asked. She shrugged dispassionately. �Okay. I can do that if you want.�

�No,� Celia put in. �You have to participate as well. If you were just watching us it would be even more awkward than if we were doing it by ourselves.�

�I have a baby constantly pushing stomach acid up into my throat,� Laura told them. �That same baby has also caused a hemorrhoid in my butthole from the pressure she is putting on my butthole blood circulation. When I lay down, it gets hard to breathe because she is pushing on my diaphragm as well. I�m sorry, guys. I love you both dearly and I enjoy all the sweaty, stinky things we do when we get naked together, but I�m just not feeling up to it tonight.�

They sighed in unison. �All right,� Jake said, resigned. �I guess we�ll just wait for another day.�

�Maybe tomorrow night,� Celia said. �Our first night in the Coos Bay house. That might put you in the mood, Teach.�

�Of course, we�ll have to sneak around and be quiet,� Jake added. �The Nerdlys will be there. They left yesterday, remember? They should already be there when we fly in.�

�And the rest of the band will be there on Monday,� Celia put in. �We�ll have to be even sneakier and quieter once they all move in.�

Laura glared at them. �This is what it�s come down to? A guilt trip?�

�Is it working?� Jake asked hopefully.

She sighed. �You two are insisting that you�re not going to fuck if I�m not involved?� she asked. �Seriously? Even though I�m giving you explicit permission to do it?�

�It wouldn�t be right, Teach,� Celia said. �We have an agreement.�

�It�s all for one or none for all,� Jake said. �You and I can get it on by ourselves, but you and C can�t and me and C can�t. That�s the rule.�

Laura rolled her eyes. �Okay,� she said. �Celia, if I took off my pajama top and let you suck on my boobs while he fucks you, is that an acceptable level of participation?�

Celia and Jake looked at each other and then nodded quickly. They were both, after all, very horny at the moment. �Yeah, that works for me,� Celia said.

�That is clear and unmistakable participation,� Jake added.

�All right,� Laura said, standing up. �Let�s do it then.�

�Hell to the yeah,� Jake said with a smile. He held up a palm to Celia, who slapped him with a high five. �Let�s get to it.�

They got to it. They went to the bedroom and Laura pulled off her pajama top and tossed it on the floor. She laid down on the bed on her back, her head propped up on pillows. Jake and Celia undressed completely. They both spent a few minutes sucking on Laura�s breasts and, of course, this had the predictable effect on her. After Jake went around behind Celia and entered her from the rear, Laura pushed on Celia�s head, urging her further downward.

�You know,� she said, a little breathless now, �I wouldn�t mind if you ate my pussy out just a little bit.�

Celia giggled. �Just a little bit?�

�Just a little bit,� Laura said.

A little bit turned out to be a lot. She managed to lick and suck Laura to two orgasms before Jake fired off inside of her. By that point, Laura was fully in the game. She made Celia lay down on her back and she put her face between her legs to lick up all of Jake�s offering. And that led to Jake�s resurgence. He entered his wife from behind and gave her one more orgasm before firing his second load inside of her.

They collapsed to the bed, Laura in the middle, and stared up at the ceiling as the sweat and juices dried from their skin.

�You know,� Laura said after a few minutes, �we�re going to have to come to some kind of accommodation with this all three of us thing.�

�I thought we accommodated it pretty well just now,� Jake said.

�That�s right,� Celia said with a naughty smile. �You are a pushover for having your nipples sucked, Teach. As soon as we put our mouths on you, you were ours.�

�That is true,� Laura agreed. �But that�s not going to work once Cadence is born. There�s a six-week moratorium on my pussy after that. And if you start sucking my boobs after she comes out, you�re going to get a mouthful of her milk.�

Jake looked over at her, startled. He hadn�t thought about that. �I guess Cadence wouldn�t like it if we drank her milk,� he said.

Celia, however, seemed to be intrigued by that thought. �I wonder what it tastes like,� she pondered, a little shine in her eyes. �Is it perverted for me to think about something like that?�

Laura sighed. �Lactation and out of order pussy aside,� she said, �I�m likely not going to be in the mood as often as the two of you are. I�m going to be tired and sore and worn out at times. Are you just going to go without when that happens?�

�I guess we�ll have to,� Jake said with a shrug.

�Yeah,� Celia agreed. �That�s the way things go.�

�That�s not fair to you two,� Laura said. �You shouldn�t have to go without just because I had a baby and can�t be involved.�

Jake was shaking his head. �We�re not going without anything,� he said. �If Celia wasn�t involved here, I still wouldn�t be getting any for six weeks anyway.�

�And I wouldn�t be getting anything at all,� Celia put in. �We can keep our hands and genitals off each other when you�re not in the mood, Teach. Don�t worry about us.�

She looked from one to the other and then smiled a warm smile. �I really do love you two, you know that?�

�We know,� Jake said, leaning over and giving her a big kiss on the mouth.

�And we love you too,� Celia said, giving her a kiss of her own once Jake was done. She then leaned over Laura�s body a bit more and kissed Jake.

They laid back on the bed. Soon, Laura was drifting off to sleep. Celia curled up against her and began to nod off herself. Jake, though tired, was not quite ready to go to bed just yet. He rolled away from them and put his feet on the floor. He picked up his sweat shorts and Harley shirt from the floor and put them on, not bothering with the underwear. He then quietly left the room and went back downstairs to the family room and the bar. It was still more than twelve hours until he would sit down in the cockpit of his plane. That meant he was good to have a little scotch on the rocks out on Celia�s deck.

On his way to the bar, however, he caught sight of his cellular phone sitting where he had left it on one of the end tables. The little green light was blinking on and off, letting him know that he had a missed call. He sighed and changed direction, wondering what was happening now. Another Matt incident? Some snafu with the equipment or one of the musicians? Had Coop crashed Celia car? Had Little Stevie and Liz crashed Jake�s car? There were not many people who had his cell phone number. And those that did rarely called with good news�especially not after nine o�clock at night.

He picked up the phone and flipped it open, looking at the screen to see who had called him. It was Jill Yamashito, his accountant. Now why would she be calling on a Friday night? He dialed up the voicemail number and put the phone to his ear. This did not shed any light on the subject. Jill�s message was simply a request for him to give her a call as soon as possible.

He dropped the phone into the pocket of his sweats and continued his trip to the bar. Only after he had a triple scotch on the rocks in hand and his butt on one of the deck chairs overlooking the dark beach did he flip the phone open again. He navigated the contacts list to Jill�s home number and pushed the send button. About twenty seconds later, the phone began to ring in his ear.

�This is Jill,� her voice said after the fourth ring.

�Hey, Jill. Jake. Just returning your call.�

�Hi, Jake,� she said, her voice neutral, as usual. �Thanks for calling back. Sorry it�s so late. Where are you?�

�In Malibu at Celia�s place,� he said. �We�re staying the night here and then flying to Oregon tomorrow morning to get settled in.�

�Oh...� she said slowly. �That�s right. I forgot you were leaving tomorrow.�

�What�s up?� he asked her. �We got some shit going down, or what?�

�Oh ... no, no shit going down,� she said. �It�s just that that prospective buyer for your old plane�the Chancellor�that I told you about a few weeks ago ... do you remember?�

�Yes, I remember,� Jake said. Jill had been trying to unload his Chancellor ever since he had closed the deal on the Avanti. Selling a high-end used plane, however, was not as easy as selling a car or a house. It was a perpetual buyer�s market since one had to wait for the person or entity who was interested in that particular aircraft to appear out of the ether. �The Korean dude, right?�

�That�s right,� she said. �Jae Luc. He�s a structural engineer from Reno. He specializes in casino construction. I�ve talked to him multiple times now and he is very interested in the Chancellor. He wants to fly out and have a look at it soon.�

�Well, have him come on out,� Jake said. �It�s just sitting there in the hangar at Oceano airport. I take it up once a month or so just to keep it from rotting.� And, though the Chancellor was quite tame and quite slow compared to the Avanti, Jake still enjoyed flying it. There was a lot of nostalgia connected to that plane.

�That�s just the thing,� Jill said slowly, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. �I kind of told him that ... uh ... he would get to meet you when he came out to see it.�

�You told him that?� Jake asked. �Why would I need to do that? We just need to give Dave at the airport forty bucks and he will open up the hangar for him and can even pull the plane out so he can inspect it.�

�That is true,� Jill said, �but...�

�And I have copies of all of the maintenance records stored in the plane just so a buyer can look them over,� Jake added.

�I know that,� she said, �but he really would like to meet you. He�s a fan of yours.�

�He is?�

�He is,� she said. �He told me that he�s seen you in concert multiple times, both with Intemperance and when you performed with Gordon. He was also at the Tsunami Sound Festival for both nights. He is really interested in the aircraft, partially because it belongs to you, and I think that having you meet him and talk to him about the plane might help clinch the deal.�

Jake felt that Jill was being truthful about this, but he was also detecting something else in her tone, something she was not telling him. He smiled. �Do you have the hots for this dude, Jill?� he asked.

�What? No, of course not!� she said, perhaps a little too aggressively. �We�ve never even met before. I�ve only talked to him on the phone.�

�Is he married?� Jake asked.

�Divorced,� she said. �For more than eight years now. He has a ten-year-old son that he has joint custody of.�

Jake chuckled.

�What?� she asked, clearly exasperated.

�You talked about his marital status and child custody arrangements while discussing the sale of my aircraft with him?�

�It came up in conversation,� she said. �Are you going to be able to do this at some point, or not?�

He chuckled again. It was just so enjoyable to hear Jill flustered. �All right,� he said. �Laura has an OB appointment next Friday afternoon at two o�clock. We�re flying down for it and then staying through the weekend. Can your engineer make it out on Saturday?�

�I�ll have to check with him, but that shouldn�t be a problem,� Jill said. �He owns a Cessna 172 currently and told me he can fly directly to Oceano whenever is convenient for you.�

�Well, pencil it in then,� Jake said. �It�ll be sad to finally sell that old girl, but also happy since someone will be flying her regularly again.�

�It�s just an object, Jake,� she said, not for the first time. �It�s not a he or a she. It�s an asset that is currently costing you more than a thousand dollars a month in storage, maintenance, and insurance fees.�

�I suppose,� Jake said with a sigh. �Just give me a call when you have the time nailed down. Oh ... and not too early please. We�ll really want to sleep in on our Saturday after a week of getting up early.�

�Understood,� she said.

A limousine picked up Matt and Jim from the Granada Hills home at 10:30 AM the next morning. Matt was a bit hungover, like usual, and dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt that showed two stick figures engaging in rear entry intercourse and had the motto �FUCK YO MAMA!� prominently displayed above that. He carried the travel bag that he used out on tour with him. In his shirt pocket was a Marlboro pack that contained eighteen filtered cigarettes and two tightly rolled joints. Jim was dressed in jeans and a more conservative t-shirt (his featured a picture of Bart Simpson on it) and he carried his own travel bag plus the football that contained all of the emergency medical supplies he would need to treat Matt if he went into some life-threatening cardiac arrythmia.

The trip to Whiteman Airport took only about fifteen minutes. The limo parked in front of the general aviation terminal. Out on the tarmac, Jake�s airplane was already parked, a fuel truck connected to it by a hose. Jake, Celia Valdez, and Jake�s old lady were all standing around near the open door of the plane. Matt could not help but admire the aircraft. He had heard tales about how the residents near this airport and the one in San Luis Obispo were always complaining about the noise it made, but he had never seen an actual picture of the plane. It was sleek and cool looking, with the hammerhead wings on the nose and the backward facing engines in the rear.

He felt a little stab of jealousy that his former bandmate could afford something as expensive as that, but fought it down. He had been working closely with Jake the past month�an experiment that was turning out to be much more successful than either of them could really have hoped for in the beginning�and if there was one thing he had reluctantly come to acknowledge, it was that Jake was a hard worker. He had seamlessly moved back and forth between two projects underway, both of which were operating under a hard deadline, and had managed to keep both on the rails and moving along through sheer force of will. And he had not been a prick about it, at least not with Matt. He had come to their sessions, listened to what they had, made suggestions in a polite manner, and then let Matt and the band figure out the best way to implement those suggestions. He had never once insisted on a change or modification to a tune if Matt himself strongly disagreed with it. And Matt, in turn, had made his best effort to listen and fairly evaluate each modification suggested instead of hating it immediately by default. All in all, he could not help but feel that his music was being positively enhanced and that this might be his best CD yet. Jake had gotten better at producing over the years and Matt had gotten better at listening to advice.

He and Jim got out of the limo and walked over to the plane, bags in hand. Jake came over to greet him, his old lady walking with him. He let his eyes appraise the bitch that Jake had married and knocked up. He had seen pictures of her, of course, and knew that she was a hot little spinner, but this was his first time actually meeting her in the flesh. And even though she was quite obviously in an advanced state of pregnancy, and even though he was most definitely not into pregnant chicks, he had to admit that she still looked good. Though her stomach was sticking out in front of her and she kind of waddled when she walked, her face was still very cute, very wholesome looking, and the rest of her body was still shapely and hot. Her tits were even bigger than the pictures he had seen suggested they would be. Maybe that was because she was knocked up. He had heard before that a bitch�s tits got bigger when that happened.

�Matt,� Jake greeted. �You ready to fly?�

�I�m always ready to fly,� Matt told him. �You should know that shit.�

Jake gave a polite chuckle and then put his arm on the redheaded bitch�s shoulder. �This is Laura,� he introduced. �Laura, the rather infamous Matt Tisdale.�

�Nice to meet you,� she said, holding out her right hand. It was a dainty hand, but not a manicured one. Her nails were short and unpainted and even had a few chips in them. He realized that this was not because of lack of femininity on her part, but because she was a professional saxophonist who had been playing a lot recently. Pushing those keys all the time probably played hell on a bitch�s nails.

�Nice to meet you too,� he said, politely enough, shaking with her. Again, he noted that her fingertips were not soft like a woman�s, but calloused like someone who used them for a living. He wondered if that felt weird to Jake when she gave him a handjob. It would almost feel like a dude was pumping the shaft. Oh well ... to each their own. He broke the handshake and then turned to Jim. �This is my man, Jim,� he told Kingsley�s bitch. �He�s a paramedic. He hangs out with me in case I need him.�

�I see,� she said with a nod, asking no questions. She shook hands with Jim and told him it was nice to meet him.

By this point, Celia had stepped forward. Matt took an even longer look at her. True, she was a bitch extraordinaire, but goddamn if she wasn�t hot! She was dressed in jeans and a white blouse that showed off that premium rack of hers like no fucking tomorrow. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and she had only a light coat of lip gloss on, but her face was still one that a man just wanted to nut on.

�Celia,� he greeted. �How are you today?�

�Feeling good,� she said, her face keeping its neutral expression. �Ready to get to work.�

�Fuckin A,� Matt said with a nod. He then made the official introductions between Celia and Jim. They shook hands.

�I really enjoy your music,� Jim told her.

�Thank you,� Celia said. She too asked no questions about why Matt had a paramedic traveling with him and staying with him in Oregon.

�Suckup,� Matt whispered to Jim when Celia turned away and headed back over to the plane.

�All right,� Jake said. �Let�s go over and get you two and your baggage weighed.�

Jake had explained yesterday that this was a necessary part of riding in his plane. �Let�s do it,� he said.

�I trust you adhered to my rule about cocaine in your baggage?� Jake asked him.

�Yes,� he said sourly. �There is no cocaine in my bag or in Jim�s.� And this was true. He had sent six grams of uncut Bolivian shit in one of his guitar cases that had gone on the equipment truck, but there was not so much as a flake in the bag he was flying with.

�Excellent,� Jake said.

�Do you want to check?� Matt asked defiantly.

Jake looked him up and down for a moment and then shook his head. �No,� he said. �I trust you.�

Matt nodded. He then patted his shirt pocket. �I do have a couple of doobs with me though. Is it cool if we burn once we�re up in the air?�

�No,� Jake said without hesitation. �It is not cool.�

�Aww, come on, dude,� he pleaded. �I won�t be a Bogart! There�s enough for everyone.�

�The FAA frowns upon the hotboxing of an aircraft in flight,� Jake said. �And Laura�s OB frowns upon her being in a hotboxed aircraft in flight.�

�Oh ... yeah, I guess,� Matt said with a frown. When had Jake turned into such a fucking stickler for rules? �Well, is there somewhere around here that Jim and I can burn before we go up? If I�m going to fly in a badass plane like this, I gotta be stoned.�

Jake sighed. �Let�s do the weigh-in and then you can go around behind the hangar complexes and light up,� he said. �But make it fast. And don�t let anyone see you.�

�Right,� Matt said, happy again. �You got it.�

They put their bags on the scale and then themselves. Jake wrote down the readings on a piece of paper on a little clipboard and then he opened up the cargo compartment at the front of the plane and began loading the baggage in. Matt offered to help but Jake declined, telling him it had to be put in in a specific way. Something about balance and shifting or some shit like that. He and Jim then took their walk, finding a secluded haven behind the hangar complexes. They burned one of the joints down to the roach, which Matt then popped in his mouth and swallowed. By the time they made it back to the airplane, both of them were cataclysmically stoned and ready for adventure.

They boarded the plane and Jake directed them to the two forward-facing seats just behind the cockpit. The Valdez bitch was sitting in the copilot�s seat and Kingsley�s bitch was sitting in one of the rear-facing seats behind Jim and Matt�s seats. This was a bit surprising.

�You know how to fly the plane?� Matt asked Celia.

�I do not,� she said, �but this is where I always sit when I fly with Jake.�

�I see,� Matt said slowly, though he did not. He turned to Laura. �Don�t you want to sit up here though, close to your old man?�

�It doesn�t matter where I sit,� she said. �I�ll be asleep before we even hit cruising altitude.�

�Really?� he asked.

�Really,� she said. �I always sleep on planes. It�s a good way to pass the time.�

And, sure enough, she was right. They roared into the sky fifteen minutes later, climbing steeply and heading north. And before they even cleared the mountains north of the San Fernando valley, Kingsley�s bitch was sound asleep in her seat, her hands resting on her swollen stomach, her head bobbing up and down in the turbulence.

It was a little bumpy until they got out over the San Joaquin valley and then the ride smoothed out. By that point, they were at cruising altitude, which Jake said was thirty-two thousand feet. Far below, Matt could see the agriculture fields and the little thin black line that was probably I-5. Pretty cool shit. And then something else occurred to him.

�Hey, Jake,� he said. �It�s okay to talk now, right?�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �We�re up above ten thousand and the autopilot has the plane. What�s up?�

�I noticed you have what appears to be a bar back there,� he said.

�Yes,� Jake said. �It�s one of the amenities that comes with a four point seven-five-million-dollar plane.�

�Damn,� Matt said, impressed. Four point seven-five million fucking bones? Jake really was doing well. �That�s some serious coin. Anyway, that bar ... is that for anyone?�

�Help yourself, Matt,� Jake said. �I had it stocked with fresh ice this morning with you in mind. Just be sure to re-secure the bottles after you pour.�

Matt smiled and unbuckled himself, happy once again. �You�re all right, Jake,� he said.

�I try,� Jake said.

As soon as Matt got up, Jim unbuckled and joined him.

The plan that Jake had come up with that would hopefully give the KVA/Matt Tisdale relationship the greatest chance of successfully making it through the grueling process of recording and mixing a CD was simple. They would keep Matt and his people as separated from Celia and her band as possible. They would work in two separate studios at Blake Studios, with Jake and the Nerdlys alternating days between them as necessary. And, most importantly, Matt and his band would stay in their own rental house in Coos Bay, miles away from where Jake, Celia, Laura, and the others were staying.

The house that KVA was renting for Matt, Steve, Austin, Corban, and Jim was a five bedroom that sat on beachfront property just north of the Coos Bay Bridge. It was not on a cliff, which meant there was a small danger of a tsunami washing it away, and the larger danger of one of the drunken and/or stoned bandmembers drowning in the ocean, but KVA and Matt decided to take their chances with this. The best feature was that it was isolated, butting up against state park territory, which meant the nearest neighbor was more than a quarter of a mile away. Though it was costing KVA twelve hundred dollars a week for them to stay there (and God only knew what kind of damages they were going to have to pay for when the fivesome eventually moved back out), Jake considered it money well-spent.

Austin, Steve, and Corban joined Matt at the rented house on Monday night after spending two days driving up in Austin�s Chevy Suburban. They would use that vehicle for transportation during their stay. On Tuesday afternoon, the five of them drove to the studio to tour it for the first time. Obie�who was recording his own new CD in the third studio (and would make occasional use of the Nerdlys himself as part of his agreement to allow Matt and Celia use of the other two simultaneously)�met them when they arrived.

�It�s good to meet you, Matt,� Obie greeted. �I�ve been an admirer of your guitar work for years.�

�Thanks,� Matt told him. �And I have to say, your music doesn�t suck ass as much as most country music does.�

Obie chuckled. �How often does a man get a compliment like that?� he asked.

Matt and the boys were quite impressed with the studio, which was still one of the most advanced in the world when it came to digital recording. They were also impressed with Obie, who took them out for a night of drinking on the town after the tour. All five of them were hungover and out of sorts when they reported for duty at 9:00 AM the next morning for their first session.

Naturally, the vast majority of that first day was taken up just setting up the equipment and the microphones and sound-checking and adjusting everything until it almost (but not quite) met the satisfaction of the Nerdlys, at which point Jake would step in and gently call an end to the adjustments. The most actual recording they got done that day was the first bass track of the first verse of the first tune out of the ten that had been picked for the project. And even that was just the preliminary recording, just enough to help set the drum track for the verses portion.

The next day, the Nerdlys went through the same process with Celia and her band while Jake worked with Matt and his band in the other studio. Under Jake�s direction, they managed to work their way through all of the bass tracks on the verses for the first tune and the barest beginnings of the drum tracks. His interaction with Matt remained professional and respectful and Matt returned that respect without argument or even vibes of resentment or discontent. But then again, they were only working on the rhythm tracks. If there was going to be issues, it was going to be during the recording of the vocals and the guitar tracks.

The studio days ended at 5:00 PM. Matt and his band would climb into the Suburban with Austin behind the wheel and then head back to their rental house. They would stop somewhere along the way and pick up a pizza, or some fast-food burgers. They would then eat and drink alcohol, smoke weed, and Matt would snort some cocaine from his stash. On Friday night, he promised them, they would go hit the town and pick up some Oregonian gash. They all looked forward to Friday night.

Jake and Laura, however, were not able to join them or Celia and her band in the studio for the Friday session. They had an appointment to keep in San Luis Obispo.

Dr. Gloria Niven was in her early forties, a reasonably attractive brunette with a Minnesota accent. She was a graduate of the UC Davis School of Medicine with a residency in Obstetrics. She had a whiteboard in the reception area of her office that listed the number of babies she had delivered in her career and it was updated with each new delivery. As of this afternoon�s visit, that number was 1478 delivered, which was further categorized into natural births and caesarean section births. Those numbers stood at 1253 and 225 respectively. Jake and Laura were comforted by these numbers, but they were more comforted by Dr. Niven�s calm, cool, confident demeanor. They had complete confidence in her competency to see them through this pregnancy and birth process.

Laura was in one of the exam rooms now, undressed below the waist except for her socks and wearing a hospital gown over her maternity shirt. Her legs were up in stirrups and spread widely. Dr. Niven was standing between those legs, her gloved right hand up inside Laura�s vagina as far as it could go, only the thumb sticking out. Laura was wincing at the pressure.

Jake sat in a chair next to her, holding her hand, pondering the fact that when Celia put her hand up inside Laura�s body it was erotic, but when Dr. Niven did it, it was disturbing and stressful.

�Everything feels perfectly normal up there,� the doc said once her hand was removed. �The mucous plug is firm and fully intact, the cervix is tightly closed with zero percent effacement.�

�Good to know,� Laura said sourly as she removed her legs from the stirrups and let them close up again.

�Sorry,� Niven said with an understanding smile. �The pelvic exam is necessary, but uncomfortable. I�ve had two children myself, so I can relate.�

Laura nodded. �You have to do what you have to do,� she said. �We�re still on track then?�

�Everything looks good,� she said. �The baby is head down, just like she should be. She�ll start to drop down into your pelvis in the next few weeks. There is no glucose or ketones in your urine, so it looks like you won�t have to worry about gestational diabetes. If you were going to get it, you would have had it by this point.�

�That�s also good to know,� Laura said.

�I�d say that you can expect delivery on or about your due date,� Niven said. �Your pelvis seems big enough to accommodate the baby and her head is down and extremely unlikely to change orientation this late in the game. That means a vaginal delivery is extremely likely. Her heart rate is solid and she seems to be at the appropriate size for her gestational date. You may get that Thanksgiving baby after all, but it�s possible she may come a day or two after. It is a first pregnancy and first delivery, after all.�

Laura nodded. Jake nodded as well.

�Any questions?� Dr. Niven asked.

�Well ... yeah, a few,� Laura said. �We were wondering ... uh ... you know ... how long we could keep ... you know... doing it.�

�You mean sexual intercourse?� she asked.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �And ... you know ... other things along that line.�

�Like oral sex?� she asked.

�Yes,� Laura said, blushing furiously. �Oral sex. We ... uh ... we like doing that.�

She nodded matter-of-factly, as if Laura had told her that she liked having a piece of toast in the morning. �Understandable,� she said. �I�m assuming you�re referring to Jake performing the act on you?�

�Yeah,� Jake said slowly. �That�s right.� And someone else performing it on her as well, he did not add.

�Well, with vaginal intercourse,� Niven said, �you can keep that up all the way until pretty much the end. Once the mucous plug comes out a few days before delivery, however, you probably should not ejaculate inside of her any more. There is a risk of infection at that point.�

�Uh ... okay,� Jake said. �No more after the mucous plug comes out.�

�As for oral sex, you can do that right up to the end if you wish,� she added, �but sometimes it�s not exactly aesthetically pleasing for the giving partner. Once the mucous plug is discharged, there tends to be a fairly steady leakage of mucous and a little blood from the uterus.�

�I see,� Jake said.

�It�s harmless to the giver of oral sex,� she quickly put in, �but most people, as I said, find it aesthetically unpleasing.�

�Okay then,� Jake said. �So, we should plan to stop when the mucous plug comes out.�

�Most people stop long before that,� she said. �Usually, it�s because the mother is uncomfortable in the late stage of pregnancy, but the flow of secretions is also a factor as well. There is an interesting school of thought about the female orgasm and the onset of labor, however.�

�Oh yeah?� Laura asked.

�It is thought�though not actually clinically proven because it is hard to do a proper study on something like this�that the oxytocin release that occurs during orgasm may be a trigger to start the labor process in motion.�

�Really?� Jake asked, interested. Though he was not the most medically savvy person in the world, this did make sense to him. Oxytocin was released in large amounts when a woman had the Big O. It was also what they gave�in synthetic form�when they wanted to induce labor, as they had done for Pauline.

�There is plenty of anecdotal evidence to support the hypothesis,� she said. �So, once you�re at or about forty weeks gestation, there may be some benefit to having a good orgasm or two, whether it�s through traditional intercourse, oral sex, or manual stimulation of the clitoris.�

Jake thought it amazing that she could talk about getting it on in so clinical and boring a manner. It could be that she and Nerdly were actually soul mates whose paths had missed.

�There is one other thing we�d like to talk about,� Laura said.

�What�s that?� Niven asked.

�It has to do with how long labor is likely to last once it gets started.�

�Well,� Niven said, �unfortunately, as a primigravida woman with a small frame, it is likely to be considerable. Eight to ten hours minimum under ordinary circumstances, perhaps even as long as twelve to eighteen. If you were to go much more than eighteen, I would start to consider a C-section, particularly if there were any signs of fetal distress.�

Laura nodded, though she did not seem upset by this prediction. She seemed happy about it.

�Is that good news?� asked Niven.

�It is for us,� Laura said. �You see, we�re going to be up in Coos Bay, Oregon when my due date rolls around.�

Niven raised her eyebrows a bit. �I don�t really think it�s wise to go on vacation that close to your due date,� she suggested.

�It�s not vacation, doc,� Jake told her. �We�re working. Laura is the saxophonist for Celia Valdez�s new album and I�m the producer of it. The recording studio is in Coos Bay and we�ll be smack dab in the middle of our session time come late November.�

�I see,� Niven said slowly. �You do not plan to have me deliver the baby at SLO Baptist then? You�re going to deliver in Oregon?�

�No, not at all,� Laura said. �We are completely committed to having you deliver at Baptist. Our plan is to get our butts here from there as soon as labor begins.�

Niven was now looking at them as if they were insane. �Travel from Oregon to SLO at the onset of labor?� she asked. �That�s a terrible idea. I don�t recommend that at all.�

�What�s wrong with it?� Jake asked. �I�m a pilot, remember? I�m sure you�ve read all the articles in the paper about our noisy plane disturbing the peace all the time. That plane can make the flight from North Bend to SLO Regional in an hour and thirty-five minutes of flight time. It�s only another ten minutes from the airport to the hospital. If the minimum labor is eight hours, that will give us plenty of time.�

�That minimum labor time is only applicable if this labor stays routine,� Niven said. �What if it�s not routine? What if you are one of those rare women who delivers her first child in thirty minutes? That can happen, you know. Or what if you do not recognize that you are even in labor for the first six hours or so? That is actually much more likely, particularly in a primigravida who has no experience with the sensations of first-stage labor.�

�We�re going to bring Celia along with us,� Laura said. �She wants to be present at the birth anyway. She can time contractions for me and all that.�

�But still,� Niven said, �an hour and thirty-five minutes is a long time in which something bad can happen.�

�It�s not like that flight is over the ocean or the Gobi desert, doc,� Jake said. �There are towns and cities and airports all along the route between North Bend and here. If something bad starts to happen, I can be on the ground someplace with a hospital in less than fifteen minutes and have an ambulance meet me there. That�s a better deal than you�d get driving from a rural area into the hospital.�

�Uh ... well ... still,� Niven said, �I have to advise against this plan. There is no reason to take a chance. You should return home at thirty-eight weeks or so and stay put here until labor. That way, you will be taking no chances.�

�We can�t do that,� Laura said simply. �We have a deadline to meet and neither of us can take two or three weeks off. It�s going to have to be the fly-out-at-the-onset-of-labor plan. Nothing else will work.�

Niven nodded. �I can�t forbid you to do that, of course. I just want you to understand it�s against my advice.�

�Understood,� Jake said.

�And you absolutely should not attempt this if labor begins more than two weeks early,� she added. �You would be delivering early if that happens and there is much more of a chance that the delivery will occur quickly. If early labor begins, just go to the nearest hospital with labor and delivery services.�

�I guess that makes sense,� Laura said. �We�ll do it.�

�What do you plan to do once the baby is born?� Niven asked next.

�We�ll take a few days at home to get used to being new parents and settle into a routine and then fly ourselves and Cadence back to Coos Bay with us,� Laura said.

�She�s a music baby, doc,� Jake added. �She�s going to spend her first few months of life in a recording studio with her parents, learning how to put down tracks, mix them, and then master them.�

Jae Luc was tall for a Korean, standing just a tad under six feet. He was also stocky and appeared to be in excellent shape. He was dressed in a pair of dress slacks and a dress shirt�an outfit that reminded Jake of Greg Oldfellow. His accent was thick, as English was clearly not his first language, but perfectly understandable. Jake first met him in the office of Oceano Airport, where, to Jake�s surprise, Jill was standing next to him and able to introduce him.

�How did you get here?� Jake asked his accountant after he and the engineer shook hands and exchanged greetings.

�Oh ... well, actually, Jae picked me up at Heritage Executive and flew me here for the meeting,� she said, blushing a little.

�I see,� Jake said slowly, hiding a sly smile. His suspicion that there was some chemistry between the Korean engineer and the Japanese accountant grew a few sizes. There was absolutely no reason why Jill needed to be here for Luc�s informal inspection of the aircraft. He was just here to take a look at it, get a feel for it. They were far too early in the process to start actual negotiations on price.

�It was good flight,� Jae said, looking a little awkward himself. �I really liked approach into Oceano. Good view.�

�I always did like landing here,� Jake agreed. �Unfortunately, my Avanti needs about six hundred more feet of runway than they have here.�

�The Avanti is amazing plane,� he said. �I am jealous.�

�It really is fun to fly,� Jake said. �But so is the Chancellor. Shall we go take a look at it?�

�Please, let us do that,� Jai said.

They walked out to the hangar and Jake opened the door, revealing the twin-engine turboprop aircraft that was hooked up to a shoreline to keep the batteries charged. Jae fell in love with it at first sight. He walked around it, running his hands everywhere, touching the props and the tail and the flaps. Jake knew almost immediately that they would soon be entering escrow for the sale of it...

He looks like me when I first laid eyes on the Avanti, Jake thought, feeling a little warm glow of contentment inside. He honestly did want this beautiful aircraft�the plane he and Laura had had their first adventure in, the plane whose wing he had once fucked her on, the plane that had featured quite prominently in the chain of events that led to him and Celia having sex in a Portland hotel room�to go to a good home. And, though he did not think it likely that Jae Luc would have nearly as much adventure in it, he would care for it and treat it well and fly it frequently.

�Do you want to take her up?� Jake asked.

Jae�s eyes got a little wider. �Right now?�

�Why not?� Jake asked. �She�s fully charged, has more than half a tank of fuel, is current on maintenance, and hasn�t been up in more than a month now. She could use a good shakedown flight to get the fuel and the lube circulating around. How about we cruise over to Catalina, have a little bite to eat, and then come back?�

Jae was nodding. �I would like that,� he said.

�Right then,� Jake said. �You coming with us, Jill?�

�Uh ... yes, of course,� Jill said. �You know I always love riding in your planes.�

He knew no such thing. She had always only done it when she had to and had never really seemed to enjoy it. But he did not call her out on this. �Cool,� he said simply. He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and flipped it open. �Let me just call Laura and tell her I�ll be out for a while.�

Laura complained about her heartburn, her hemorrhoid, and about how she had to pee every five minutes. She then told him to have fun while she sat there at the house all alone. He agreed with everything she said, apologized for being away from her for so long on their rare day off together, and then told her that he loved her. He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket, feeling a little drained by the conversation. They then pushed the aircraft out of the hangar and Jake walked Jae through the external preflight checklist. Once this was complete, they walked together back to the office to file a flight plan. Jill stayed behind to guard the aircraft. Jake took the opportunity to feel Luc out a little regarding his accountant.

�What do you think of Jill?� he asked.

�She is very nice,� Jae said. �Very helpful in setting up meeting and possible sale of the airplane. Can I tell you again how happy I am to meet you, Jake?�

�I�m happy to meet you too, Jae,� Jake said. �I hope we can do business together on this aircraft. I also hope that you and Jill can stay friends when the deal is done.�

Jae nodded thoughtfully. �We might,� he said. �I enjoy talking to her. She never been married, right?�

�Never has,� Jake said. �She�s always been kind of married to her work. She takes accounting very seriously you know.�

�I respect that work ethic,� Jae said. �I have it myself.�

�I wish you luck with her,� Jake said. �She�s a good girl.�

�Jill or the aircraft?� Jae asked.

�Both,� Jake said.

They filed the flight plan and walked back.

�What are your ratings?� Jake asked the engineer.

�IFR rated but not commercial,� he replied. �I�ve recently completed the multi-engine, turboprop, and pressurized flight modules. I�m still building up hours for the test flights. If I decide to purchase the plane, I should be done by the time escrow closes.�

�So, you do know how to fly a twin-engine turboprop then?� Jake asked.

�I do,� he said, �I�m just not supposed to do it with passengers aboard.�

�Hey, Jill and I aren�t really passengers, we�re business acquaintances. Why don�t you take the left seat?�

�You want me to fly the plane?� he asked, surprised.

�You can take off and bring us up to cruise flight,� Jake said. �I�ll guide you through the flight to Catalina and go over the autopilot with you. I�ll land us when we get there though. The airport is a little tricky.�

Jake was afraid that Jae would be a stickler for the rules, but he was not. He was delighted to jump in the left seat. Jill seemed a little nervous when she heard the plan of action, but she said nothing and climbed right in after them.

They had a good flight to Catalina. Jae took off and brought them up to seven thousand feet without any issues, exclaiming all the way about how fast the Chancellor climbed. Jake nodded, thinking that eighteen hundred feet a minute was awfully slow compared to the three thousand feet a minute the Avanti could climb, but everything was relative. He remembered his own days in the Cessna 172 which strained to even climb eight hundred feet per minute if there was more than just the pilot aboard.

Jake landed them on the elevated runway at Catalina and parked them near the restaurant on site. They had a nice dinner of steak and baked potatoes, all of them abstaining from alcohol. Jake felt a little like a third wheel during this portion of the day as Jill and Jae spent the entire meal talking to each other and ignoring him. They talked of where they had gone to college, how they had started their careers, and a little of their family background. They smiled at each other frequently and Jake could feel that chemistry flowing back and forth. They then climbed back into the plane for the flight back. Jake took off, thrilling Jae to the core with the exhilarating launch from the clifftop at Catalina, and then let the engineer fly them back across the sea to the pattern for Oceano. He was able to make a smooth touchdown directly on the centerline without any issues. Jake then took over and taxied back to the hangar.

�I�m going to buy this plane,� Jae said once they disembarked and pushed the aircraft back into storage. �I would like to start the official process on Monday morning.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �I�ll be back in Coos Bay on Monday though. You�ll be dealing primarily with Jill here.� He paused. �I hope that�s all right.�

�Oh ... yes, that is fine,� Jae said. �I�m looking forward to working with you on this, Jill.�

�Me too,� Jill said shyly.

�So...� Jake said as they walked back to the office for the final time, �are you staying here in the area tonight, Jill?�

�I have a hotel room in San Luis Obispo,� she said. �The ... uh ... same hotel where Jae is staying.�

�The Marriott,� Jae said enthusiastically. �Nice place.�

�Yes, it is,� Jake said with a smile. �But there�s no need for you to stay in a hotel, Jill. Laura and I would be delighted to have you stay with us for the night.�

�Uh...� Jill said slowly, her eyes casting to Jae for a moment and then back to Jake. �I ... uh ... already booked the room and paid for it.�

�A pity,� Jake said, his smile increasing a little. �Think of the money you could have saved.�

�Sometimes,� Jill said, �you just have to splurge a little.�

Jake chuckled. �Who are you?� he asked her. �And what have you done with Jill?�

�Excuse me?� she asked, confused.

�Never mind,� Jake said. �I trust you can guide Jae here safely to his room?�

�I think we�ll manage,� Jill said.

They parted ways a few moments later. Jake was happy that at least someone was going to be getting his weenie wet tonight. His own prospects were not looking so good.

Obie, Pauline, and Tabby were staying in Obie�s house in Coos Bay while Obie was working on his CD. Jake, Laura, Celia, and the Nerdlys had dinner with them on the following Friday night so they could have their regular business meeting. Obie made some homemade chili and then grilled up some bratwurst for the occasion. Jake, Obie, Celia, and Pauline all had various alcoholic beverages to go with their meal. The Nerdlys were not in the drinking mood so they had lemonade. Laura, naturally, abstained from alcohol as well. Jake himself would be on the teetotaler list in another seven days. That would be when they were within two weeks of Laura�s delivery date and he would need to be ready to fly them to SLO at a moment�s notice. The partners talked no business until after the meal was complete and the servants had taken the dishes away.

�All right,� Jake said, a glass of twenty-five-year-old scotch on the rocks before him, �I have good news to share.�

�I like good news,� Pauline said. �Let�s hear it.�

�I was able to meet with the suits over at Aristocrat last Friday before Laura�s OB appointment. We�re starting to see a significant upswell in CD sales for Brainwash II over the past three weeks.�

�How significant?� asked Pauline. She had been up here in Oregon for almost six weeks now and felt decidedly out of touch with what was going on.

�More than six hundred thousand since we started pushing for airplay and promotion of Glory,� Jake said. �And growing every week.� Glory was one of Marcie�s tunes, a moderate tempo feel-good piece expounding on how good it was to be alive in the world and in love. It had a catchy hook line and complex guitar work by Steph and Jim that was complimented by Marcie�s voice on the lyrics. Jake had always considered it the best tune on Brainwash II and had pushed for it to be second promoted on the theory that it would start to push CD sales. It was a theory that seemed to be correct so far.

�That is good news,� Pauline agreed. She had been worried about the initial sluggish sales of Brainwash II despite the popularity of the first promoted tune�Jim�s What�s in a Name?

�Indeed,� said Celia, who had a glass of scotch of her own. �The band should get respectable royalty checks next quarter. And they�ll only get bigger from there.�

�Yes, I think they�ll be happy,� Jake said. �The question is, do we want to start working on their next CD come the summer? Or do we want to give them another year off like we did with their debut?�

�I think we should get them back in studio in the summer,� Pauline said. �It seems obvious to me that this CD is not going to sell as well as the first. We�ll all make money off of it�Brainwash included�but we could have done better. I don�t think it�s a good idea to let them fade from consciousness for a whole year. We can record their efforts over the summer and release it whenever we feel the time is right.�

�I like the sound of that on the surface,� Jake said. �But remember, I�m developing new material and will be ready to start working it up once Project Tisdale and C�s new CD are done. It seems likely that I�ll be ready to hit the studio come early spring.�

�Well,� said Obie, �it seems like y�all are managing to work with two studios at the same time right now. I might be able to schedule the time for you if you think you can pull off a Brainwash III and a Jake Kingsley at the same time.�

�I don�t know that I can do that,� Jake said. �Right now, I�m not responsible for any recording except for some backup singing and maybe a few overdubs, so that lets me concentrate on being the producer for both projects. If I�m recording my own shit, however, I�m responsible for all the lead vocals, all of the primary guitar work, and some of the secondary guitar work in addition to the production. I cannot do that and simultaneously produce a Brainwash project. And�no offense, Nerdlys�I don�t think it�s a good idea to put out another Brainwash if I�m not able to produce with everything I have.�

�I thought we did a good job,� Nerdly said with a pout.

�And you did,� Jake said, appeasement in his voice, �but a successful CD needs me and the two of you together. The shining example of that concept is V-tach.�

�They are enjoying quite the run of popularity currently,� Nerdly had to agree.

�Fuckin� A they are,� Jake said. �Home went to number one on the chart and hung in there for three weeks. It�s still getting saturation airplay nationwide. And Rock started getting airplay three weeks ago now. You know how that is going.�

They knew. Rock was the tune My Rock to Cling To, an alt-rock love ballad that featured both Ben and Lenny on the acoustic guitars, Lenny playing a fingerpicked melody while Ben played chords (with a generous helping of distorted electric overdubs engineered in by Jake during the recording process). The song was widely popular since first debut and was currently shooting up the charts in several crossover demographics.

�It should reach the top ten by next week,� Pauline agreed.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �And CD sales picked up in correlation with the popularity of Rock. We�re on track to break Platinum before the first of November. V-tach is definitely going to be happy with their fourth quarter royalty checks. And we still have three more radio friendly tunes to promote after Rock. I don�t mean to toot my own horn or anything, and I�m not trying to minimize the contributions of everyone else involved, but it seems clear to me that my involvement in V-tach was helpful to the cause. I want to be involved on that level in all future projects.�

�I agree,� said Celia.

�As do I,� said Pauline.

The Nerdlys both nodded, though with perhaps a bit of reluctance. �It does seem that your production skills combined with our engineering is a respectable collaboration set,� Nerdly said.

�All right then,� Jake said. �So ... no Brainwash III until at least we have a master in hand for my next CD.�

�That will likely be ... when?� Pauline asked. �Next September?�

He nodded. �Assuming no delays,� he said. He reached over and patted Laura�s bulging stomach. �We are about to become parents, remember? We have no idea how much that is going to affect production.�

�Oh, don�t worry about that at all, Jake,� said Pauline with a smile. �Having a baby is nothing. You�ll hardly even notice a difference in your life.�

Jake looked over at her. �I sense a bit of sarcasm there,� he said.

Her smile got bigger. �You sense correctly,� she said. �Your entire existence is about to change. I really hope you�re bracing yourselves for it.�

�She speaks truly,� said Sharon. �I hope you both are appreciating sleep when you get it. There is not much of it in your immediate future.�

The work went on. Matt and his band continued to work in Studio A five days a week while Celia and her band continued to work in Studio B. Jake and the Nerdlys continued to bop back and forth between the two studios, trying to keep their eyes and ears on everything that was transpiring. Progress was made slowly, like a stream eroding a rock, but this was normal and expected. Both projects remained reasonably on time and only slightly over budget. Most importantly, the relationship between Jake, the Nerdlys, and Matt, while strained at times, stayed in the land of copacetic.

There were a few incidents, of course, but they occurred outside the studio, not inside.

On the first weekend in their rental house, the Coos County Sheriff�s department paid the band a little visit because Matt and the boys had been out on the beach trying to pick up on passing women who were out for strolls on the public beach. They did not succeed in this endeavor, but they did manage to infuriate the boyfriend of one of their prospects, a man who wisely did not try to engage them in physical combat to protect his lady�s honor, but did know the right thing to say to get the cops there in force: �One of them is a black guy.� Four units showed up (half the deputies on duty in the entire county that night) and, once discovering who the perpetrators were, sternly advised them not to repeat the behavior or they would get to tour the inside of the Coos County jail. Matt, showing a little wisdom of his own, did not antagonize the deputies, but simply promised that they would try to keep their pickup attempts confined to single women only.

On another occasion, the Coos Bay police were called to a local pizza restaurant after Matt and the shift manager got into a verbal altercation regarding the accidental placement of pineapple on one of the pizzas the group had ordered to take home with them. In this case, the manager (he was twenty-three years old and a perpetual stoner) was not so wise and, instead of simply apologizing and quickly making a pineapple-less pizza to replace the wrong order, accused Matt of being an idiot for not knowing that pineapple was standard on the Luau pizza. When Matt, reaching his limit at that point, said that he did know that and had specifically told the person taking the phone order not to put the pineapple on, the manager accused him of lying since the order-taker (an eighteen-year-old who was also a perpetual stoner) claimed that he had received no such instruction. Fortunately, the Coos Bay cops did not have a lot to do in their small town and showed up quickly, getting there just before Matt started his ritual of laying on of hands to both the shift manager and the order taker. In the end, they accepted a full refund for all of the pizza, made a vow they would never patronize the establishment again, and went to a bar and ate bar food for their dinner instead.

Jake suspected that there would be more incidents such as this as long as Matt was a temporary resident of southwest Oregon. They would just have to deal with them on a case-by-case basis as they came up and hopefully nothing that led to actual handcuffs on wrists would transpire. He was absolutely amazed, however, with how well things were going inside the studio. It was almost like there had been no bitter break-up of Intemperance, no accusations of murder, no acrimonious hatred.

It was almost like he and Matt were meant to work together. They did not socialize with each other, and they still danced on eggshells around each other to some degree. But Project Tisdale seemed to be moving right along.

November 25^th, Laura�s due date, came and went without incident. She remained pregnant and not in labor. The mucous plug sealing her cervix and protecting little Cadence (who did not feel so little to Laura) remained firmly in place and intact. Laura and Jake spent the day in the studio, Laura working on some of her saxophone tracks (she was able to rest her horn on her bulging stomach by this point), Jake working primarily with Matt and the boys as they laid down some of Corban�s rhythm tracks.

November 27^th was Thanksgiving. Everyone had the day off, as well as the following Friday and the weekend beyond it. Jake made a twenty-six-pound turkey for the occasion and everyone else who could cook contributed the side dishes. After the kitchen and the house was fully cleaned, everyone settled in to relax and do what they liked to do at night. Jake and Laura were sitting on the couch as the evening came to a close. Jake was strumming his guitar�the same melody (now modified and a bit more complex) that he had been playing on the day that Cadence got her name. It still had the same effect on her. She would kick in time with the cadence of the tune, as predictably as the tide. This never failed to delight both of her parents and anyone else who witnessed the phenomenon.

Celia was witnessing it with them on this night, not for the first time. She had her hand on Laura�s belly while Jake strummed and laughed in delight every time she felt the kick on the fourth note of the melody. Laura seemed to be in a particularly good mood on this night.

�You know,� she whispered to Jake and Celia during a break in the playing, �I think this might be a good night for C to �accidentally� stumble her way into our room.�

�Oh yeah?� Celia said, immediately interested. It had been almost two weeks since the last time the three of them had gotten together. Laura just was not in the mood much these days. Understandable, since she had a nearly fully grown alien being in her belly that was getting ready to emerge.

�Yeah,� she said with a nod. �I really want someone to eat my pussy out. It doesn�t matter which one of you does it.�

�We can take turns,� Celia suggested. She was not really all that anxious to get her mouth on Laura�s vagina�though she would not hesitate to do so�but was anxious to feel Jake�s manhood thrusting inside of her and Laura�s tongue licking his spend out of her.

But Jake saw right through her. �Are you really in the mood for love?� he asked her. �Or are you trying to induce labor by having an orgasm or two?�

She smiled sweetly. �Does it matter?� she asked. �Either way, I get an orgasm or two, and the two of you get to fuck. Isn�t that a win-win kind of situation?�

They had to admit that she was right.

After everyone was in bed, Celia crept into their room wearing nothing but her fuzzy white robe. Jake and Laura were already bathed and naked and waiting for her. They got into bed together. Jake licked and sucked between Laura�s legs until she had the first orgasm. Celia then took over and started working her toward a second and then a third while Jake fucked her from behind. Laura then licked Jake�s spend out of Celia�s vagina, doing so quite enthusiastically. All were sweaty and satiated when it was over but, alas, Laura did not go into labor.

The next morning, however, she did lose her mucous plug.

Coos Bay, Oregon

November 30, 1997

It was dark in the room, a bit chilly since one of the windows was partially open, and Laura Kingsley was on her right side, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the ocean waves crashing outside and her husband�s slow, steady breathing from right next to her. She was having trouble sleeping�a rarity for her�because she just could not seem to get comfortable tonight. Yes, she was as big as a freaking whale (not really, she was actually quite petite for such an advanced state of pregnancy, but this was her self-impression) and had been in a constant state of discomfort for the past several weeks, but it had not hampered her sleeping ability until now.

She shifted herself from her right side to her left, a difficult operation indeed, and one that momentarily caused a disruption in Jake�s breathing pattern. She thought he might wake up, but after a few moments he settled back into the sleep pattern. She took a glance at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 1:33 AM. There was still a lot of sleep time left, and it was Sunday, the last day of the Thanksgiving break, so she did not have to get up early anyway. But still, she did not like being awake in the middle of the night while everyone else slept. It was not a familiar situation to her. She took a deep breath, snuggled into Jake a little bit more to capture his body heat, and tried to close down her mind and listen to the waves breaking.

Just as her mind finally started to unplug the connections and drift off toward the first level of sleep, Cadence gave her a particularly enthusiastic kick right in the bottom of her rib cage, jolting her back up. She groaned a little, silently chastising her unborn daughter. Cadence had been doing that a lot lately, particularly over the past few days. She rubbed her belly right over Cadence�s butt, hoping that would sooth her. It did not. She was rewarded only with another kick in the ribs. She took a deep breath�that one had hurt�and then rolled onto her back, even though she was not supposed to do that because the size and weight of her not-so-little passenger could compress her vena cava, thus hampering blood return to her heart. Still, it felt good to be on her back, even if it was just for a few moments. But this pleasure was offset by the realization that she had to pee again. This was also something that had developed over the last week or so. Cadence�s head was now fully engaged in her pelvis, which had relieved the pressure from her diaphragm, making it easier for her to breathe, but compressed her bladder, making it hold only about half of what it normally did before the urgency sensation started.

Knowing that she would become extremely uncomfortable in the next ten minutes if she did not address the situation, she pulled the covers back and began the little rolling back and forth motion she needed to employ when getting out of bed. After only three rocks, she was able to get her bare feet on the floor and she stood up. She was dressed in her green maternity pajamas, her favorite pair. She waddled her way over to the bathroom attached to the master suite and turned on the light. She dropped her pajama bottoms and the thick maternity panties she wore and sat down on the cold seat. As she started to pee, she took a look at the maxi-pad that was stuck to the inside of the panties. She had been having a slow but steady flow of secretions ever since losing her mucous plug. She decided that the pad could use a change so she ripped it free and dropped it into the garbage can. As she was pulling a replacement from a box that sat next to the toilet, she felt a cramp ripple through her abdomen, moving from back to front.

�Ow!� she moaned as it struck her, making her wince. It lasted maybe fifteen seconds and then eased off and disappeared completely. It had not been horrible�just a little more intense than a period cramp�but it definitely caught her attention. Could it possibly be a labor pain? She was overdue at this point in the game so that seemed a distinct possibility. But she also had not pooped in three days now�thank you again little Miss Cadence, destroyer of routine bodily functions�so it might be a bowel cramp. She had had a few of those lately, as well as sporadic Braxton-Hicks contractions over the last month, but this had not really felt like either of those things.

She finished up her business, wiping herself (with some difficulty thanks to her belly) and replacing the pad. She pulled up her panties and her bottoms and then washed and dried her hands. She stood there for a minute, waiting to see if another one of those pains would come or perhaps there would be the urge to move her bowels. Nothing happened. She turned off the light and then went back to bed, crawling in and cuddling up to Jake once again.

Just as she was starting to think that the pain she had felt had been another Braxton-Hicks, or perhaps a figment of her imagination, it happened again, not quite as strongly this time, but of longer duration. It too faded away. She raised her head up and looked at the clock display again. It was now reading 1:46 AM. She made a mental note of that time and went back to relaxing against Jake�s body.

She waited until three more pains came and went before she woke him up. They came at 1:57, 2:08, and then 2:20, each lasting about twenty or thirty seconds. She no longer thought they might be Braxton-Hicks contractions or bowel cramps. Neither of those two things occurred at regular intervals. No, I think it�s finally happening here, she thought, feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety competing for top billing. I�m in labor.

She put her hand on Jake�s shoulder and gently shook him. �Sweetie,� she said. �Wake up.�

He groaned and grunted a few times and then came awake, shaking the sleep off fairly quickly. He glanced at the clock for a moment and then turned to her. �What�s up?� he asked. �Are you having contractions?�

�I�m pretty sure I am,� she said. �I�ve had five of them over the past forty-five minutes or so. They�re coming about eleven or twelve minutes apart.�

Jake sat fully up in bed now. He was shirtless and wearing only his underwear. �Okay,� he said slowly, just a hint of nervousness in his voice. �Should we start getting ready to move?�

�Let me see if another one comes,� she said. �If it�s labor, the next one should happen in another ten minutes or so, around 2:31 or 2:32. It I get that one, I think we should go.�

�Okay,� he said. �Sounds good.�

They stayed cuddled together, both of them watching the clock in silence as the minutes ticked off agonizingly slow. Finally, it clicked over to 2:31. Sure enough, within ten seconds of the turnover, another pain rippled through her from back to front, making her wince a little, making her breathing hitch.

�You�re having one?� Jake asked, noting the tensing of her body, the change of breathing.

�Yeah,� she said through gritted teeth. �A pretty good one too.�

They stayed in position until it released. And then Jake sprung to his feet and turned on the light. �All right,� he said. �Let�s do this thing. I want to be in the air in under an hour.� He picked up a pair of jeans that had been folded on the chair next to the bed and began putting them on.

Laura, watching him, suddenly had a wave of fear wash over her. Their plan to fly all the way to San Luis Obispo at the onset of labor had seemed reasonable when they had first come up with it, had seemed reasonable only an hour before when she had been lying awake and turning it over in her restless mind, but now that she was actually feeling contractions, now that she was actually facing the prospect of squishing little Cadence out of her body soon, it seemed the most asinine thing she had ever heard of.

�Sweetie,� she said hesitantly, �is this really a good idea?�

He stopped in the middle of buttoning his pants and looked at her. �Flying home?� he asked.

She nodded, chewing on her lip a little. �Now that this is actually happening ... well ... it seems like maybe it might be safer just to stay here and deliver at North Bend Medical Center.�

Jake took a slow breath. �We could do that,� he said softly. �They have a labor and delivery department there. We don�t know the doctors here, but I�m sure they know what they�re doing.�

�It�s something we should think about,� she said hesitantly. �I�m getting scared about this flight, sweetie.�

Jake nodded. �It�s your call to make,� he said. �Just remember, they have no NICU services at North Bend, so if anything is wrong with Cadence they�ll have to put her on a helicopter over the mountains to Eugene.�

She chewed her lip a little more. She did know this little fact as she and Jake had looked into the capabilities of virtually every hospital between Coos Bay and San Luis Obispo over the past six weeks. Not every hospital had a NICU, or neonatal intensive care unit, which was designed, staffed, trained, and equipped to take care of sick newborns. North Bend Medical Center was one of the hospitals that did not have such a unit. They could deliver routine babies and care for routine newborns, but could not do much for sick ones except transfer them out by air. �That is a good thing to consider,� she allowed.

�I think Cadence will be just fine no matter where we deliver,� he said, �but I think it would be better if we at least got her into range of a place with a NICU if we can, just in case. How about we follow the plan for now? We get up in the air. If labor is progressing too fast, it�s only a fifteen-minute flight to Eugene and we can divert there. If it�s not progressing, we go for home. If anything happens anywhere along the way, I have that chart I put in the plane with every diversion airfield and its proximity to every hospital and that hospital�s capabilities.�

She knew Jake had done all the research and she had even helped with a fair portion of it�mostly the hospital parts while Jake had concentrated on the airport parts. She knew that what he was saying made perfect sense, and now that she heard it all told to her again, she actually started to feel a little better. She was still scared as hell, still thought that maybe they had not thought this through as much as they should have, but knew that getting up in the air was probably the best option.

�Okay,� she said. �Let�s go with the plan.�

�Right,� he said. �Get yourself dressed in your traveling clothes. They�re right there next to the bed.�

She nodded. Her traveling clothes and her maternity bag she would need at the hospital had both been sitting there waiting for two weeks now. �Okay,� she said.

�I�ll get Celia up and then start loading up the car.�

�All right,� she said, pulling her pajama top off and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. She had no bra on underneath�sleeping in a bra was something she never did, pregnant or not�but there was a stretchy sports bra as part of her traveling clothes. She rolled over and got her feet on the floor so she could shuck her bottoms. Jake, meanwhile, had put on his shirt and was tying his shoes. Once he was done with this, he did not head out of the room toward Celia, but went the other way. �Where are you going?� she demanded.

�I gotta pee before we go,� he said.

�Well hurry up!� she barked.

Jake took her harsh tone in stride. He was used to her irrational outbursts by this point. �Will do,� he said simply.

Jake was a master of preplanning and the egress from the house to the airport went smoothly. He, Laura, and Celia were all dressed and ready to travel in less than ten minutes. All of them had travel bags full of clothes, phone chargers, insurance cards, and even travel snacks pre-packed and waiting. All of them had travel clothes waiting next to their beds. They left the house in Jake�s BMW at 2:45 AM and were at the airport by 3:00 AM. During that time period, Laura had three more contractions. Celia used her watch to time them and had a sheet of paper to record them. They were staying consistently at eleven to twelve minutes apart and about twenty to thirty seconds in duration.

�Your water hasn�t broke yet?� asked Celia as Jake pulled the Avanti out of the hangar using the electric tug.

�Not yet,� she said. �Dr. Niven says that in more than half of cases it doesn�t break until well into labor.�

Jake loaded their baggage into the cargo compartment and then sealed it up. He then used a flashlight to complete his exterior preflight inspection. He had deliberately left the plane more than half full of fuel so they would not have to worry about having to gas up before making the flight. He opened up the plane and turned on the batteries to power up the lights inside. While Celia and Laura settled into the seats behind the cockpit�Celia would remain at Laura�s side for this flight�Jake drove the BMW back to the general aviation terminal, parked it, and then went inside to file the flight plan he had already come up with weeks before. He made a last check of the weather on their route�he had routinely been doing that twice a day for two weeks just in case�and saw that it was partly cloudy with moderate winds through southern Oregon and northern California (the result of a low-pressure system sitting just off the coast of southern Washington), but became clear and reasonably calm once they got to the northern fringes of the Sacramento Valley. What this meant was that there were no dangerous conditions along their way, but it would undoubtedly be bumpy for the first third of the flight.

He jogged back to the aircraft and climbed inside, sealing it up behind him. He fired up the engines and then quickly input his flight plan into the flight manager. The route he had chosen was about ten minutes longer than the fastest route, but kept them within fifteen minutes of an emergency landing field at all times. He ran through the preflight checklist, forcing himself to do it slowly and carefully despite the fact that his wife was in labor behind him. He would not do them any good if he rushed through it, missed something, and crashed them all into the side of a mountain somewhere. That would certainly be counterproductive to the passing on of his genetic code.

Finally, at 3:33 AM, he called for IFR clearance and was assigned his requested final altitude of thirty-one thousand feet. The actual tower was not operating at this time of the morning so he simply broadcast that he was taxiing to Runway 22 so he could take off into the twenty-knot onshore wind.

�How are we doing back there?� he asked his passengers. �Go for the mission?�

�Contractions are still eleven to twelve minutes apart,� Celia reported. �I think we�re go.�

�How about you, hon?� he asked Laura. �Go mission?�

�Go mission,� she said, holding tightly to Celia�s hand. �Let�s get this shit over with.�

He taxied to the head of the runway and roared into the sky at 3:42 AM, going out over the ocean and then turning back to the southeast and going feet dry again. Almost immediately, the turbulence began to batter them as they climbed out over the coastal mountains.

�It�s the bumpies,� Celia said nervously, using Laura�s lighthearted, generally unconcerned term for clear air turbulence they encountered.

�Yeah,� Laura said sourly. �I could really do without the bumpies on this flight.�

�Sorry, hon,� he told her as a particularly nasty bumpy shuddered the entire aircraft. �We�re gonna have to deal with the bumpies at least until we get south of the jet stream over the Sac Valley.�

�Awesome,� she said.

Amazingly enough, Laura still fell asleep well before they reached cruising altitude, this despite the fact that she was having labor contractions and the plane was being battered around in the unstable air. Whenever a contraction would hit her, she would wake up briefly, hold her stomach and wince a bit, and then go right back to sleep as soon as it relaxed. Celia kept one hand entwined with Laura�s and the other on Laura�s belly. She found she could actually feel when the contractions came as her fundus would tighten up. She would check her watch with each one and then note it down on her sheet and then go back to holding hand and belly.

Jake let the autopilot control the aircraft while he constantly looked at his chart of diversion airfields and hospitals as they bumped and bounced along. He kept up a constant diversion plan in his brain as they approached and then passed each waypoint. Medford, Oregon, which had a NICU equipped hospital; Crescent City, California, which had a hospital with L&D services but no NICU; Siskiyou County Hospital, which had L&D but no NICU either. They then passed over the southern Cascade mountains on the border of Oregon and California. The turbulence increased considerably at this point, bouncing them around like a ping-pong ball and making everything shudder. One of the booze bottles in the bar came loose from its restraint band and fell to the floor, thankfully not breaking.

�I have to pee!� Laura cried.

�I think you should wait a few more minutes if you can,� Jake advised. �We�re pitching around like a freakin� boat in the ocean here.�

�I can�t wait,� she said. �I go now, or I pee my pants.�

�It might be safer to just pee your pants,� Celia said. She was quite clearly terrified by the sheer violence of the turbulence.

�I am not going to pee my pants!� Laura said defiantly. She unbuckled her seatbelt and started to rise. A big jolt sent her crashing right back down. �Goddammit!� she screamed, and then burst out crying.

Celia then unbuckled herself as well. �Let me help you, Teach,� she said, standing up, holding carefully to the seat as she did so. She then held out her hand and helped Laura rise up to her own feet.

�Be careful, you two,� Jake told them. He knew the turbulence itself presented no actual danger to the aircraft�the Avanti could handle unstable air that was three or four times worse than what they were now experiencing�but having unsecured passengers during it was actually quite dangerous. Particularly when one of them was pregnant and in labor.

�We�ll try,� Celia replied. �Come on, Teach. Let�s do this.�

She put her arm around Laura�s waist and the two of them slowly made their way to the back of the plane, supporting themselves with the seatbacks as they went. The plane continued to bump and bounce with no predictable rhythm, but they managed to keep their feet beneath them. Celia opened the door to the toilet and locked it in that position so it could not slam back shut. She helped Laura unbutton her pants and pull them down. Once that was accomplished, she held onto her arms so she could ease down on the toilet. She remained standing there while Laura peed.

�You have a pad on,� Celia told her. �Don�t bother wiping.�

�I�m sorry,� Laura said, �but I am not going to skip wiping. That�s gross.�

�Okay,� Celia told her, �but hold onto me with one hand while you do it.�

Laura nodded. �This is so undignified,� she said miserably.

The ladies made it back to their seats without falling down or being slammed up to the ceiling, but it was a close thing. They sat back down and strapped in. Jake breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the buckles click shut.

The unsecured booze bottle continued to bounce and jump and slide all over the place but miraculously did not break. Eventually, it worked its way down the aisle and over to where Celia could grab it. She held it up and looked at it for a moment. It was a bottle of sixteen-year-old Bushmills single malt. She pondered it for a moment and then popped the cork and took a large, healthy swig directly from the bottle.

�Ahh,� she said. �God does provide.� She put the top back on and then stowed the bottle in the seatback pocket on the back of Jake�s seat.

Jake saw an expanse of orange and white city lights in the distance. That was Redding, the northernmost city in the Sacramento Valley. It was still better than forty miles ahead of them, but he welcomed the sight, nonetheless. There were two hospitals in Redding, both of which had NICU services. And after Redding there were no more long stretches between cities and hospitals. And once they were out of the mountains and over the valley itself, the turbulence would likely die down considerably.

�Just a few more minutes and the ride should smooth out some,� he told his passengers.

�Thank God,� Celia said, wondering if just one more slug of the Bushmills would be too much.

Laura said nothing. She was already back asleep.

As predicted, the turbulence eased up once they crossed over the last set of mountains and flew out over the valley. It did not go away completely, but it was no longer violent and continuous, just an almost gentle bumping from time to time. Redding passed beneath them and the next closest hospital was in Red Bluff. After Red Bluff, the familiar outline of the Heritage metropolitan area came into view. Heritage had three hospitals equipped with NICUs. After Heritage came the Sacramento area, which had multiple NICU equipped facilities, including the UC Davis Medical Center and Sutter Memorial Hospital, which were both regional specialty centers for high-risk deliveries and neonatal care. If there was anywhere along their path where it would be optimum to divert, Sacramento would be that place.

But they did not need to divert. Laura�s contractions had advanced a bit since they had taken off, but were still nine minutes apart�well within the safety margin. Jake began to feel more confident that they were going to make it home.

They passed over Stockton and then Modesto before their route took them further to the west, where the south San Francisco Bay Area came into range. From here, they could easily land in San Jose if needed. Beyond San Jose was Hollister and Salinas. Laura kept contracting regularly, but stayed in the nine-minute range. Just past Salinas, Jake began his descent, bringing them down from thirty-one thousand to four thousand at a rate of two thousand feet per minute. By the time they passed over Pasa Robles�the last possible diversion airfield with a NICU in easy striking distance�Jake knew they were going to make it.

He entered the familiar pattern for San Luis Obispo Regional, taking them offshore over Morro Bay and then turning for an ILS landing on Runway 11. He did not do many night landings as a matter of course, but he had done enough to be comfortable with it. The sky was clear and he could see the lighted runway from more than ten miles out. The ILS brought him down the glideslope smoothly. At five hundred feet above the ground, he disconnected the autopilot and took over control of the plane. He touched down neatly at 5:13 AM.

�We�re here,� he said, unnecessarily since both of his passengers were awake (Laura, like usual, had awakened when the flaps came down prior to landing).

�Thank God,� Laura breathed.

�Amen to that,� Celia echoed.

Jake did not bother taxiing to the hangar. Instead, he simply parked in the general aviation area and shut down the engines. He quickly tied down the plane while Celia unloaded the luggage from the cargo compartment. Jake jogged over to the hangar and opened it up. Inside was Laura�s Lexus that usually stayed in Granada Hills but that had been driven to SLO just for this mission. It was hooked up to its own trickle charger and fully fueled. He pulled the electrodes off the battery and got inside. The keys were in the glove box. He started up the engine and pulled out. After closing the hangar door and securing it, he jumped back in the car and drove quickly back to the terminal.

�All right,� he said as he got out and started picking up their bags. �How we doing?�

�I just had another one,� Laura said. �A little stronger this time.�

�What�s the timing?� Jake asked Celia.

�Still at nine minutes,� she reported.

�Cool,� Jake said relieved. �Let�s get our asses to the hospital.�

They loaded the trunk and climbed in, Laura in the front next to Jake, Celia in the back seat. Jake drove them quickly through the nearly empty streets and arrived at the entrance to the women�s and children�s center at Baptist Hospital of San Luis Obispo at 5:45 AM.

�I�ll go grab a wheelchair,� Celia said when Jake brought them to a stop in the circular entryway.

�I don�t need a fucking wheelchair,� Laura said testily. �I can walk.�

�Well ... yeah,� Celia said, �but I thought you were supposed to bring pregnant women in that way.�

�I can walk,� Laura repeated, stepping out and putting her feet on the pavement. �If someone would just grab my bag for me.�

�I�ll get it,� Jake said. �C, you stay with her. I�m going to go park.�

It took him the better part of five minutes to find a parking space and then jog back to the entrance. Once he was there, the three of them went through the sliding door and into the labor and delivery building. They were in a foyer with a few chairs scattered about and a large semi-circular desk staffed by a female registration clerk in scrubs and a male hospital security guard. There was nobody currently sitting in the chairs. The three of them walked up to the desk.

�Hello,� the female greeted. �Checking in?�

Jake looked at his two companions for a moment and then back at the clerk, irritation plainly visible on his face. A man and two women, one of whom was quite obviously in late pregnancy and holding her belly in a painful manner, come strolling into the labor and delivery department at 5:50 AM and she wants to know if they are checking in. He did not say what was on his mind, however. �Uh ... yes, we�re checking in,� he told her. �My wife seems to be in labor.�

�Okay,� the woman said brightly. �You�ve come to the right place then. Are you pre-registered here at Baptist?�

�Yes, I am,� Laura said. �Dr. Niven is my OB.�

�Okay,� she said. �Your name?�

�Laura Kingsley,� she said.

That caught the woman�s attention. The security guard�s too. They both stared at her for a moment, recognition showing in their eyes.

�Oh ... Mrs. Kingsley, of course,� she said. �How exciting for you!�

�It doesn�t feel all that exciting at the moment,� Laura said sourly.

�I�m sorry,� she said with seemingly sincere sympathy. �If I could just have your date of birth to look you up in the computer?�

�April 11, 1965,� Laura said.

She tapped on her computer keyboard for a moment and then looked at her screen. �Okay,� she said. �There you are. I see you�re already overdue.�

�Yes,� Laura said, �I...� she winced and grabbed her belly. �Oh God, here comes another one.�

�Let me just call the nurse to get you back into the triage room,� the woman said. She picked up a phone and dialed a number. After a moment, she spoke to someone on the other end. �Laura Kingsley is here checking in.� A pause. �That right ... Laura Kingsley. Jake Kingsley and a visitor are with her. She is reporting contractions.� Another pause. �Okay, will do.� She hung up the phone. �The nurse will be right out.�

�Very good,� Laura grunted, breathing a little heavily as the contraction faded.

While they were waiting, she took Jake�s name for the record and then asked who the visitor was.

�I�m Celia Valdez,� Celia told her.

The woman�s eyes got even bigger upon hearing this. She looked at Celia in awe for a moment. �Oh my God,� she said. �It is you! I thought you looked like you, but I didn�t think it really could be you. Wow! This is so amazing!�

�Thank you,� Celia said. �Laura and I are very good friends. She plays saxophone for me, you know.�

�I�ve heard that,� the woman said.

�It�s true,� Jake said. �Now, is there some visitor badge or something you�re supposed to be making for us?�

�Oh ... right, of course,� she said. She bent to her computer and went to work. A minute later, Laura had an armband on her wrist and Jake and Celia both had visitor stickers with their names and Laura�s name stuck to their shirts. A moment after that, one of the side doors opened and a middle-aged nurse in blue scrubs came through. She was pushing an empty wheelchair.

�Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley?� she asked.

�Yes,� Laura said.

�I�m Arlene, one of the L&D nurses. I�m going to get you triaged and see how you�re doing.�

She insisted that Laura sit in the wheelchair even though Laura insisted she was perfectly capable of walking.

�It�s hospital policy,� Arlene said simply. �We don�t want you falling down.�

�A little while ago I walked to the back of an airplane that was bouncing around like a moth on a porch light,� Laura told her. �I didn�t fall then.�

�You were in an airplane?� Arlene asked, her eyebrows coming up.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Two and a half hours ago we were in Coos Bay, Oregon. We flew down here when labor started. It was a bit of a bumpy ride for the first part of the flight.�

The nurse was now looking at them as if they were insane. �You flew down from Oregon in the middle of the night while you were in labor?� she asked.

�Yeah,� Laura told her. �That was our plan all along. It worked out.�

�Wow,� Arlene whispered. �Anyway, as I was saying, it�s hospital policy that you sit in the chair. If you would just take a seat?�

Laura took a seat. She was wheeled back through a secured entrance and into a hallway, Jake and Celia trailing behind. From there, she was put in a room labeled TRIAGE. The triage room had two gurneys in it separated by a curtain. Monitoring equipment filled the back wall. Arlene directed Laura to sit on the left gurney (the right one was unoccupied currently). She then took her temperature, hooked her up to a blood pressure cuff and a pulse oximeter, and then asked her a few questions about when her labor pains started, what they felt like, if they had been timing them, how far apart they were. Laura answered everything and Celia even provided Arlene with her paper record of the contraction times and duration. Arlene was impressed with the document.

�Well, well,� she said. �It looks like you went from twelve minutes to nine over the past few hours. Has your water broke?�

�Not yet,� Laura said.

�And have you lost your mucous plug?�

�A few days ago,� Laura replied.

�Very good,� Arlene said. �We need to see how advanced your labor is. I�ll need you to undress completely and put on one of our gowns. After that, I�ll hook you up to the monitor and do an internal exam to see how dilated you are.�

�Wonderful,� Laura said with a frown. She reached for her blouse and began undoing the buttons.

Arlene looked over at Celia. So far she had given no indication that she knew who Celia was. �What is your relationship to Mrs. Kingsley?� she asked.

�We�re good friends,� Celia told her.

�My best friend,� Laura put in.

�That�s right,� Celia said with a smile. �Best friends.�

�Okay then,� Arlene said. �Well, she�s about to disrobe and then have me put my hand up inside of her vagina. If either of you are uncomfortable being in each other�s presence while that happens, you might want to step out of the room for a little bit.�

�It�s all right,� Laura said. �She�s seen me naked before.�

�I see,� Arlene said slowly.

�I had to help her pee in the airplane,� Celia said.

�I see,� Arlene said again. �In that case, here�s your gown. I�ll give you a few minutes to disrobe.�

Laura took her clothes off (except for her socks) and put on the gown. She laid down on the gurney while Jake and Celia sat in the chairs next to it. Arlene returned a few minutes later carrying a stretchy band with several round devices attached to it and wires coming from the devices.

�This is the CTG,� Arlene explained. �It straps around your belly and tells us when you�re having a contraction and gives a constant readout of the baby�s heart rate. Do you know if it�s a boy or a girl?�

�It�s a girl,� Laura said.

�Have you picked a name yet?�

�Cadence,� Laura said. �Her name is Cadence.�

�That�s a pretty name,� Arlene said, though her tone suggested that she always said something like that, no matter what name a mother told her. Adolf? That�s a good solid name. Saddam? I like the sound of that!

�We think so,� Jake said.

She rucked up Laura�s gown and installed the device by wrapping it around her belly. She then fiddled with the positioning a bit while staring at the monitor screen on the wall behind Laura�s head. Finally, she seemed to like what she saw.

�Baby looks good,� she said. �Fetal heartrate is one-forty-two right now, right where it should be. Let me know the next time you feel a contraction so I can see if it correlates with the monitor.�

�Will do,� Laura said.

Arlene pulled her gown back down and then scribbled some notes on a chart paper for a few minutes. While she was doing this, Laura tensed up and gripped Jake�s hand on one side and Celia�s on the other. �I�m having one,� she said.

Arlene looked at the monitor and nodded. �You certainly are,� she said. �Let�s see what we got here.� She stared at the screen, which was spitting out a paper copy of what was on it.

�Which one of those lines is the contraction?� Jake asked.

�The bottom one,� Arlene said. �The top is your baby�s heart rate. I�m seeing a mild to moderate contraction here, tracking like a true labor contraction and not a Braxton-Hicks. The fetal heart rate is staying steady. That�s a good thing. We don�t like to see that number drop during a contraction.�

Jake, used to reading complex instruments in a cockpit and on an audio mixing board, quickly picked up on the ins and outs of the display. He could see where the danger zones for both the contractions and the fetal heart rate started on both ends of the spectrum. Laura�s line was nicely and completely in the safe zone. So was Cadence�s.

�That was a typical stage one labor contraction,� Arlene said once the line dropped back down to the base. �No fetal heart rate change. Now, we�ll see how dilated and effaced you are and watch to see the frequency of your contractions.�

�Okay,� Laura said, obviously feeling a little better now that she was in the care of professionals. Jake understood. He was feeling more comfortable now too.

Arlene gloved up and smeared lube over her right hand. She then directed Laura to open wide. Laura did so, wincing in advance. Arlene slipped her lubed hand inside of her, pushing in everything but the thumb. She felt around in there for a few moments, nodding her head at what she was detecting, and then withdrew.

�Okay,� she said. �You�re two centimeters dilated and about twenty percent effaced.�

�What does that mean?� asked Celia.

�It means she�s still pretty early in the process,� Arlene said. �She needs to be ten centimeters dilated and one hundred percent effaced to deliver. We�re still quite a ways out from the moment of truth here.�

�How far out?� Laura asked.

�Twelve hours, minimum,� Arlene said. �Probably as much as eighteen. You are barely into first stage labor here.�

�Barely in?� Laura asked. �It feels like someone is squishing my guts every time I have a contraction.�

�You can thank Eve for that,� Arlene said lightly. �Hang in there. We�re going to monitor you for an hour or so and get a good track on your regularity.�

�And then what?� Laura asked.

�And then we�ll make a decision based on that,� she said. �Hang tight in here. There�s a call button if you need me for anything. After an hour, we�ll examine you again and see where we�re at.�

�Are you going to call Dr. Niven?� Laura asked.

Arlene chuckled a little bit. �Not until you�re in well into second stage labor,� she said. �The docs only come in for the grand finale, not the warmups or even the main event.�

This was an analogy that the musicians understood quite well.

An hour went by. Jake watched his wife and the monitor, which he now knew how to read. Laura continued to have contractions every nine minutes like clockwork. Cadence�s heart rate stayed consistently between 130 and 145 whether Laura was contracting or not. Everything seemed to be copacetic. No one came in and started an IV on her. No one offered her any pain medication or anything else. No one even came in the room at all.

Jake found he could get a cell phone signal in the room so he called his parents when the clock ticked past 7:00 AM. His mother answered the phone, sounding a little sleepy.

�Hey, Mom,� he said. �It�s me.� He did not bother identifying himself by name, of course, since there was only one male voice in the world who would call her Mom.

�Hey, Jake,� she replied. �What�s happening? Is it time?�

�It�s time,� he said. �She went into labor about two-thirty this morning. We flew to San Luis Obispo and made it here safe. We�re in the women�s and children�s center at SLO Baptist right now.�

Mary Kingsley immediately perked up at this news. �That�s wonderful!� she exclaimed. She had been in the camp of those opposed to the flying-to-SLO-from-Oregon plan. �When will she deliver?�

�We don�t know that yet. The nurse seems to think we�re still at least twelve hours out and she seems like she knows what she�s talking about. Do you and Dad still plan to come out?�

�Of course we do,� Mary said indignantly. �When should we leave for your house?�

�Probably not until after she delivers and we go home,� he told her. �That way, we�ll be somewhat settled in by the time you get here.�

�Okay,� Mary said. �But you keep us informed. I want to know as soon as my new granddaughter is born.�

�You�ll be the first ones we call,� Jake promised.

�We�d better be,� Mary said. �Love you two!�

�We love you too, Mom,� Jake told her.

Before he could call Elsa to let her know the situation, a nurse came in. It was not Arlene, but an older and wizened woman who looked like she just might have helped deliver Jesus Christ Himself. She introduced herself as Judy and told them that Arlene had gone home and that she would now be caring for them.

�Arlene told me you folks are those death metal musicians that live up on the cliff,� she said, a clear expression of distaste showing through her nurse face and exuding in her tone of voice.

�Well ... we are musicians,� Jake said. �But we do not do death metal.�

Judy looked at them for a moment, the expression of distaste deepening. �I guess you can call it whatever you want,� she said bluntly. �Anyway, your contractions are holding pretty steady at eight and a half to nine minutes. I�m going to do another pelvic exam and see if the dilation and effacement has advanced.�

�Ugg,� Laura grunted.

Judy shrugged without the least bit of sympathy. �It�s the only way we can tell,� she said. She pulled on the glove and then opened the little lube pack. A moment later, she was hand deep in Laura�s body and feeling around. She shook her head at what she felt. �You�re still only two centimeters and twenty percent. No change from an hour ago.�

�Okay,� Laura said. �What does that mean?�

�It means we�re going to send you home,� Judy said.

�Send her home?� Jake asked, sure he had misunderstood or that Judy had a strange sense of humor.

But it was neither of those things. �That�s right,� she said. �You�re still in first stage labor. We can�t take up a birthing suite with you until you�re well advanced into second stage labor.�

�Seriously?� Jake asked. �We just got up in the middle of the night, flew here from Oregon, getting bounced around like a fly in a bottle, drove here from the airport, and you�re sending us home?�

�That is correct,� Judy said. �In a low-risk delivery such as yours, you are not supposed to come into the hospital until contractions are regularly occurring five minutes apart and lasting for at least a minute for a period of one hour. I�m sure Dr. Niven told you this, did she not?�

�Well ... yes,� Jake said, �but ... uh...�

�But you didn�t think that applied to you because you�re rich and famous?� Judy asked lightly.

�No, not at all,� Jake said, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger. �It�s just that after we flew all the way here, it just seemed that we should get to the hospital right away and have her checked.�

�Yes,� Judy said, �your plane flying over my house this morning woke me up�and not for the first time either. And just because you arrive by airplane because you�re rich enough from selling your death metal to afford one, does not mean you are granted special privileges or allowed to circumvent the clear and concise directions I am sure Dr. Niven and the nurse who did your pre-registration gave you.�

�Hey,� Laura said, her irritation clearly showing now, �cut us a little slack here. This is our first time having a baby.�

Judy looked at her pointedly. �Perhaps you should have thought that decision over a little more carefully,� she suggested.

�I beg your pardon?� Laura asked, flushing now.

�If you cannot keep a simple set of instructions in your combined heads,� Judy told them, �then maybe you should not be raising children.�

Jake�s eyes darkened dangerously as he heard this outrageous suggestion. His fists clenched in anger and he had to take a deep breath to keep himself under control. How dare this bitch question their worth as parents! She doesn�t know us! He opened his mouth, unsure what was going to come out, but Judy beat him to the punch.

�It�s a little too late to change that decision, I realize,� she said, �but the fact remains that you are still far too early in the process to be admitted. So, you are going to have to go home for now and then come back when the contractions are five minutes apart, lasting one minute in duration�that is sixty seconds�and�this is the most important part�have been doing so for one hour�that is sixty minutes.�

And with that, she unceremoniously began removing the monitoring equipment from Laura�s belly and arms and fingers.

�That�s it,� Jake said. �I want to talk to your charge nurse right now.�

�I am the charge nurse,� Judy said with a little smile. �And I have talked to you.� She pulled off the last monitoring wire and dropped it behind the head of the gurney. �Now, if you will get dressed and make your way out.�

�No,� Jake said, shaking his head. �I want to talk to whoever is in charge of you then.�

�That would be the department manager,� Judy said, �and she is in a meeting and unavailable currently.�

�We�ll wait until she is available,� Jake returned.

�I�m afraid that is not possible.�

�Anything is possible if you make the effort,� Jake said lightly. �We�ll stay here until we talk to her.�

Judy was starting to look a little less sure of herself now. �You are forcing me to call security and have you escorted out,� she threatened.

�Do what you need to do,� Jake told her, �but you are digging yourself and this hospital a deeper and deeper hole here. How about you just go pull that manager out of her meeting, have her come talk to us for a minute, and then we�ll go. Doesn�t that seem the easier course of action than possibly fomenting a nasty little confrontation?�

Judy sighed. �Wait here,� she said. �In the meantime, I would ask you to get dressed. You will still be leaving.�

�Understood,� Laura said, trying to keep tears of anger and frustration at bay.

Judy turned and left the triage room, shutting the door behind her.

�Madres de Dios,� Celia said, shaking her head in disbelief. �What a puta!�

�Yeah,� Jake said, putting his arm around Laura�s shoulders and pulling her into a hug. �Don�t worry hon. I will deal with this.�

�I know,� she said, a tear finally slipping down now. �I just can�t believe she talked to us like that right to our faces! I mean, we�ve had the press say some nasty things about us, but that�s their job!�

�I know,� he said again.

The two of them helped Laura put on her underwear, her pants, her sports bra, her blouse, and then her socks and shoes. Right about the time they finished the project, the door opened up and a middle-aged woman in a white lab style coat came in. Two members of the hospital security team, both male, followed her in.

�Hello,� the woman said, her eyes looking at the trio a little warily. �I�m Margaret Stowe, the manager of the L&D and Postpartum department.�

�Thank you for seeing us,� Jake said politely.

�I was told by Judy,� Margaret said, �that you are having some issues about being discharged home?�

�That�s what she told you?� Jake asked.

�She said that you do not meet the requirements for admission to a birthing suite currently and that you are refusing to leave.�

�That is an interesting take on the situation,� Celia said, shaking her head a little.

�Then you are not refusing to leave?� Margaret asked.

�No,� Jake told her. �As you can see, we are dressed and ready to go. I asked to speak with you so we could discuss the way we were spoken to and treated by your nurse Judy a few minutes ago and come up with a solution so that something like that does not happen when we return.�

Margaret�s eyes darkened a bit. �The way you were spoken to and treated?� she asked.

�Yes,� Jake said. �I don�t know if Judy dislikes us in particular or is just not a fan of the human race in general, but she clearly had an attitude about us from the moment she walked into the room and was not afraid to share her thoughts and opinions with us.�

The darkness in Margaret�s eyes got a little darker. Jake began to suspect that this was not the first such conversation that she had had regarding nurse Judy. She turned to the two security guards and told them that they could go. They went and shut the door behind them. She then turned back to Jake. �Tell me what happened, Mr. Kingsley.�

He laid it out for her. Laura, who was still fighting tears, put in a few contributions as well. Celia corroborated the story and expressed her opinion that she had never met a more unprofessional health care worker in her life.

Margaret sighed once the tale was told. �I�m sorry this happened to you,� she said. �I will have a word with Judy about this, of course.�

�You have your word with her,� Jake said. �That is not my concern. I understand that this is a he-said/she-said situation, that she is not going to agree with our version of events, and that you have no way to verify our story or hers. We�re not asking or expecting that she be fired or disciplined. What we are asking is that�number one�she not be the one assigned to us when we return.�

�I will absolutely see to that,� Margaret promised. �She likely will not even be on shift when you return anyway.�

�Cool,� Jake said, �but that�s only number one. Number two: I trust we will be treated with dignity and respect by whoever is assigned to us when we do return.�

�We try to treat everyone with dignity and respect,� Margaret assured them.

�A good goal that you just failed in,� Jake said. �We understand that a lot of people in this town don�t care for us. We�re rich musicians who live up on a cliff outside of town and probably have drug and sex orgies up there on a nightly basis and fly our noisy airplane over the town all the time waking people up. We corrupt America�s youth, we advocate Satanism and are trying to destroy any family value that exists. The fact that we donate heavily to a variety of town projects, school programs, and law enforcement support groups is only because we�re trying to make you like us. We get it. We�re unlikable people.�

�Nobody is saying anything like that, Mr. Kingsley,� Margaret assured him.

�A whole bunch of people are saying things like that, Margaret,� Jake said. �And Judy just spouted off some of it to us a few minutes ago. That�s fine. We�re not here to try to change anyone�s opinion of us. We�re here to have a baby�our first baby. And even if your staff thinks this baby was conceived at one of those sex orgies we have, or that Bigg G is the one who actually fathered it, are we not entitled to the respect and compassion that any other expectant couple in this facility is entitled to?�

�Of course you are,� she said.

�Thank you,� Jake said. �I am sure that we are not the first couple having their first baby who has showed up here before meeting the parameters for admission, correct?�

�Correct,� she said. �It is a daily occurrence, as a matter of fact, and not just with the first-timers.�

�And are all these women treated the way we were just treated?� Jake asked.

�No,� she said. �They are not.�

�Very good,� Jake said. �All we are asking is to be treated like everyone else. We are not asking for special treatment because we�re rich and famous, just normal, everyday respect. It does not even have to be sincere. Just give us someone who can fake it well and will not make my wife feel like she did something wrong or accuse us of being unfit for parenthood.�

�I will make sure that this experience will not be repeated,� Margaret promised. �And, once again, I apologize for what happened and I assure you I will be speaking to Judy as soon as I leave this room.�

�Very good,� Jake said. He turned to Laura. �Does that work for you, hon?�

She nodded. �Yes,� she said. �That works for me.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �We�ll be on our way then.�

It was well after Judy�s shift ended�nearly nine o�clock that evening�before Laura�s contractions met the parameters established. She grunted and groaned and was generally uncomfortable for hours, switching between sitting on the couch, laying down in bed, even taking a bath. Elsa and Celia both fussed over her as much as Laura would allow them to. Jake notified everyone who needed to be notified that Laura was in labor�G and Neesh, Joey and his family, Pauline and Obie, Matt, even Bobby Z�and tried to get a little sleep but was unable.

Finally, the time came that the contractions were consistently five minutes apart and one minute in duration. They did not wait for this condition to actually go on for a complete hour (�that�s sixty minutes,� nurse Judy told them), but only long enough to determine it was, in fact, continuing. Jake, Celia, and Laura then got back in the Lexus and drove back to Baptist of SLO.

The nurse assigned to them this time was the complete opposite of Judy the grump. Her name was Danielle, and she was a young, pretty brunette with a baby bump of her own and a modest diamond ring on her left ring finger. She proclaimed that she was a huge Celia Valdez fan who had seen her in concert in Los Angeles on both tours and loved Laura on the saxophone. She was also a Jake Kingsley fan though she had not been able to go to the TSF because she was a new nurse and had been working that weekend, but had seen Intemperance during the Lines on the Map tour back when she had been in high school. Her mother thought, to this day, she declared proudly, that she had been at a sleepover with her friend, which she had been, but Mom did not know the sleepover was in a Los Angeles hotel room because they were going to a heavy metal concert. She told them it was an honor to take care of them and she hoped that Laura would deliver before her shift ended at 7:00 AM so she could be a part of it.

Laura only spent about fifteen minutes in the triage room this time, just long enough for Danielle to determine that she was indeed contracting five minutes apart and that they were indeed lasting a minute or more and that she was now dilated to four centimeters and sixty percent effaced. At that point, the three of them were moved to one of the elaborate birthing suits and Laura was tucked in and hooked up to all the devices in there. Danielle then started an IV on her and told them that she was going to call Dr. Niven and give her an update.

�What about the epidural?� Laura asked. On the advice of Pauline, Sharon, and Dr. Niven, she had decided she wanted one. Her decision was reinforced by the pain she was feeling and the knowledge that it would only get worse as the experience went on. She had come to the realization that she was not a fan of pain.

�I�ll call the anesthesiologist once I talk to Dr. Niven,� she promised. �Hopefully we can get that going in the next hour or so.�

�How far out do you think we are from this?� Jake asked her.

�It�s hard to say for sure,� Danielle said, pulling from the depths of her fourteen months of experience as an L&D nurse, �but I would guess four or five hours.�

They accepted this. She went off to make her phone calls, leaving Laura to contract away and Jake and Celia to hold her hands and watch the monitor screen.

Danielle had told them she was allowed to take care of two patients simultaneously by hospital ratio but that Laura was her only patient at the moment and that, unless the department became seriously inundated by delivering mothers, this would remain the situation throughout. Jake suspected that his discussion with Margaret the manager before leaving earlier had a lot to do with this decree and Danielle�s assignment to them. He did not feel guilty about this or that he was taking advantage of name-dropping or his celebrity status. He had just played the cards that life had given him to play in response to the hand he had been dealt.

The result was that Danielle absolutely doted on them and treated them like royalty. She spent a large amount of her time in the room with them, checking on Laura frequently, and always keeping them updated on what was going on. Over the next few hours, they got to know the young nurse fairly well. She was married to a Department of Forestry firefighter who worked at one of the stations near Jake and Laura�s house. She was due to deliver their first baby�also a girl�in late March. She even hinted about the talking-to that Judy the grump had been given by the manager of the department about her attitude. She shared that Judy was not well-liked in the department and that pretty much everyone was looking forward to when she retired sometime in the next year. She also shared that she had a younger sister named Meghan who had been a junior at Cal Poly working on her degree in psychology before deciding she did not want to go into that field after all and dropping out to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

�What is she doing now?� asked Laura, who was between contractions currently and temporarily out of pain (though not discomfort).

�She�s working at the KinderCare daycare center over by the campus,� Danielle said.

�Does she like that?� Laura asked.

�She likes taking care of kids,� Danielle said, �but they don�t pay very much. Just a little over minimum wage. She�s still living with my parents. She�s starting to think about maybe getting into nursing like I did. She�s already got about half of the prerequisites for the program. I think she�d be good at it. She�s a good kid, smart, has her head on straight.�

Jake and Laura looked at each other for a moment and then back at Danielle. They were able to pass a little silent marital communication between them despite the circumstances. Is this some kind of a setup? Laura asked. Jake shook his head a little. No, I don�t think so, was his reply. And he truly believed this. The conversation about Danielle�s sister had come up because of something Celia had asked, not because Danielle herself had brought it up. And, though Danielle seemed smart�they had learned that nurses tended not to be dumb�she was very young and probably not experienced enough with life to manipulate on so advanced a level.

�You say your sister is a good kid?� Jake asked.

�Yeah, she really is,� Danielle said with a smile. It was obvious that she was close to her only sibling. �She�s just drifting a little right now is all. She�ll find her way.�

�And ... uh ... she likes taking care of kids?� Laura asked.

�Oh yes,� Danielle said, obviously with no hint whatsoever what they were driving at. �She loves them.�

�Hmmm,� Celia said with smile, easily picking up where they were headed with this.

�Why do you ask?� Danielle enquired, now starting to realize their odd interest in this subject.

�Uh ... well ... I think maybe we�d be interested in meeting her after Cadence is born,� Jake said.

Danielle�s look of surprise could not be construed as anything other than genuine. �Meet her? What for?�

�We�re going to need a nanny at some point,� Laura explained. �Not until after we�re done recording up in Oregon, but certainly after that.�

�A nanny?� Danielle asked.

�Yes,� Laura said. �Someone to ... oh my God! Here comes another one!�

They all looked up the monitor. Sure enough, another contraction was rippling through Laura. Cadence�s heart rate stayed steady throughout, hanging in there at 136 beats per minute. Laura gripped Celia�s and Jake�s hands hard enough to hurt. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tightly.

�Breathe through it,� Danielle encouraged gently, patting her bare leg just above the knee. �It looks like a good one. Still going up. Breathe ... breathe.�

�Oh ... fuck me!� Laura grunted. �I don�t ever want to do this shit again, sweetie.�

�I know, hon,� he said comfortingly. �Just breathe through it. Keep on top of it.�

�Keeping on top is how I got this way!� she barked.

Jake had to suppress a laugh as he heard this. So did Celia and Danielle.

Finally, the contraction peaked and eased off. Laura, a little sweaty, panted for a few moments. She then looked back over at Danielle. �Anyway, like I was saying,� she continued as if nothing had happened, �once we get back from Oregon, Jake and I will both need to spend a lot of the week in Los Angeles. We could haul Cadence there and back with us every day if we have to, but if we had a nanny who could take care of her during the day, it would make things a lot easier on her and us.�

�Wow,� Danielle said. She could not seem to think of anything to follow it up with.

�Do you think your sister would have the slightest interest in something like that?� Jake asked. �I know that a lot of people don�t care for us. They don�t know us at all, but they still don�t care for us based on reputation and rumor. We would understand if she said no on that basis.�

�I would have to ask her,� Danielle said, �but I don�t think she would be opposed. She loves your music Jake, both Intemperance and your solo stuff. Oh ... she loves your stuff too, Celia. She was always stealing my CDs when I lived there.�

�Well, all right then,� Jake said. �We�re not promising her a job or anything right here and now, but we would like to meet her when we can.�

�I will give her a call tomorrow,� Danielle promised. �I think she will be absolutely thrilled to meet you.�

Dr. Jacobs, the anesthesiologist, installed the epidural in Laura�s spine a few minutes later. This served to reduce the pain of the contractions down to a mere uncomfortable pressure. He then put a little fentanyl into the epidural. This served to put Laura into a happy, euphoric mood that was much closer to her actual personality.

�This stuff is all right,� she said dreamily as she watched an episode of Seinfeld on the television set.

�I am definitely jealous,� Jake said.

The hours rolled on and her contractions continued to slowly become longer in duration and closer together. About once every hour, Danielle would stick a gloved hand up inside to see how the cervix was doing. By the time midnight ticked past and November 30 gave way to December 1, she was dilated to seven centimeters and was seventy percent effaced. Her contractions were now three minutes apart and lasting nearly ninety seconds.

�Okay,� Danielle said. �I�m going to call Dr. Niven in now. We�re starting to get close.�

Dr. Niven arrived at 12:35 AM. She came in dressed in green scrubs with one of those hairnet caps on and blue covers over her shoes. She immediately apologized for the behavior of Judy the nurse.

�You heard about that, huh?� Jake asked.

�I heard about it,� she said sourly. �Absolutely unacceptable behavior and I will be composing a complaint about it once I hear the details from you.�

�That�s okay,� Jake said. �What�s done is done. Danielle here has more than made up for Judy.�

Niven smiled. �Yes, Danielle is the best,� she said, making the young nurse beam. �I enjoy working with her tremendously.�

She then went about doing her own internal exam of Laura�s cervix.

�I can�t even count how many hands have been up my hoo-hoo at this point,� Laura said, though with a good-natured smile. She had just gotten a fresh dose of fentanyl.

�Nine centimeters now,� Niven said. �More than ninety percent effaced. We�re getting close.�

Close turned out to be another thirty-five minutes. After a final exam, Dr. Niven announced that Laura�s cervix was now fully dilated and one hundred percent effaced. �I can feel the baby�s head now,� she added.

�Really?� Laura asked, fascinated by the thought.

�Really,� she said. �Now this is the part where I�m going to have you start pushing when your contractions are at their peak. I know you have the epidural in, but you can still tell when you�re contracting, right?�

�Oh yes,� Laura assured her. �It�s not all that painful, but I can feel the pressure.�

�Very good,� Dr. Niven said. �Let�s get your legs back into position now and have ourselves a baby here.�

Jake took charge of one leg, Celia the other. At Niven�s direction, they pulled them open and then moved her knees back so she was spread widely, opening herself up. Jake saw that her vagina was swollen and inflamed, a drool of juices leaking out of it onto the pad beneath her butt. One of the first things that Dr. Niven had done upon arriving was artificially break Laura�s water with a long, skinny metal rod that had a sharp hook on the end.

The door opened briefly and another scrubbed woman entered the room. She was only a little older than Danielle. She introduced herself as Lisa, the neonatal nurse who would be taking care of the baby when she finally showed herself.

Niven had, by this point, donned a disposable gown to cover her scrubs, a face shield to protect her face, and had opened an obstetrics kit on a table next to her position on a stool between Laura�s legs. She looked up at the monitor screen above Laura�s head. �Okay,� she said, �a contraction is starting right now. When I tell you to, push hard.�

�Okay,� Laura said nervously.

Jake watched the now-familiar line that marked the contractions. When it reached the top and leveled out, Niven told Laura to start pushing. Danielle, who was standing just behind the doctor, encouraged as well.

Laura grunted and groaned and her face turned red, but otherwise nothing happened. The contraction eased off and she was told to relax.

�That�s the cycle,� Niven told her. �Push on the peaks and then relax between. That�s how we get babies out of there.�

Twenty minutes went by, with the contractions now lasting for ninety to a hundred seconds apiece with about two minutes between them. Laura pushed with each one. She began to get sweaty and more uncomfortable. Jake and Celia had trouble keeping their grips on her knees to hold them into position. It was at this point that Jake, looking between her legs, got his first glimpse of his daughter. Laura�s vagina was now widely open and there was a reddish fuzz showing from between the lips.

�Is that Cadence�s hair?� he asked.

�Yep,� Niven confirmed. �She�s almost out now.�

�You can see her hair?� Laura asked, panting, but excited.

�We can!� Celia said, just as excited. �It�s red, Teach! The same color as yours!�

�Oh my God!� Laura cried.

�I guess that puts the rumor about Bigg G being the daddy to rest,� Jake observed with a smile.

Niven, Lisa, and Danielle all looked alarmed for a moment until they saw Jake, Celia, and even Laura laughing companionably. And then another contraction started.

�Oh shit,� Laura said. �Here comes another one!�

�That�s right,� Niven said, now using her fingers to widen Laura�s vaginal lips even further. �Push, Laura.�

�Uhhhhhggg!� Laura cried.

�You�re doing good, Laura,� Danielle encouraged. �Push your baby out! Push your baby out!�

She tried to push her baby out, but Cadence was a little reluctant to poke her head out into the world. The top of her head would emerge about half an inch or so with each push, but then suck right back inside once the contraction and associated pushing came to an end. Niven kept trying to spread the vaginal opening out to make it just a little bigger, but after six or seven tries, she finally shook her head.

�I�m sorry, Laura,� she said. �I�m going to have to perform an episiotomy here. That�s a little cut I�ll make on the vaginal opening to make it just a bit bigger.�

Cut her vaginal opening? Jake thought, the thought more than a little disturbing. Make it bigger?? I don�t want it to be bigger! �Is that really necessary, doc?� he asked.

�I�m afraid that if I don�t do it, she�ll tear,� Niven said. �If I make the cut, I can control exactly where it is. If I let nature make the cut, it could be anywhere and of any size. It could even damage a nerve and hamper future sexual sensations to some degree.�

�Oh, hell no!� Laura barked. �Make the cut!�

She made the cut, using a pair of sterile scissors to open a neat line about half an inch long at the seven o�clock position of Laura�s now quite circular hoo-hoo. A little blood gushed out to join the rest of the oozing liquids on the pad. The procedure was effective. On the next contraction, when Laura pushed with everything she had, Cadence�s head slipped neatly out of the opening and into the air. She was face-down, her head liberally covered with that copper-colored fuzz, her skin bluish white. To Jake, the head looked enormous emerging from between his wife�s legs, so big it seemed impossible that it had come out of that tiny little hole.

�All right,� Niven said, picking up a bulb syringe and suctioning out Cadence�s nose and then her mouth. �The hard part is done. Look down between your legs, Laura and see your baby�s head.�

Laura, drenched in sweat, her face contorted in pain, craned her neck forward and got her first glimpse of what she was bringing forth into the world. He grimace turned immediately to a big smile. �Oh my God!� she cried. �There she is!�

�There she is at last,� Celia said. She had tears running down her face as she gazed upon the miracle of life.

�Okay,� Niven said, �the next one is starting. One more good push oughtta do it, Laura. When I say go, give me one more!�

�Okay,� Laura said, leaning back and bracing herself.

�Now!� Niven commanded. �Push her the rest of the way out.�

She gave a push and an entire baby came slipping and slurping out of her body with a gush of juices and blood. The white umbilical cord trailed back into Laura�s vagina. Niven caught the baby neatly and then used one hand to grasp the baby�s ankles. She lifted up, putting the baby in a head down position. She then used the syringe to suction more secretions out of the nostrils and the mouth. After two or three such suctions, the baby took in a small gasping breath�the first of hopefully a billion or so. She hitched a few times and then issued out a soft, raspy cry. This was followed quickly by another, stronger cry.

Jake, watching this unfold, was suddenly overwhelmed by the strongest outpouring of emotion he had ever experienced in his life. Stepping up on stage for the first time had nothing on this. Getting laid for the first time had nothing on this. Even hearing himself on the radio for the first time could not even begin to compare. It was a mixture of anxiety, awe, excitement, but, more than anything else, a deep, heartfelt sense of love. That was his child that had just come out of his wife�s body. His child! It had his genes and chromosomes, and he and Laura were responsible for guiding it through life. He felt the emotions build to a climax and tears began to run down his face, tears of joy, tears of love, tears of fear.

�She�s beautiful,� he said, wiping at the tears. �Uh ... she is a she, right?�

Dr. Niven opened the squirming baby�s legs just a bit and then nodded. �She�s a she,� she confirmed. �A healthy looking baby girl. What�s the time?�

�One-fifty-five AM,� said Lisa, the newborn nurse. �Already noted.�

�Very good,� Niven said. She now had a blue towel in her hand and was drying Cadence off. �We have a birth APGAR score of one, two, one, one, one for a total of six. That�s pretty normal and she�s already pinking up.�

�Got it,� Lisa said, writing it down on a folding piece of paper.

�Does she have all her fingers and toes?� asked Laura.

�She has all her fingers and toes,� Danielle assured her. �She�s a beautiful baby, Laura.�

�Can I see her?� she asked.

�You can do better than that,� Niven said. �You can hold her. I�m going to put her on your chest in just a moment so we can keep her warm. Just let me clamp the cord real quick.�

While Danielle unceremoniously unbuttoned the sleeves on Laura�s gown and pulled it down to her lower stomach, Niven put two little clamps on the umbilical cord�one just about an inch from Cadence�s belly button, the other about four inches closer to Laura. Once they were clamped, she took the now screaming baby and set her belly down on Laura�s stomach, so her little mouth was near Laura�s right breast.

�Little girls are screamers, aren�t they?� asked Lisa with a smile.

�That�s the truth,� said Danielle, also smiling. It was obvious that both of the nurses particularly enjoyed this moment of their jobs.

Laura beheld the little life now snuggled against her for the first time. She was crying and smiling at the same time. �I did it,� she whispered happily.

�You did it, hon,� Jake said, tears still in his eyes as well. �Look at how tiny she is.�

�She didn�t feel that tiny coming out,� Laura said with a laugh of relief.

�You said you were planning to breastfeed her, right, Laura?� asked Niven, who was opening up another sterile package from her toolkit.

�Yes,� she said.

�Why don�t you give it a shot now then,� Niven suggested. �Lisa will help you.�

�Really? Right now?� Laura asked, excited.

�Right now,� she said. �She should have the instinctive urge to feed. And the suckling will stimulate oxytocin release. That will help your uterus contract down to normal so you can expel the placenta and clamp off anything that might be bleeding in there.�

�Okay,� Laura said. �I�ve never done this before though. Not with a baby anyway.�

�Uh ... yes, of course,� Niven said. �Like I said, Lisa will help you, In the meantime, Dad, how about you cut this umbilical cord for me.�

Jake did not respond at first because he had never been called �Dad� before. It took him a moment to realize that she was talking to him. And then another wave of emotion washed over him when he realized the terminology was correct. He was a dad now. That was his daughter there and someday she would call him that.

�Me ... you want me to do it?� he stammered.

�If you don�t mind,� she said, handing him a small pair of scissors. �I�ll show you where to do it.�

He took the scissors in his right hand. The hand was shaking a little. She pointed to a spot almost exactly midway between the two clamps on the cord. He put the cord between the blades and made the cut. It was harder than it seemed like it should be, but he managed to do it.

�There we go,� Niven said. �Good job.�

He handed the scissors back to her and then looked up at his daughter again. Lisa had shown Laura how to get her to latch on to the nipple and she was now suckling at it, weakly, but clearly suckling. Her crying had stopped.

Celia came over and put her arms around Jake, hugging him against her. She still had tears running down her cheeks. �This is the most beautiful thing I�ve ever seen,� she told him. �Thank you for letting me be a part of it.�

�You belong here, C,� he told her, returning the hug. �You know that.�

�I do now,� she said. �I do now.�

Coos Bay, Oregon

December 29, 1997

Cadence Elizabeth Kingsley�who was four weeks and one day old on this day and was now routinely called Caydee by her parents and almost everyone else who knew her�lay contentedly in her father�s arms as he sat before a mixing board in the main room of Blake Studios Studio A. She was dressed in a warm, fuzzy green onesie and had a red pull-down cap covering the top of her head and her ears to combat the perpetual chill of the studio. Her gray-green eyes looked up at his face and she enjoyed the gentle, almost subconscious rocking he was imparting to her as he listened to the tracks playing through his headset. Jake had turned the external speaker on the board up a bit, allowing her to hear what was playing in the headsets. They had found that she tended not to cry or fuss much if there was music�any kind of music, even Matt�s heavy metal sound�playing.

Matt sat to Jake�s right, a pair of cans on his own head. Rory, one of the studio techs assigned to Project Tisdale, sat on Jake�s left, his hands hovering over the switches and dials. Inside one of the isolation rooms, on the other side of a thick pane of soundproof glass, Corban Slate, Matt�s rhythm guitarist, sat on a stool, his Brogan Troposphere electric guitar in his hands. He was strumming out an overdub of the chorus for Matt�s title cut, Faithless, a clean strumming designed to help enhance the string-strike sound of the measure. They had been working on this for most of the afternoon and, since the Nerdlys were in the other studio working on Celia�s overdubs today, they had actually been progressing fairly well. But there was still something not quite right about what they were hearing.

Jake took his left hand off Caydee for a moment and made a throat cutting gesture to Rory. Rory reached down and pushed the master stop button on the board, instantly halting all the prerecorded tracks of the piece, leaving only the sound of Corban�s guitar. Once Corban heard this, he stopped his playing as well. He looked at them through the glass, a questioning look on his face. What did I fuck up this time? that face enquired.

Jake pushed the intercom button before him and spoke into the microphone. �You didn�t do anything wrong, Corban,� he told him. �I�m just not liking the way this is playing out. Hang for a few while we talk it over.�

Corban nodded his understanding.

�What did he fuck up?� Matt asked. �It sounded okay to me.�

�No fuck up,� Jake said, making no effort to watch his language or police the language of others in front of his daughter. He and Laura had pretty much decided that Caydee might as well get used to the world she lived in and the family she was being brought up in from the outset. And the word �fuck� was an integral part of that world and that family.

�Then what�s the deal?� Matt asked.

�Like I said, I just don�t like the way it�s playing out. The notes are too subtle. The listener won�t even be able to hear a difference unless Corban goes a little stronger on them. But if he does that, it will become too obvious that there are two instruments playing in unison.�

�Then what�s the point of doing it at all?� Matt asked. Though he had come a long way since the last Intemperance album and his Next Phase fiasco, he was still a staunch conservative when it came to overdubs.

�The chorus melodies will sound a little flat if we don�t get those string strikes in there,� Jake explained. �The tune would work without them, but not as well as with them.�

�What�s the fuckin� answer then?� Matt asked, a hint of impatience in his voice, but controlled impatience.

Jake looked over at Corban for a moment and then back at Matt. �I think the problem is that he is using the same instrument he used on the basic track. It doesn�t sound any different, so it just blends in over the top.�

�He needs to use a different guitar then?� Matt asked.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Preferably an acoustic electric or even a miked standard acoustic. Remember when we did I Am Time? We wanted the string strikes to come through, so I did the basic melody with my Brogan and overdubbed the string strikes with my Fender. It came out sounding pretty fuckin� sweet.�

Matt nodded thoughtfully. At the time, he had been vehemently opposed to that particular overdub, but these days he was on record as agreeing that it had worked well. �Yeah,� he said. �That did work there. You did the same thing on a few of your solo tunes too.�

�I did,� Jake agreed. �I used the technique on Can�t Keep Me Down, Breaking Down Fast, and Teach Me. I�ve used it on quite a few of Celia�s tunes too. It�s tried and true.�

�All right,� Matt said. �I guess we can try this shit.�

�Cool,� Jake said. �Does Corban have an acoustic?�

�I don�t know,� Matt said. �I�ve never seen him with one. He sure as shit doesn�t have one here. He just has the Brogan and the Telecaster.�

�Hmm,� Jake said, giving an extra little motion to his rocking because Caydee was starting to fuss a little now that the music had stopped. He leaned forward and pushed the intercom button again. �Come on out for a few, Corban.�

Corban nodded and set down his guitar. He took off his cans and then walked to the door. A moment later he was in the room with them. �What�s up?� he asked.

As was his habit, Jake let Matt explain the issue at hand, thus preserving the illusion that Matt was actually in charge. It was an illusion that fooled no one�not even Matt�but that helped maintain the always fragile cease-fire.

�This overdub ain�t working with you playing the same guitar you used for the basic,� Matt said. �We think if you use an acoustic it�ll sound better.�

�Why would that make a difference?� Corban asked.

�An acoustic will produce a slightly different timbre than your Brogan played clean,� Jake said. �The subtle difference will make the string strikes stand out instead of being buried.�

�I guess that makes sense,� Corban said, �but I don�t have an acoustic.�

�You don�t have one at all?� Jake asked.

Corban shook his head. �Nope, not since I was in junior high and got my first electric.�

Jake nodded. That did explain a lot. Though Corban was quite excellent on the distorted electric, having him play clean notes on Faithless had been a struggle to some degree. Most guitar players and bassists�Matt was a notable exception�learned to play on an acoustic initially and would generally retain that skill to some degree, but lack of practice and focusing primarily on distorted chords did tend to sap that muscle memory over time and Corban had to relearn the technique once they entered the studio and Matt agreed to go with the clean notes on the piece. �I have one in the other studio,� he told Corban. �It�s my Ibanez acoustic electric and I�ve been using it for overdubs on a few of Celia�s tracks. Let me go grab it and we�ll see how you do with it.�

�All right,� Corban said doubtfully.

Jake took off his headphones and set them on the board. He then stood up and turned to Matt. �Here,� he said, holding out his daughter to the guitarist. �Hold Caydee for me while I go get it.�

Matt�s eyes widened and he actually recoiled a bit. �Hold it?� he asked.

�Hold her,� Jake corrected. �I�ll just be a few minutes.�

Matt shook his head. �I�m not into that kinda shit, dude,� he said.

�Holding a baby for two or three minutes is not some kind of shit,� Jake said. �Just take her. Hold her like I was. She�s not going to bite you. She doesn�t even have teeth.�

�What if she pisses or shits on me?� Matt asked.

�She has a diaper on,� Jake said patiently. �Trust me, Matt. You can do this.�

Reluctantly, Matt took the small bundle from Jake. He looked down at her for a moment and she looked up at him.

�Don�t hold her two feet away from you,� Jake said. �Put her against your chest and support her head with your arm.�

Gingerly, he did as requested. Caydee started to fuss a little.

�What�s wrong with her?� Matt demanded.

�She likes to be rocked,� Jake said. �Just sway back and forth a little. That soothes her.�

�Jesus fucking Christ,� Matt muttered, but he did as told. Caydee, who was used to a variety of people holding her quite frequently, immediately settled down.

�You see?� Jake said. �Just keep doing that. I�ll be right back.� With that, he turned and headed for the main studio door, letting the smirk he had been hiding come forth now that Matt could not see it.

Jake walked through the hall from one end of the building to another, passing the cafeteria and the main reception area on the way. He then punched in the code to enter the large door that guarded the entrance to Studio B. It opened and he walked into the main room. In here, Celia and the Nerdlys were sitting at the mixing board with Collette, the tech who had been assigned to Celia�s project. Inside one of the isolation rooms was Laura, who was apparently working on a retake of one of the saxophone tracks. Celia was the only one who looked up at his entrance.

�Hey, Jake,� she greeted. �What are you doing here?�

�I came to grab my Ibanez,� he said. �We need it for one of the overdubs.�

�Oh, I see,� Celia said. �Where�s Caydee?�

Jake chuckled a little. �I have Matt holding her,� he said.

Her eyes widened. �Matt? Holding Caydee? Are you sure that�s a good idea?�

�He�s not going to hurt her,� Jake said. �And the experience might even be good for him. What�s the worst that could happen?�

�I suppose,� she said doubtfully.

Jake opened the storage room and stepped inside. His candy-apple red Ibanez was hanging on a hook. He took it down and gave it strum. It was slightly out of tune since it had not been played since before the Christmas break. And it would also have to be sound checked. That was no big deal, however, since the Nerdlys were over here and would not be able to prolong the effort.

Jake saw that they were now between takes in the studio. He waved at Laura and blew her a kiss. She returned the gesture with a smile of affection. He then went back out the door and retraced his steps back to Studio A, where he found Matt still holding Caydee against his chest, rocking back and forth and looking down at her.

�How�s she doing?� Jake asked him.

�She�s just lying there looking at me,� he said. �If I stop this rocking shit, she starts getting mad and making noises and squirming.�

�Yep,� Jake said. �You just described Miss Cadence to a T.�

�Take her back now,� he said.

Jake chuckled again. �Sure,� he said. He handed the Ibanez to Corban and then took Caydee from Matt. Automatically he began rocking her. �It needs to be tuned a little,� Jake told the guitarist. �Go plug in and I�ll give you the reference.�

�Right,� said Corban, who was looking at the bulky Ibanez as if he had never seen such a thing. �This is a nice guitar.�

�It is,� Jake agreed. �Don�t fuck it up.�

Corban went back into the isolation booth and plugged in the guitar. Jake went over to a small electric piano that sat on a platform behind the mixing board. Matt had no piano or synthesizer in his music, of course, but they used the instrument daily as a reference for tuning the guitars. Jake powered it up and the tech flipped the switch that would allow its output to flow into the headphones. The tech gave a thumbs up to Jake. Jake then gave an enquiring look to Corban. Corban gave him a thumbs up. Jake nodded and began to rhythmically push the key two to the right of middle-C on the keyboard. This key produced the exact pitch that a properly tuned high E string on a guitar would make. Corban listened, made the adjustment on the tuning knob while striking the open string and then nodded. Jake then began to push the key that matched pitch with the B-string and then the G, the D, the A, and the low-E. The process went quickly and they were done in only two minutes.

�All right,� Jake said, walking back over to his seat and sitting down. �That went easily enough.�

�Let�s hope the rest of this shit does too,� Matt said.

And, of course, it did not. Corban made it through the sound check without issue, but when they asked him to start playing the melody they were actually interested in, his fretting and strumming were hesitant and coarse on the unfamiliar instrument. They kept having him do it over and over again on the theory that he would get better with repetition. He did get better, but not good enough for recording quality sound. And he flubbed a note or two almost every time. It seemed liked it was going to take a considerable amount of time before he was able to churn out three entire chorus repetitions perfectly.

�Maybe we just do without the fuckin� string strikes,� Matt suggested forty-five minutes into the experiment.

�That�s one option,� Jake said slowly. �But maybe there�s another.�

�What other option?� Matt asked. �I could give it a shot but I�m not any better at playing acoustic than he is. Probably worse at it, truth be told.�

�I could do it,� Jake suggested.

�You?� Matt asked, surprised.

�Why not?� Jake asked. �I�ve been told I play a decent acoustic guitar a time or two. And that is my instrument. I�m familiar with it.�

�You want to play guitar on my CD?� Matt asked, just for clarity. �After all those fuckin� rumors and reports about Intemperance getting back together because you and I are working together?�

Matt did have a point. The rumors were flying around the music and entertainment industry about an Intemperance reunion. They had never really had any hope of keeping the fact that they were working together secret. The entire town of Coos Bay knew that Jake Kingsley and Matt Tisdale were both in town at the same time. And the only reason they would both be in town at the same time was to use Blake Studios. Pauline and Matt had both vehemently denied that they were recording Intemperance material in the studio or that there were any plans for a reunion, but the media was not buying it. Eventually they had been forced to come clean and announce that Jake and Matt were, in fact, working on a project together, but that it was Matt�s latest solo effort and not an Intemperance CD. The media people dutifully reported this information, but it was clear they did not believe it. They continued to write stories and air gossip shows about a possible reunion of the infamous �death metal� group.

�It�s not like I�m really playing guitar for you,� Jake said, putting a little extra rock into his sway because Caydee was getting fussy again. �I�m just throwing down an overdub that no one will really even notice in the final product. And it�s not like I�m going to be taking credit for it on the CD insert. It�s just an efficient way to get something done.�

�None of that shit matters if the word gets out,� Matt said. �If someone hears that you played so much as a single note in this studio, that you even picked up a fuckin� guitar at all, it�s just gonna add fuel to the fire and make those motherfuckers come sniffing around even harder.�

�That is true,� Jake said, nodding thoughtfully. �I guess we�ll just have to keep word from leaking out.� He turned to the technician. �Rory, if I step into that booth and strum out an overdub for Matt, are you going to tell anyone about it?�

�No way,� Rory said. �What happens in the studio stays in the studio.�

�I�m talking no one,� Jake said. �Not your girlfriend, not your preacher, not your mom.�

�Well,� Rory said, �I�m between girlfriends currently, I�m an atheist so I have no preacher, and my mom lives in Syracuse and I talk to her as little as I can get away with because she likes to lecture me about my choice of career. But, in answer to your question, no, I will tell no one. Not even Obie if you don�t want me to.�

�You can tell Obie,� Matt said. �He knows how to keep his fuckin� mouth shut. For everyone else though, you take that shit to the fuckin� grave.�

�To the grave,� Rory promised.

�All right then,� Matt said. �I guess we give this shit a shot.� He looked sharply at Caydee, who was now quite fussy and inconsolable in Jake�s arms and starting to make little hitching cries. �What the fuck�s the matter with that kid?�

�She�s hungry,� Jake said. By this point in the game, he knew the difference between the hungry cry and the soiled diaper cry and the I�m-just-going-to-prevent-Mom-and-Dad-from-sleeping cry.

�Fuckin� feed her then,� Matt said.

Jake laughed. �I don�t have the right accessories for that,� he said. �Let me go run her back to Laura and then I�ll go in the booth.�

�Oh ... right,� Matt said, now looking at Caydee with a little envy. She got to suck on Jake�s old lady�s tits on a regular basis. �You go get the kid fed. I�ll pull Corban out of there and start setting up for you.�

�Right,� Jake said. He pulled off his headphones and left the studio again. He ducked into one of the smaller offices along the path. It had been assigned to the Kingsleys as a feeding and diaper changing station. Caydee�s big green diaper bag was sitting on the desk next to a changing pad. Jake laid the baby down on the pad and quickly unfastened her onesie. She squirmed and continued to cry as he did so, but he was now quite practiced at this maneuver. Holding her by the feet, he opened the sticky fasteners on the disposable diaper (�fuck the environment,� Jake was on record as saying when asked by one of the entertainment reporters if they were going to use reusable cloth diapers to help protect the environment) and opened it up. The diaper was wet but not soiled. He was glad. He wiped her down with a baby wipe (also disposable) from a large tub that sat next to the diaper bag. He pulled the wet diaper off, bundling it up with the baby wipe inside, and tossed it into the waste basket. He then pulled out another diaper and quickly installed it. Finally, he fastened the onesie back up and continued his trip to Studio B.

Laura was still in the isolation booth blowing her horn when he entered. He could not tell what tune they were working on because the output was only flowing through the headsets, but he knew from the morning briefing that they had been planning to do retakes for both The End of the Journey and When You�re Lonely today. Everyone was concentrating on their tasks and did not notice his entry until the sound of Caydee�s cries reached their ears. Celia turned and looked.

�Feeding time?� she asked. She was pretty well-versed in Caydee�s different cries as well.

�Yep,� Jake said. �Sorry. Gonna have to borrow those boobs for a little bit.�

�Understandable,� Celia said.

They finished up the take they were working on�this only took another thirty seconds before Nerdly heard something he did not like�and then Celia pushed the intercom button. �Come on out, Teach,� she said. �Someone needs a little snack.�

Laura nodded and took off her headset, setting it on the stool. She set her saxophone down on the floor and then came through the door and into the main room. She walked immediately over and took Cadence from Jake�s arms.

�Awww, is my little girl hungry again?� she asked in the high-pitched voice that women used when talking to babies. �Do you need some num-nums?�

�It would seem she does,� Jake said. �I just changed her on the way here, so you don�t have to worry about that.�

�Thanks, sweetie,� she said with a smile. She had bags under her eyes from sleep deprivation (so did Jake) but the smile lit up her face. She turned to Celia. �I�ll be back in twenty minutes or so hopefully.�

�Take your time,� Celia said. �I�ll have Eric come in and we�ll start working on those overdubs we have planned.�

�Sounds good,� Laura said. She turned back to Jake. �Can I bring her back to you after she�s fed?�

�If you can keep her with you that would work better,� Jake said. �I�m ... uh...� He lowered his voice to keep the tech from overhearing him. �I�m going in the booth to strum out a melody overdub for Matt.�

�Really?� she asked. �You and Matt, back together at last?�

�Very funny,� he said. �Are you cool keeping her for the rest of the day?�

�Sure,� Laura said. �C can hold her when I go back in the booth to finish up, can�t you C?�

�You know it,� Celia said with a smile of her own. She absolutely adored holding Caydee. �How did it go when Matt held her? Was it a life changing experience?�

�Matt held her?� Laura asked, amused at the thought. �How did that happen?�

�I had to come get my guitar out of the closet,� he said. �I really should have taken a picture of him and Caydee. It would�ve been good blackmail material.�

�You got that right,� Celia said.

�All right, all right, Little Miss Caydee,� Laura told the crying baby. �Let�s do this thing.�

�See you in a bit,� Celia said.

Laura gave Jake a kiss on the lips. It was not the normal peck of affection but a lingering, wet kiss that stopped just short of the tongue coming out.

�Mmmm,� Jake said, feeling a little thrill of lust sweeping through him. �What�s that for?�

�I think I�ll be up for a little fun and games tonight,� she said.

Jake nodded appreciably. They were still two weeks out from being able to resume traditional sexual relations, but there were other things they could do. �I�ll be looking forward to it,� he said.

�What about me?� Celia whispered quietly. �Got room for one more?�

Laura gave her a saucy smile. �I think we can accommodate you,� she whispered back. She looked at Jake. �Assuming that�s all right with you, sweetie?�

Jake gave his mock sigh of reluctant acceptance of an unpleasant task. �Yeah, I guess that will be okay,� he said with a mock roll of the eyes.

With that, Laura and Caydee headed for the empty office. Celia gave Jake a last smile and returned to the mixing board. Jake, feeling the pleasant glow of sexual anticipation, went back to Studio A. He did not feel as tired all of a sudden.

Since they were primarily working on retakes and overdubs by this point, it was not necessary for the entire band to go to the studio each day, just those who would be working on something. As such, only Celia, Jake, Laura, and Eric had gone in on this day. Tomorrow it would be Celia, Jake, Eric, and Liz, giving Laura and Caydee a day off. Coop, Charlie, and Little Stevie had all been sent back to their respective homes since all of the guitar, bass, and drum tracks had been laid down. There was usually no need for bass or drum overdubs and, while there were lots of guitar overdubs to be done, Jake and/or Celia were both quite capable of doing them themselves.

While Matt and his band (and Jim the paramedic) climbed into the Suburban for the trip back to their rented house (so far there had been no further visits from the cops, but that was always a possibility when dealing with Matt) the members of Celia�s entourage climbed into the 1995 Ford Econoline van KVA owned just for such trips. Jake was behind the wheel while Laura and Caydee sat in the middle row. Celia sat next to Jake and Eric and the Nerdlys took the back seats. The drive back to the cliffside house was a short one, only ten minutes, and the sun was just setting as they pulled into the driveway.

Liz had cooked dinner for them since she had the day off. She had roasted a couple of whole chickens in the oven and served them with mashed potatoes, gravy, and steamed cauliflower. Everyone tore into the meal except Cadence, who had her own meal of fresh breast milk while everyone else except Liz did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. After feeding her daughter, Laura then handed the baby off to Jake and poured herself a glass of chilled chardonnay. Dr. Michaels, Caydee�s pediatrician, had told Laura that one glass of wine or one mixed drink per night would not be harmful to Caydee�s growth and development (but he advised strongly against any marijuana use while breastfeeding) so Laura made a point to have her allotment and thoroughly enjoy it.

�I�m going to get her changed into her jammies and see if she�ll sleep for a bit,� Jake said.

�Sounds good,� Laura said, settling down on the couch with her wine. �Let me give her a kiss before you go.�

Jake brought her over and Laura gave her a kiss right between her nose and her eye. She told her that mommy loved her. Cadence was not quite capable of a genuine smile just yet, but she managed to convey her contentment nonetheless.

Jake carried her to the master suite of the house. The suite had a huge walk-in closet and they had set up a bedroom for her in there. A portable crib sat in the middle of the walk space and a mobile of stars, planets, and musical notes hung directly over the top of it. There was a small dresser with her clothing and her diaper supplies in and on it. Jake put her down on the mattress and stripped her out of her onesie. He changed her diaper�this one was soiled liberally but it was the relatively inoffensive breast milk poop�and then dressed her in white footie pajamas that had the motto TREBLE MAKER on it above a graphic of a treble clef and a wavy line of musical notes (these PJs had been a gift from Celia). Through this all, Caydee looked up at her father in contentment, not fussing or fighting or crying. For the most part, she really was a good baby, much easier to take care of than they had any right to expect.

�Good night, little Caydee,� Jake whispered affectionately as he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. �Sleep tight and sleep long.� He knew, of course, that she would sleep tight, but it would not be long. On a good night she would stay down for three hours maximum before waking them up for changing and feeding.

He made sure she was firmly on her back and then covered her with a blanket and tucked it around her. He gave her one last kiss and then turned off the closet light, plunging the room into darkness. He left the closet, leaving the door open, and then left the suite, leaving that door open as well. They had no baby monitor for her since such devices were absurdly easy to illicitly monitor from several hundred yards away. They most certainly did not want some reporter using a scanner to overhear conversations and goings-on in the Kingsley bedroom.

Jake made his way back to the family room. Celia and Laura were sitting next to each other on the couch, both enjoying their glass of wine while Jeopardy played on the television set. The Nerdlys were on the computer, fiddling with their website and talking amongst themselves. This was just as well. The Nerdlys were persona non grata when it came to watching Jeopardy with others because they knew all the answers and would shout them out before anyone else had a chance. Eric had already retreated to his room for the night. Liz was out in the hot tub, relaxing with a glass of wine of her own. Everyone knew she was missing Little Stevie.

Jake mixed up a rum and coke at the bar and then carried it over to the recliner next to the couch. Jeopardy had just gone to commercial and Celia had muted the sound.

�Did Caydee go down okay?� Laura asked.

�Yep,� Jake said, reclining the chair and putting his feet up. �Just like that.�

�And you changed her, right?� she asked.

�Yes, I changed her,� he said patiently. �I�m a veteran now, remember?�

Laura giggled. �We both are at this point in the game,� she said. �I can�t believe it�s already been four weeks now. We have her one-month appointment next week! Can you believe that?�

�The time is flying,� Jake agreed. �I still remember that first day home with her.�

Laura laughed warmly. �Wasn�t that insane?� she asked. �Thank God Elsa was there. You too, C.�

�I will remember that day for the rest of my life,� Celia said with a laugh of her own.

Nothing terribly dramatic had happened on that first day home for little Caydee (they had started calling her Caydee while still in the hospital with her) it had just been a bit on the surreal side. Less than twenty-four hours after she emerged into the world, Dr. Niven and Dr. Michaels had told them to take her home. Take her home! By themselves! With no instruction manual or training classes! And they had done so, both of them feeling decidedly strange that the medical community was just letting them take this little life home to take care of. And then they arrived there and carried little Caydee inside the house in the carrier part of her car seat. And they sat her on the coffee table in the dining room. And they just stared at her, wondering what they were supposed to do next.

She was sleeping at the time, her little eyes closed, her respiration regular, her little body bundled up in swaddling blankets and her little hat on her head.

�What do we do now?� Jake asked. �Should we put her in her crib?�

�Maybe you should feed her, Teach,� Celia suggested.

�But she�s asleep,� Laura replied. �Dr. Michaels said there is no need to wake her up to feed her. She�ll let me know when she�s hungry.�

�Maybe her diaper needs to be changed,� Jake suggested.

�Shouldn�t we let her sleep if she�s sleeping?� Laura asked.

�I don�t know,� Jake said. �I thought you women were supposed to know about this shit.�

�I know as much as you do,� Laura said testily.

�Which would be very little, apparently,� Jake shot back.

They continued to stare at her. She continued to do nothing but sleep in the car carrier on the coffee table. God only knew how long they might have just sat there staring at her, but finally the door opened and in strolled Elsa. �Is there a new member of the household in here that I have yet to be introduced to?� she asked, a large smile on her face.

�Yeah, she�s right here, Elsa,� Jake told her. �Meet Cadence Elizabeth Kingsley, who has already been given the nickname Caydee.�

�Katie?� Elsa asked, raising her eyebrows a bit.

�Not Katie, Caydee,� Laura told her. �C-A-Y-D-E-E. It just seems to fit her.�

�Hmmph,� Elsa grunted. �If it�s all the same to you, I will continue to call her Cadence. I am not a proponent of diminutive nicknames.�

�But you�ve been calling me Jake all these years,� Jake said. �My real name is Jacob, you know.�

�I know that now,� Elsa said. �At the time I first met you I did not know that, however. Jake stuck. And the only one who calls you Jacob is your mother when she is upset with you.�

�That is true,� Jake agreed.

Elsa came closer and looked down at the bundle of joy in the car carrier. She smiled at the sight of the baby but then frowned. �Why is she still sitting in that device?� she asked.

�Uh ... because we�re not really sure what we�re supposed to do with her now that we�re home,� Laura told her.