Circles Collide

Chapter 27: Can the Beat Go On?

Glacier National Park, Montana

August 14, 1998

There was no need for an alarm clock or a wakeup call when one had a Caydee. She routinely slept through the night now, generally going down around 8:30 PM and staying down, but she was still an early riser. This morning was no exception. Jake woke up to the sound of her enthusiastic chants coming from her room in the two-room suite they were staying in at the Many Glacier Lodge on the east side of the sprawling, mountainous Glacier Park.

“Do!” Caydee shouted out loudly, pronouncing it “doe”, as in a deer, a female deer. “Do, do, do, do, doooooooo!”

It was not really a word, as she was still a few months away from even being able to say mama or dada, but one of the notes in the major musical scale, the first one, in fact, which represented C. Jake was in the habit of singing her the lyrics to Do-Re-Mi, from the Sound of Music, as that song, aside from being quite catchy and easy to learn, was the easiest way to memorize that particular scale and commit it to memory for all time. Caydee loved hearing him sing it (he always did it A capella and separate from the guitar sing sessions), but so far she had only picked up on the first note. And she had adapted that as her note of all notes, sound of all sounds, word of all words. She used “do” for all manner of communication now. She shouted “DO!” when she was upset. She asked “do?” when she was curious. She cooed “do” when she was happy. And she shouted out do, do, do, do, doooooooo!” when she was awake and ready to leave her crib in the morning.

“It sounds like Princess Caydee is awake,” grunted Laura, who was curled up on Jake’s left, her nude body snuggled into him.

“Yep,” Jake said, looking at the clock on the wall. It was 6:37 AM. Right on schedule. “I’ll get her.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, giving him a little kiss on the cheek.

He turned a little to his right, where Celia’s nude body was snuggled into him from that side. Her face was resting on his chest and there was a little puddle of her drool there. She was still sleeping quite soundly. He touched her back and shook her gently until her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him.

“Caydee’s up,” he told her. “I need to get out of bed.”

“Oh ... okay,” she said softly, rolling away from him. She then noticed the drool. “Ewww. I slobbered on you. That’s gross. I’m so sorry, Jake.”

Jake laughed. “Think nothing of it,” he said, sitting up. “I’m pretty much covered in your bodily fluids anyway. What’s a little saliva on the pectoral?”

“I suppose,” Celia said, though she was still visibly embarrassed by the unintentional faux pas.

Jake pulled himself out from under the covers and then shimmied forward, so he could put his feet on the floor. He, like the ladies, was completely naked. He rather reeked of their combined sexual musk. It was not exactly an unpleasant smell to his nose, however. He picked up a pair of sweatpants that was sitting on the dresser and pulled them on. He then went into the bathroom and washed his hands, his face (he did not want to kiss his daughter with the mouth that had been doing what his mouth had been doing last night), the drool off of his chest, and brushed his teeth really quick. Caydee’s “do, do, do’s” continued from the second bedroom, becoming a little louder and more insistent. Experience had taught her parents that they had about five minutes before she would start getting seriously pissed off and screaming for them.

Shirtless, but with his face and breath no longer smelling of vaginal secretions, he walked into the main room of the suite and then the smaller second room where Caydee’s travel crib had been set up. She was standing up in it, holding onto the rail to support herself. She still could not stand unassisted, let alone take a step that way, but she was getting closer to that particular milestone. She saw him come into the room and her eyes locked onto him.

“Do!” she barked. “Do, Do!”

Jake understood Caydee-speak quite well by this point in the relationship. The translation: “My diaper is dirty, Dad, so get it changed! On the fuckin’ double, please!”

“I hear you, little girl,” he told her, holding out his arms and picking her up. Even if he had not been able to understand her vocal communication, there was a distinct olfactory subtitle to help him along. “Whew. You are not smelling like a rose this morning, Caydee-girl.”

“Do!” she agreed, judiciously not mentioning that he was not smelling so great himself.

He put her down on a blanket on the bed. The hotel staff knew that Celia was staying in the suite with the Kingsleys but they were under the impression that this was Celia’s bed. She had not slept in it a single time, though they went to great effort to mess up the covers every morning and then rumple up the sheets so the maids would think she had been. In truth, the whole room was for Caydee and the bed was her changing table. When they left the room each day to go on their adventures, they always moved the crib back into the main bedroom.

He stripped her out of her onesie pajamas and then opened up her diaper. By this point, he was a veteran diaper changer and nothing that he saw in there crossed his eyes even a little. He expertly wiped most of the poop away with the front part of the diaper itself and then, holding her by her left thigh and elevating her little butt above the diaper, he wiped everything else away with a handful of disposable baby wipes, which he then tucked into the dirty diaper and folded up with it. He did a quick visual inspection for any signs of diaper rash—there were none, and there had been none for a few weeks now, thankfully—and then tucked a clean diaper up under her and plopped her butt back down on it. He folded the front up, adjusted it a bit, and then secured the diaper using the little plastic sticky tabs. He then wiped his hands using another of the wipes and tossed it and the dirty diaper in the garbage can. He kept one hand on her chest as he looked in her clothing suitcase for something to wear (she was a crawler now and could take off like a shot when the mood struck her). He pulled out a little pair of denim jeans with an elastic waistband and a pullover short-sleeved shirt that had a picture of an electric guitar on it and had the motto: I LOVE TO ROCK!. He put her legs in the jeans and then stood her up, her arms around his neck, so he could pull them around her waist. He then sat her back on her butt and told her “arms up.” She lifted her arms in the air. He pulled the shirt on her and then laid her back down and put a pair of socks on her. She fought this a little bit—she did not really like wearing socks—but finally gave in.

“All right, little girl,” he said. “You ready to face the day here?”

“Do!” she told him happily. “Do, do, doooo, do do!”

“Understood,” Jake said. “You’re hungry. So am I. I worked up an appetite last night, truth be told. Breakfast will be served shortly. And today’s a travel day, so you’ll get lots of sleep.”

“Do!” she said agreeably.

He carried her back into the living room and set her on one of the couches. He then opened her bag that was sitting on the table and quickly mixed up a bottle of powdered formula and bottled water. He shook the concoction until all the powder was dissolved and then handed it over to Caydee. She no longer cared if her formula was room temperature or not. She grabbed it eagerly and stuck the nipple in her mouth and starting sucking on it, making little coos of contentment.

Jake walked over to the blinds (keeping a close eye on Caydee and ready to dive toward her if she looked like she was going to start mobilizing and possibly fall off the couch) so he could open them. The view out their window was nothing short of spectacular. Their suite looked out over Swiftcurrent Lake and several peaks of the Rocky Mountains rose just on the other side of it. The alpine lake was sparkling blue and the rising sun was shining brightly off the glaciers and granite rock of the mountains. Jake believed Glacier Park to be one of the most beautiful places he had ever gazed upon, even better than Yosemite.

He walked back to the couch and sat next to his daughter, stroking and playing with her foot while she drank her first bottle of the day. She took the bottle away every now and then to smile at him and to gaze at him with that look of love and contentment that always made his heart feel warm. And then she went back to drinking and kicking his thigh with her other foot.

He sat there with her for the better part of thirty minutes. She drank down the entire bottle in about fifteen minutes. She then gave him a resounding burp while he patted her back. He then put her on the floor, where her play blanket and toys were located. She played a little bit and then assumed the crawling position and headed off to explore. Jake watched her carefully as she went from place to place, making sure she did not get into any trouble like playing with electric outlets or pulling over end tables or tugging on cords.

Celia emerged from the room. She was freshly showered and dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a spaghetti strap top. Her hair was damp and loose. She was barefoot. She looked at Caydee playing on the floor near the television counter and she smiled down at her. Caydee looked up at her, gave her a little “Do” of greeting, and then went back to her exploration.

“Good morning,” Celia greeted, walking over and sitting on the couch next to him.

“Good morning,” he returned.

She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the mouth. It was not a kiss of passion, but one of affection and love. He returned it without even pondering the fact that most of society would think the gesture quite strange.

“Ready to go back to reality today?” he asked her.

She sighed. “I suppose it’s time,” she said. “First show tomorrow night. After that, the grind.”

“The grind,” he said, although, in truth, he wished that he could be the one going out on the road. He was, at heart, a traveling musician, and, except for a few brief travels with Bobby Z and Bigg G here and there, he had not been immersed in a tour since the Intemperance days more than eight years ago now.

God, he thought nostalgically, has it really been that long?

“Is Laura in the shower yet?” he asked Celia.

“She just stepped in when I left the room,” she replied.

“Maybe I’ll go look at her all naked and soapy for a bit,” he said. “Can you keep an eyeball on Caydee?”

“You know it,” she said with a smile.

He got up and went back to the master bedroom. Inside the bathroom Laura was indeed naked and soapy in the shower stall. He took a good, long, appreciative look at her (she could not see him because she was washing her hair currently) and then went back to his suitcase and pulled out a pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and one of his tank tops. He carried them into the bathroom and then ran some hot water in the sink so he could shave. While the sink filled, he splashed some of it on his face and then picked up the pink can of Skintimate shaving cream. It had a picture of a woman’s leg on it and was designed and marketed for use by women on all of their delicate places that needed hair maintenance. The sexy, naked leg was all the marketing people dared display on the label. They could not really put a picture of a vagina there, which was a pity because it would probably sell a lot more cans if they did. Jake had accidentally discovered a few months before, when he had run out of his own supply and had to use Laura’s, that female shaving cream was actually far superior to shaving cream that was marketed to males. It had oils in it that made it smell good and that made the skin nice and smooth and moist and prevented chafing and rashes. He had been using the stuff exclusively ever since.

He slathered up and then began to scrape the stubble off his neck and cheeks. He was about halfway done when the shower turned off and Laura stepped out and began to dry herself with a fluffy white hotel towel. “You’d better leave some of that stuff for me,” she warned.

“There’s still half a can,” he told her. “Just don’t ever tell anyone I use this shit. That would be almost as damaging to my image as riding in your minivan.”

She giggled. “The Watcher would do an entire twenty-thousand-word article on it,” she said. “Complete with pictures.”

“That’s no fuckin’ joke,” Jake said seriously.

Laura put on her panties and a white bra. She then began to comb out her red hair and hit it with the blow dryer. Jake finished up his shave and then headed for the shower. He adjusted it to moderate warmth and then spent about ten minutes washing all the female scent and sex secretions from his body using a washcloth and body wash supplied by the hotel. He then washed his hair and rinsed. He did not repeat. By the time he was done showering, Laura was dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a green sleeveless blouse. Her hair was mostly dry and she kept it down.

“How do I look?” she asked him.

“Beautiful, as always,” he told her, earning himself a smile and a kiss that had a little bit of tongue in it.

“Did Caydee drink her bottle?” she asked.

“Drank it all gone,” he said. “She was making the rounds of the living room when I left.”

“She does love to motor.”

“Let her motor away. We got a long drive in front of us.”

“Hopefully she’ll sleep most of the way.”

“Hopefully,” Jake agreed.

While Jake put on his deodorant and then his clothes, Laura left the room, gave her daughter a quick hug and kiss, and then went into the secondary room to perform the ritual of mussing up the bed. She then folded up the crib and gathered all the baby supplies. She hauled them into the living room but left them there this time instead of setting everything up in the main bedroom. They were checking out today so there was no point.

Jake emerged and everyone went downstairs to the dining room, Jake carrying Caydee in his arms, Laura carrying the diaper bag. The dining room was moderately busy and a good portion of the guests there stared at the four of them as they were seated at one of the tables near the picture window that looked out over the lake. Most of the looks were simple curiosity at seeing actual celebrities in their midst, but a few were disapproving. There were whispered words, most of which they could not hear. This was fairly typical and all of them, even Caydee, were used to it and ignored it.

Laura and Celia both had the eggs benedict with a bloody Mary accompanying. Jake ordered a southwest scramble and orange juice. He gave a healthy portion of the egg and vegetable parts of his scramble to Caydee, putting it on a little plate on the high chair tray. She picked up pieces and put them in her mouth, usually saying “do” after each bite. She was getting a lot better at putting the food entirely in her mouth instead of wearing half of it, so all she required was a quick wipe-down with a baby wipe when she was done.

After Jake signed for the meal and added a generous tip—the waitress had been polite, efficient, and had not handed Laura a WEAVE card or accused him of Satanism, so she was suitably rewarded—they went back upstairs and packed up all of their things. They stacked them in the middle of the room for easy collection.

“This has been a great vacation, guys,” Celia said with a smile. “Thanks for bringing me along with you.”

“It was our pleasure,” Jake said. He gave a lecherous grin. “Literally.”

Celia chuckled. “That part was fun too,” she said, “but I was talking about the hiking, and the canoeing, and the helicopter ride we took. I can’t wait to see all the pictures I took! This place is so beautiful. I want to see it in the winter sometime. Do you think we can do that?”

“Sure, why not?” Jake asked.

“Sounds fun to me,” Laura said. “We never did get to go snowmobiling.”

“And we have to go to Venezuela again,” Celia said. “After the tour, we need to book a trip. We could visit my family and then fly south to Canaima National Park! That’s where Angel Falls is. The highest waterfall in the world. I’ve heard it is so beautiful there but I never got to visit. The only real way to get there is by air, which we couldn’t afford when I was a kid, but you have your own plane, Jake! Does this sound like something we can do?”

Jake and Laura looked at each other for a moment and then back at Celia. “Uh ... sure, we can do that,” he said. “Make a couple hops to Miami and then bounce over to Caracas and then Barquisimeto.” He smiled. “Yeah. That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It really does,” said Laura, catching some of the enthusiasm. “I always did want to see more of South America.”

Celia smiled. “Let’s start thinking about it then,” she said. “After the tour, I want us to do this.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Laura said. She walked over to Celia and gave her a big hug. And then she kissed her softly on the mouth. “I love you, C,” she told her.

“I know,” Celia said, smiling back at her. “And I love you too, Teach.”

The Many Glacier Lodge was on the east side of the park and the Avanti was parked in a hangar at Glacier Park International Airport, thirty miles west of the park. The distance between the two places was only about sixty miles by air, but they were not traveling by air, they were traveling in a rented Toyota 4-Runner and, not only did they have to cross several high mountain passes, there really was no direct route from one point to the other. They had to exit out of the park to the east, drive for more than forty miles through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation, and then re-enter the park at the main east-side entrance. From there, they took the Road to the Sun up over the mountains and past the glaciers, seeing spectacular scenery during the trip, before finally coming down to the west entrance of the park and then driving another thirty-five miles to Kalispell. In all, the trip took three and a half hours. None of them minded, not even Caydee. They stopped frequently at the scenic overlooks so she could stretch her legs, crawl around a bit, and get her diapers changed. Celia took lots of pictures.

Jake parked at the rented hangar and they loaded all their baggage and belongings into the Avanti. The portable crib was a particular pain in the ass as it would not fit into the cargo hold and had to be strapped to the rear seat using bungie cords. Once everything was secure, Jake began his preflight of the aircraft while Laura returned the 4-Runner and Celia let Caydee sit on the wing of the plane while she kept her hands on her. Caydee thought this was a particularly cool thing to do, but expressed discontent that she was not allowed to actually crawl around on the wing.

They went wheels-up from Kalispell at 12:45 and headed west for Seattle. Laura and Caydee, who were sitting in the seats behind the cockpit, both fell asleep shortly after they passed ten thousand feet. This was pretty typical for both of them. Jake brought them up to his assigned altitude of thirty-two thousand feet and he and Celia watched some more spectacular scenery as they passed over Lake Pend Oreille and then the Columba River basin of eastern Washington on a nearly cloudless summer day. They saw the Grand Coulee Dam far below, large enough that it could be plainly seen even at this altitude. They then bumped and bounced over the Cascades before entering the landing pattern for Boeing Field one hour and twenty-two minutes after liftoff. When Jake lowered the flaps to slow down for the landing, Laura and Caydee both woke up.

“You two definitely have the same DNA,” Jake remarked, violating the sterile cockpit rule, but it was a minor violation.

“Just wait until she’s a teenager and we have our periods at the same time every month,” Laura told him.

“That’s something to look forward to,” Celia said with a chuckle.

After landing, Jake parked the Avanti in the general aviation parking area. He did not rent a hangar. He and Laura and Caydee would be leaving for home in the morning. Jake and Celia tied down the plane while Laura and Caydee went into the terminal to score a rental car. She returned with a Ford Explorer. They loaded all of Celia’s belongings, Caydee’s car seat, bags, and portable crib, and Jake and Laura’s suitcase into the back. Everything else, they left in the plane.

Boeing Field was reasonably close to downtown Seattle so the trip only took about fifteen minutes. They arrived at the Sheraton Hotel on the waterfront—the same hotel the rest of Celia’s band would be checking into the next day—and Celia checked into her reserved suite there even though it was well before four o’clock and a day early. The celebrity card did have its uses. After the bell boy brought all of their things up to the room, they headed out on foot, exploring the area around Pike’s Place, Caydee riding in her backpack carrier on Jake’s back. They found a nice café to have lunch in and Jake tried a local microbrew IPA and found it quite tasty.

Caydee started to get a little cranky after lunch, so they went back to the room. Instead of putting her in the crib, Jake cuddled her against his body in the large bed in the main room and the two of them took a two-hour nap together while Celia and Laura drank wine at the dining room table and watched TV. Once Jake and Caydee woke up, the two ladies needed a nap. They climbed into bed together and crashed out atop the covers, their legs in contact with each other, but otherwise not touching. Jake and Caydee, meanwhile, changed into their bathing suits and went downstairs to check out the action at the pool. There was not a lot of action, but they had fun splashing around in the shallow end. It was a very “do” experience, and, while a few people commented on how adorable Caydee was, no one recognized that the long-haired dude with the tattoos on his arms and the cute baby was Jake Kingsley. Or, at least if they did, they didn’t say anything, which was just as good in Jake’s book.

Caydee began to make her tired noises and display her tired mannerisms shortly after they finished eating dinner in the fancy-ass restaurant upstairs. Laura put her in her crib in the living room of the suite and read one of her favorite books to her—The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle—until her eyes slowly closed and her breathing became slow and regular. She then tucked her blanket around her and turned off the lights.

Once they were certain she was comatose, it was time for love. The three adults retired to the bedroom and stripped off their clothes and made each other feel good. They always made a point to enjoy their sexual interludes, but this time they made even more of a point, savoring every wet kiss, every stroke of flesh, every smell, every sensation. This was their last night together, their last night to enjoy their togetherness for who knew how long. Celia was starting the grind the next day and Jake and Laura were going home. Would they ever get together like this again? What effect would months away from Celia have on that aspect of their relationship? Would she meet someone else on her travels? Would she come to her senses and realize how deviant it was to regularly sleep with a married couple? Would Jake and Laura come to their senses and realize how deviant it was to invite another woman into their marital bed? There were a lot of unknowns and unknowables to ponder.

After Jake spent himself for the second time in Laura’s clenching vagina while Celia rubbed her wet and swollen vagina on Laura’s face, they collapsed into their normal heap in their normal positioning: naked Jake in the middle, naked Laura on his left, naked Celia on his right. The sweat slowly dried from their skin and their heartrates slowly returned to normal. The smell of their activities was thick in the air, permeating the entire room. Jake, as usual, was laying in the primary wet spot. It was a small price to pay for getting regular spousal-approved threesomes.

It was Laura who brought up the subject they were all thinking about.

“What are you going to do out on the road, C?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Celia asked, the smile of one who had just been royally laid on her face.

“I mean for ... you know ... sex,” Laura said. “You don’t have Suzie on this tour. And you don’t have me.”

“Even if I had you, we wouldn’t be able to do it unless Jake was there too,” Celia said.

“Now wait a minute,” Jake said. “I think there should be a tour exception to that clause. If you two are out on tour together and I’m not, I would have no objection to you two slaking your lust without me there.”

“Are you sure about that, sweetie?” Laura asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Why would it bother me?”

“This is kind a moot point, isn’t it?” Celia asked. “Teach is not going to be out on tour with me, so the exception wouldn’t apply anyway.”

“True,” Jake said slowly, though it was strangely exciting to think of the two of them doing it without him. If only there was a way he could watch such a thing.

“In any case,” Celia said, “I’m going to do the same thing I always did when out on tour before Suzie and I hooked up, before Greg fucked Mindy Snow and destroyed our marriage. I’m going to paddle my pink canoe when the pressure starts to build and suck it up.”

“You could always put in a request,” Laura said shyly. “I mean ... you know ... when you get to the point where doing yourself isn’t quite satisfying any longer.”

Celia shook her head. “That’s just not me,” she said. “As I’ve told you both time and again: I need to have a relationship with someone to have sex with them. It’s just the way I’m wired.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone on tour and develop such a relationship,” Jake suggested. “The way you did with Suzie.”

Celia looked at him sharply. “What are you trying to say here, Jake?” she asked. “Are you two hoping that I hook up with someone out on the road?”

“No, no,” Jake said. “That’s not what we’re saying at all.”

“Then what are you saying?” she asked.

“We’re just saying,” Laura said gently, “that if you did hook up with someone, or need to put in a request, we would understand.”

“The way I understand that Laura needs a little companionship from the female groupies every once in a while,” Jake said.

“What if it was male groupies?” Celia asked. “Would you understand if she wanted to score some chorizo out on the road.”

“No, that’s different,” Jake said.

“And what if Jake was out on the road, Teach?” Celia asked next. “Would you understand if he had a little nineteen-year-old hottie come up to his room after the show so he could fuck her?”

“No,” she said immediately. “That is not part of the deal.”

“What if he wanted some gay groupie to come up and suck his dick for him?” she asked next. “Is that acceptable?”

“No,” she said. “That is not acceptable either.”

“Then you’re saying that who or what someone gets to do out on the road is situational and individual, right?”

“Well ... yeah, I suppose it is,” Jake said.

“Laura can have female groupies eat her out, but can’t get any chorizo. Jake can’t get anything at all except his five best friends. And what about me? How do I fit into your rules? Do you two really want me to have some male groupie stick his dick in me while I’m out there? Does the thought really not bother you? Because if it doesn’t, we have a totally different relationship with each other than I thought we did.”

“The thought does bother me,” Jake said truthfully. It was, in fact, infuriating.

“Me too,” Laura agreed.

“Then why did you suggest it?” Celia asked.

“Because it’s not fair of us to ask you to abstain from sex while you’re out on the road,” Laura said. “We don’t have that right.”

“Why don’t you have that right?” she shot back. “You have the right to expect that Jake won’t do that. Jake has the right to set his boundaries of what he considers infidelity. We are in what we have all agreed is a loving relationship here. If we’re in a loving relationship, you have the right to expect me to remain faithful to you when I’m away. Exercise that right. If you don’t, what you’re telling me is that you two are just...” She took a deep breath and wiped at a tear. “ ... just using me for sex.”

“No!” Laura said. “That’s not what we’re saying at all!”

“We do love you, C,” Jake said. “This thing is not just about sex!”

“If it’s not just about sex,” Celia said, “then do me the common fucking courtesy of expecting me to be faithful to you when I’m away for a few months.”

They looked at each other and then back at Celia. They nodded. “Okay,” Jake said. “We expect you to remain faithful to us.”

She smiled. “Thank you,” she told them. “And you two do the same. No picking up some slut to slake your urge for having another woman in your bed. That is my right to demand and I’m demanding it.”

“Done,” Laura said, smiling back at her.

“And one more thing,” Celia said.

“What’s that?” asked Jake.

“I want you two to visit me a few times out on the road. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, not at all,” Jake said. “We can do that.”

“Anytime, anywhere,” Laura said.

“We’ll be in New York City for three shows at MSG in the last week of October,” Celia said. “That’ll be right about the time that pressure of which you spoke will be starting to get pretty intense. That would be a good time for a visit.”

“We’ll be there,” Jake said without hesitation.

“Already looking forward to it,” Laura added.

Jake, Laura, and Caydee flew back to San Luis Obispo the next morning, leaving well before the chartered aircraft with Celia’s band even arrived. They spent Saturday and Sunday at home, not doing much of anything. And then, on Monday morning, it was time to go back to work, this time on a new set of projects.

Caydee was left in the care of Meghan the nanny while Jake and Laura flew to Los Angeles and drove to the KVA studio in Santa Clarita, arriving there just before nine o’clock. The Nerdlys were already there, of course. Over the next fifteen minutes, the rest of the musicians came trickling in: Ben Ping, Phil Jenkins, Lenny Harris, and finally, ten minutes late because of “an accident on the 101”, Ted Duncan. It was time to start putting V-tach’s next CD together. And it was also time to start putting Jake’s next CD together. And V-tach was a group of musicians he had played with before.

“We’re going to be working on both CDs at the same time?” asked Lenny, who had never worked in this manner before.

“That’s right,” Jake said. “Ben, Ted, and Phil have all done this before. It’s how we did the first three CDs for me and Celia. We put our noses to the grindstone and get it on, working eight hours a day, six days a week until we get the tunes nailed down in basic format. We alternate days. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, we’ll work on my stuff and you guys will be my band. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, we’ll work on V-tach material and I’ll be a second guitar player or a backup singer if you need one. For the days you’re working on my shit, you’ll get session pay. I’ll also give you royalties once the CD is released. On the days we’re working on your shit, you don’t get session pay because it’s your shit and your payoff will come with the royalties you collect once we release. Make sense?”

They agreed that it made sense.

“How many songs do you have for the next one?” Jake asked. He knew they had been working in the studio on and off for the past month, coming up with new material.

“We have eight new tunes we’ve been working on,” said Lenny, who was the leader, songwriter, and driving force behind V-tach. “We also have the six that we didn’t use on the last release. Out of the fourteen, we should be able to work up ten for the CD.”

Jake nodded. He had not heard any of their new material yet. He would just have to hope it was as good as their previous tunes. “Sounds good,” Jake said. “I’ve got eleven new tunes I’ve been working on, but at this point, all of them are still in the acoustic only stage, so we’ll be starting almost from scratch. We’ll work with just you four, plus Nerdly here on the keyboards for now. Laura is going to sit in for most of the sessions because she has a good musical ear and I might want to throw some sax into some of my work. Once we get a little further along, Natalie is going to join us for the violin parts. She is already committing to stay with me through the recording process.”

“Cool,” Ben said, nodding. Everyone liked Natalie the violinist.

“The godless communist oppressor,” said Ted with a smile. “It’ll be fun to work with her again.”

“All right,” Jake said. “Let’s start setting things up and getting our sound dialed in.”

They went to work. Most of that first day was spent setting up. The drum set had already been assembled, but everything else needed to be placed and wired and checked. Jake would primarily be using his red Ibanez acoustic-electric to present his material to the band, but he also dialed in his black and white Les Paul for when it would be time to start translating some of the melodies into distortion riffs. Several of the tunes he had written for this CD were going to be rockers—not quite Intemperance level, but rockers nonetheless. And if he was going to be helping out Lenny with the V-tach guitar work, he would likely need a good drop-D tuned guitar as well.

It was well after they ate their catered lunch before the Nerdlys were reasonably satisfied with the sound and tuning of the instruments and microphones and they were able to actually do some work. Jake introduced Winter Frost to the group.

“This is a melody I used to play for Caydee when she was still in Laura’s womb,” he told them. “She used to kick to the cadence of the melody, which is how she got her name. After she was born, she still loved the tune and I still strum it out for her pretty regularly during guitar and sing time. Gradually, I came up with the lyrics, which are a reflection of my feelings for my daughter.”

“It’s a beautiful song,” Laura said. “I get choked up when I hear him play it.”

Jake began to strum the melody on his Ibanez. “I’ll play it for you as it stands now,” he told them. “And I’m already sure that I want to keep it acoustic on the primary melody, with maybe some piano chords accompanying. Right now, the tempo is ninety and the key is G-major.”

Everyone nodded and he began to sing the lyrics. They did indeed get choked up as they listened to his intonement of love for the little life he helped construct and take care of. And then they started to work on it. Ted and Ben set a little rhythm. Nerdly got on the piano and chimed in behind Jake. It was rough and Jake knew that it needed a lot of work, but they were underway.

It felt really good to be underway.

August gave way and September rolled in. Jake and the members of V-tach and the Nerdlys continued to immerse themselves in their work and soon fell into a good, productive rhythm. Much to Jake’s delight, Lenny had penned some impressive tunes for their next effort. If anything, the band had improved since their last CD, become more mature and sophisticated. Jake took their raw material and helped shape and polish it into something more technical and pleasing to the ear. The band, who had greatly benefitted from such shaping and polishing on their last CD, eagerly did whatever Jake suggested and never argued about it. They knew that Jake was a master at production.

Jake’s own material began to shape up as well, though they were a bit more behind the eight ball in this endeavor since they had started from scratch. Lenny and Phil both proved very helpful when it came to playing secondary guitars on the tunes or doing backup singing. And, as had been the case back in the Celia and Jake days, the musicians had no problems shifting back and forth between genres and styles every other day. Laura would always accompany Jake on Jake days—and he did indeed have sax parts, including a solo, planned for two songs—but she usually stayed home on V-tach days. There really was not much for her to do on V-tach days since there was no place for a saxophone in their material. This gave Meghan more time off, though they did continue to pay her for the days Laura stayed home, just as they continued to pay Elsa when they were gone for extended amounts of time. It was only fair.

On September 1st, a Tuesday and thus a V-tach day in the studio, Jake cut out of rehearsal just after eating lunch. He had a meeting with Crow and Doolittle in the National Records building. It was time to issue some more promotion instructions. He could have done it over the phone, but he preferred to deliver such directives in person to avoid any misunderstandings.

Both of KVA’s latest projects were doing well. Matt Tisdale’s Faithless CD, in the two months since its release, had sold almost three hundred thousand copies. Faithless the song was still getting a lot of airplay, but not quite saturation level anymore. And Celia Valdez’s Living in Limbo CD had breached Gold the previous week when the five hundred thousandth copy was sold. Her song The End of the Journey, had spent four weeks at number one and was still charting in the Top 40. There was already talk about it taking a Grammy award next year. In addition, both tours were still selling out every venue as soon as the tickets were released for sale. Tour income was pouring into the coffers over at National Records and Jake was rather looking forward to seeing the next quarterly report in mid-October.

“All right,” Jake told Crow and Doolittle once the preliminaries were complete. “For Matt, we need to get Dethroned on the radio this next weekend.” Dethroned was one of the more harder-driving tunes on the CD, more in-line with classic Matt Tisdale, with two grinding guitars and a solid, intense backbeat. The lyrics concerned the brutal fall from grace of someone who had been in a position of power over others and then been “dethroned” by fate and circumstance and the turning of the tables. It was one of Matt’s more profound and angry pieces.

“Dethroned, right,” said Crow, nodding wisely. “Good choice for next up.”

“It’s more in line with Matt’s earlier work,” Jake explained. “After hearing Faithless, with the mellow guitar work and the more technical engineering, his old fans will be happy to hear Dethroned, and his new fans that he picked up with Faithless will appreciate the energy.”

“Right!” Crow said. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Perfect sense!” echoed Doolittle.

“Like before,” Jake told them, “I want it played only at the beginning of the sets for the first four weeks. Make sure the DJs always intro it. I know the hard rock stations will play the shit out of it, but I’m guessing we won’t get any airplay on the pops or even the alt-rocks. Dethroned is a little too hard of a tune for them. That’s okay though. Our CD sales for Faithless are coming from the hard rock demographic anyway.”

“Understood,” Crow said. “I trust you have this all written down though?”

“It’s written down,” Jake assured him. “Now, for Celia, I want the title cut promoted next. Living in Limbo, the song.”

“A good tune,” Crow said.

Jake wondered if he was even the least bit familiar with the tune. He was still not convinced that Crow and Doolittle had even listened to the CD after their initial preliminary playing of it. They still did not give much of a rat’s ass about the CD sales, especially since National was only getting twenty percent royalties on those sales. They were all about the touring income, and were very excited about those numbers.

“It is a good tune,” Jake agreed. “It’s also the hardest rocker on the CD. It’s not heavy metal by any means, but it does have distorted guitars playing out the riffs and a pretty blistering solo. It’s friendly enough for the pop stations and they will love it, but it will also play well on the alt-rocks and even the hard rocks. On the pops and the alt-rocks, I want the tune introduced at the beginnings of the sets. On the hard rocks, however, I want it played at the end of the sets with no intro at all, but with the DJs telling the listeners that they heard the latest from Celia Valdez after the song plays. I don’t expect this one to chart as well as Journey did, but once we get saturation airplay of the tune, I expect the CD sales will start going through the roof.”

“Whatever you say, Jake,” Doolittle told him. “Just give us the instructions and we’ll make sure it happens.”

“This coming weekend,” Jake said. “Starting on the Friday commute hours.”

“Absolutely,” Doolittle said.

“We just need to make some phone calls,” Crow said.

“Okay then,” Jake said. “I guess that’s that then.”

“There is one other subject we would like to talk about,” Crow said. “If it’s okay?”

“That depends on what you want to talk about,” Jake said.

“We have come to the understanding that you have been working in your studio rather hard this last month,” Crow said.

Jake wondered who had told them that. Certainly, none of the band members had. But then the National suits always seemed to be able to pick up information by one means or another. “I have been,” he said carefully. “What of it?”

“We were just wondering what you’re working on,” Crow said. “Is it a new Brainwash CD? Because if it is, it’s never too early to start talking about a deal. We would certainly be interested in coming to a deal on a Brainwash tour.”

“There is a lot of money to be made from that group,” Doolittle said. “Even though their last CD did not sell as well, that first CD put them on the public’s radar in an impressive way.”

“Brainwash,” Jake said, as if pondering the subject. “The band you rejected out of hand without even listening to their demo when I first brought them to your attention. So, I went ahead and signed them myself and produced their first CD. And that CD has now sold, as of the last quarterly report, more than five million copies.”

“Exactly!” Crow said excitedly. “That’s what makes this so lucrative. They are still getting frequent airplay for most of the tunes from that first CD. They play the tunes from Brainwash more than they do for Brainwash II!”

This was true information. Though Brainwash II was not a failure or a money-loser, only three of the tunes from it had charted and it had only sold a million and half copies at this point. Enough to make a nice profit for everyone involved, but not nearly as much as Jake had hoped for and a mere pittance compared to their first CD. And again, he blamed himself for this. He had not been as involved as he should have been in the production of the CD. The Nerdlys had done their best, but it took Jake’s input to make things shine.

“Well, sorry to burst your bubbles,” Jake said, “but we’re not working on new Brainwash just yet.”

“You’re not?” asked Crow. “Why the hell not?”

Jake thought about telling him it was none of his goddamn business, but then decided that the truth was not really confidential information. “They can only record over the summer,” he told them. “They’re teachers. They have to work during the rest of the year.”

Crow and Doolittle were appalled by this. “They’re still working as teachers?” he asked. “What in the world for? Aren’t they earning sufficient royalty money to quit those jobs?”

“Of course they are,” Jake said. “KVA gave them a great first-time contract that actually guaranteed they would make money as long as they sold a hundred thousand or so—unlike what other labels do, you know. They’re rolling in the dough—as least from the perspective of middle-class school teachers who live in Rhode Island. And Stephanie Zool—she’s the lead guitarist...”

“The lesbian, right?” Crow asked.

“Right,” Jake said slowly. “Anyway, she quit the teaching gig and is doing fine. The others though ... they just can’t seem to bring themselves to do it. Maybe if Brainwash II would’ve sold a little better, they might have, but they don’t consider themselves financially secure enough to make the leap just yet.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Doolittle opined.

Jake shrugged. “It’s their decision. I plan to bring them back out for the summer and see what we can come up with then.”

“Then what are you working on?” Crow asked. “Another solo CD?”

Again, though Jake’s instinct was to keep as much information as possible out of the hands of these suits, a little reflection made him realize that telling the truth might actually help his cause later on. “That’s right,” he told them. “A solo CD for me, and we’re also working on the next V-tach CD at the same time.”

“V-tach, huh?” Crow said. “There’s another group that did quite well under your label, Jake.”

“We tried to sign them back when we heard how well they were doing in the club scene,” Doolittle said. “We contacted Pauline about them, in fact. And then a month later, you signed them instead.”

“That is correct,” Jake said. “Pauline saw their potential, as did I when I gave them a good listen. And we gave them a fair contract, unlike what you would have signed them to. They are all making pretty good money now as well. And they, unlike Brainwash, have all quit their day jobs.”

“Don’t you think it was a bit unethical for Pauline to not report our offer to them before you signed them?” asked Doolittle.

Jake laughed. “You are lecturing me about ethics? Seriously? That’s like having Slick Willie lecture someone on the virtues of marital fidelity.”

“That is uncalled for,” Doolittle said with a pout.

“Not really,” Jake said.

“In any case,” Crow said, “we are not ready to consider a touring agreement for V-tach just yet. We’ll have to see how their next CD goes first. They do not have quite enough of a catalogue to justify one hundred dollar a ticket sales just yet.”

“I wasn’t ready to consider a touring agreement either,” Jake said.

“Then we’re on the same page,” Doolittle said. “Let’s talk about you now, Jake.”

“Talk about what?” he asked.

“A touring agreement for you once your next CD is released,” he said.

“I’m not ready to talk touring yet,” Jake said. “We’re still in the beginning stages of the process. And right about the time that my CD will be ready for release, it will be time for Brainwash to come into the studio.”

“So?” Crow said. “You don’t have to be there to supervise Brainwash, do you?”

“Actually, I do,” Jake said. “I’m the producer.”

“We can lend you one of our producers,” Doolittle told him. “We’ll give you the best we have.”

“Uh ... no thanks,” Jake said. “I prefer to do it myself.”

“There is a strong market for you if you went out on tour, Jake,” Crow said. “Very strong. Especially if you perform Intemperance material as part of the set.”

“I will perform no Intemperance material as part of a solo set,” Jake said firmly.

“But we own the rights,” Crow said. “We wouldn’t charge you for it. It would be part of the deal.”

“Not going to happen,” Jake said.

“All right, all right,” Doolittle said. “Thought we’d give it a shot. But there is still considerable money to be make from a solo tour. After your next release, you’ll have four CDs worth of material.”

“I’m aware of how many CDs I have put out,” Jake said.

“That is enough for a two- and a half-hour set, like what we have Celia on,” Crow said. “We won’t be able to charge quite as much as Celia does if you’re not doing Intemperance material, but we could easily charge what Matt is charging. A hundred dollars a ticket for the cheap seats. You’ll sell out the venues, Jake. Have no doubt about that.”

“I don’t have any doubt about that,” Jake said. “I’m also not going to commit to anything right here and right now. So, this discussion is actually kind of pointless.”

“Just think it over, Jake,” Crow told him. “Nobody is asking you to sign anything right now. We just want you to think it over.”

“Okay,” Jake said. “I’ll think it over. Now, are we done here?”

They were done. Jake left them copies of his promotion instructions and then went back to the studio. He was able to get in a few more hours of work before heading home.

Obie had been out on the road as well, he and his band doing what they called a “soft tour”, which meant they played consecutive shows in multiple cities for a stretch of about a month and then took long breaks of two or three weeks before starting another leg. As a country music legend with an impressive catalogue of twelve studio albums, he was able to sell tickets for almost as much as Celia charged and he, like her, sold out every venue within hours of release.

Obie flew home from Louisville on September 16^th after a month of doing shows throughout the Midwest region. His next show was scheduled for September 30^th in Nashville. On September 20^th, a Saturday and the end of Jake’s workweek (it was a V-tach day so Laura was not there), Obie, Pauline, and Tabby met Jake at Whiteman Airport after he wrapped up for the day and flew back to San Luis Obispo with him. They were going to have a nice dinner together and then Jake and Obie were going to do some ATV riding on the dunes on Sunday. Aside from the family time together, there was also a little business to discuss.

They talked about it over the Saturday night dinner. Since Elsa was off for the weekend (as was Meghan, but she usually stayed home on her off-days) and since Laura was not much of a cook (as the youngest of five she had never been taught by her child-weary mother) Jake cooked the meal. It was simple fare, just hamburgers and tater tots, but Obie, who had been eating road food for the past month, tore into it voraciously.

“Glad you like it,” Jake said with satisfaction after the singer proclaimed his enjoyment of the offering for the second time.

“You’re a good man with the grill, Jake,” Obie said. “That’s something to put on the old resume.”

“I’ll add that in,” Jake said.

Obie took another bite of his burger, popped a few tater tots in his mouth, and then washed it down with a healthy swig of the IPA that Jake had served with the meal. “Pauline tells me you’re ready to start talking studio time,” he said.

“That’s right,” Jake said. “We’re coming along pretty well. We have V-tach’s tunes pretty much dialed in for the basics and I’m starting to work on the polish. As for my stuff, we’re a little bit behind V-tach, but progressing.”

“I’m gonna play on two of the tunes,” Laura said happily. “I even get a solo.”

“What’s a solo?” asked Tabby from her seat at the table. She had a mouthful of burger of her own.

“It’s when Aunt Laura plays her saxophone all by herself,” Pauline told her daughter.

“Oh,” Tabby said, seemingly disappointed that it wasn’t something cooler than that.

“We got Nat on board now, and Nerdly has agreed to be the keyboardist through the process. I guess he feels he’s experienced enough to engineer and play at the same time.”

“A good thing,” Obie said. “Are you talking two studios here, like you did with Tisdale and Celia?”

“No,” Jake said. “We can get by with one. It’ll be just like when C and I were recording at the same time. We’ll be using the same musicians and alternating days.”

“Glad to hear that,” Obie said, “because there’s no way I could’ve swung two studios anyway. I’m pretty booked up. I have Wild Hat using Studio C right now. They’re scheduled through December 23^rd. I can give you C starting on the first business day of 1999 until May 25^th. That do ya?”

“I was hoping to get in a little sooner,” Jake said. “By late November if possible.”

Obie was shaking his head. “Just not possible, unfortunately,” he told him. “A and B are booked up until the last week of February and Wild Hat is one of my most profitable acts. I need to get them finished up on time.”

“I understand,” Jake said. “First of the year it is, then.”

“You know I’d help you out if I could,” Obie said.

“Yeah, I know Obie,” Jake said. “And maybe this isn’t such a bad thing after all. We can slow the pace down a bit. Drop down to five-day weeks and only seven hours a day. That’ll give us lots of polish time without burning out.”

“Sometimes things happen for a reason,” Obie said.

“That is true,” Jake agreed.

“I hear the new songs on the radio, both for Matt and for Celia,” Obie said. “How’s the sales picking up now that you got two releases charting?”

Jake smiled. “As I predicted,” he said, “sales started rising within days of the promo of Dethroned and Limbo. Matt’s gone Gold now and weekly sales are still increasing. Celia’s gone Platinum and will likely go double-Platinum before the end of the year. The suits over at National are beside themselves.”

“Kicking themselves in the ass a little?” Obie said with a grin.

“Yep,” Jake said. “They of little faith. Of course, they’re still making money from the sales, but not as much as they would have had they taken the CDs a little more seriously. And every percentage point that they don’t get to keep is money in KVA’s pocket and Matt’s pocket.”

“Between the royalties and the touring revenue, is this going to get him out of his tax troubles?” Obie asked.

“It’ll go a long way toward that,” Jake said. “He owes them almost twenty-five million. I don’t think he’s going to make enough to pay that all the way down, but at least he’ll get on top of it a little and won’t be in danger of losing his house.”

Obie shook his head. “It’s hard to believe the man got into that much tax trouble.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “You don’t want to fuck with the IRS, that’s for sure. A good chunk of that is from the interest and penalties they tacked on.”

“Well, it was good of you to work with him on this,” Obie said. “Not sure I would’ve been so generous if he had put me through as much shit as he put you through.”

“Hey,” Jake said, “he’s making me money as well. And it’s always better to put things behind you when you can, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Obie said.

The Celia Valdez Living in Limbo tour of 1998 rolled across the northern portion of the United States through September and into October. They played in cities large and small, usually staying for two or even three shows in the larger cities and only one in the smaller ones. The schedule had been designed so they would hit all of the higher latitude venues before the snows of winter started to fly and then hit the southern venues during the winter months. They played three shows in Chicago, two in Milwaukee, one in Lansing, two in Detroit, two in Cleveland, one in Cincinnati, one in Toledo, one in Buffalo, and then they worked their way into New England, playing one show each in Bangor, in Portland, in Montpellier, and then were scheduled for three shows in Boston.

By the time they reached Boston, Celia and everyone else in the band and roadcrew were well acclimated to the grind of the road. It was not as bad as previous tours, for the band themselves and for the roadies. Lots of extended travel days and breaks had been scheduled in. Though the roadies had to travel on buses with the trucks from city to city, they often had a day off, or even two, when they arrived at their new destinations and often got to stay in actual hotel rooms instead of sleeping on the bus for weeks at a time. As for the band, they had it even better. They traveled from city to city in a chartered Cessna Citation business jet and stayed in luxury hotels every night.

But no matter how many breaks were put in, or how you got from one place to another, the road was still the road and it always would be. It was an endless succession of days and nights of doing the same thing in a different place. There were music store autograph sessions, there were radio station interviews, there were sound checks, there was greasy catered food, and, briefly, for two and a half hours at a time, there was the bliss of performing before sixteen to twenty thousand enthusiastic fans.

The Citation landed at Logan International Airport on October 12^th after flying there from Montpellier. Their first of three shows would be tomorrow night. After that, there would be a one-day break and then a show in Providence (the Brainwash crew had been given tickets for that one), a show in Albany, and then it was onto New York City for a two-day break followed by three consecutive shows at Madison Square Garden. Celia was very much looking forward to New York City. Jake and Laura were meeting her there for a little reunion. It was about time. While the rest of the band (except Little Stevie and Liz, who had each other) made frequent use of the request system to satisfy their sexual urges, Celia had remained faithful, as promised. But she had grown tired of paddling her pink canoe back in Chicago. Not that that stopped her from doing it almost nightly.

A limousine took her and the band from Logan to the Hilton Harbor Hotel on the waterfront. They checked into their rooms shortly after three o’clock. Celia tossed her travel case at the foot of the bed. She never bothered to unpack anything, even if they were staying for four days as they were here in Boston, because it was too much of a pain in the ass to repack. Her plan was to lay down and take a nap—you were always tired on the road—and then get up around six or so and have room service bring up something for dinner. She would have them include a nice bottle of wine with it and then she would change into her sweatpants and sit on the couch watching mindless television. It was a good plan.

She took off her shoes and socks and then her jeans and laid them down on top of the suitcase. She reached into her shirt and unsnapped her bra and then did that maneuver that women do to pull the bra off without removing the shirt. She dropped the bra on top of the pants. Now, she just needed to pee and it was naptime.

She walked to the bathroom, lifted up the lid on the toilet, and then pushed her white panties down and sat on the toilet. As she started to pee, she looked down and saw that the crotch of her panties were stained with streaks of blood.

“Madre de Dios,” she muttered, frustrated. “Not again.”

It was not a huge amount of blood, just spotting really, but it was unmistakable. This was the second time this had happened in the last month or so. It was not her period. She was still taking her birth control pills out on the road—she always had, just to stay in the rhythm—so her period was very predictable. It generally started the day after she started taking the white pills in the monthly case instead of the pink ones. But she had finished the white pills and gone back to the next set of twenty-four pink ones nearly six days ago. And she had not bled while taking the white ones last time. That was rare but not unheard of in her experience, so she had not thought too much about it. The first time she had the bleeding she attributed it to road stress. That was probably what it was this time as well, but she was starting to wonder if she should call her gynecologist and discuss the issue.

She decided that she would put that off for now. After all, it was after business hours in Los Angeles now and she did not think a little spotting warranted an emergency phone call.

She finished up her pee and then wiped herself very thoroughly. She then went back to her suitcase and opened it. Inside was a box of tampons. She pulled one out, returned to the bathroom, and installed it in the usual manner. She then washed her hands and went back to the bed. She laid down under the covers and was almost immediately asleep.

When she woke up two hours later, she went back to the bathroom. A quick check of the tampon showed only a very light amount of blood. She changed it and then went back into the living room to order her dinner.

By the time her steak and baked potato arrived, she had pretty much put the ordeal out of her mind. There was wine to drink and mindless TV to watch. She was a little bummed that she would not be able to paddle the pink canoe tonight though.

“Really?” Meghan asked, her eyes wide at what had just been suggested. “You want me to come to New York with you?”

“That’s right,” Laura said. “If you’re up for it. If you would rather not, we will pay you extra to take care of Caydee while we’re gone. We’d rather keep her with us though, but that’s up to you.”

They were in the entertainment room of the house. It was Thursday and Jake was in Santa Clarita working with V-tach for the day. With the new hours they had set, he would be home just after five o’clock. Caydee was down for her afternoon nap. Elsa was in the kitchen, working on dinner. It was her double-sauced meatloaf and homemade macaroni and cheese. Both of them were drinking glasses of chardonnay. Laura had introduced the nanny to the pleasure of good wine a few weeks before and Meghan had embraced the beverage.

“How would we get there?” Meghan asked. “Would we fly in your plane?”

“No,” Laura said. “We’ll fly commercial for a trip like this. First class, of course.”

“First class? Really? I’ve never flown first class before.”

“I should warn you that it’s really hard to go back to coach once you’ve flown first-class,” Laura told her. “And you would have your own suite at the hotel.”

“My own suite?” she asked.

“Well ... kind of,” Laura said. “You see ... uh ... Caydee would be staying in your suite with you at night.”

Understanding crossed Meghan’s face. “Ohhhh,” she said knowingly. “Because you and Jake and Celia ... uh...”

“That’s right,” Laura said. “You know how it is with the three of us. We would like to get ... you know ... reacquainted with each other while we’re there. Having you mind Caydee in your own suite would be helpful to that cause. We would take care of her during the day—kind of the opposite of your current schedule—and, of course, we would pay you overtime pay for every hour of the entire trip.”

“For every hour?” she asked.

“For every hour,” Laura confirmed. “Now, of course, you are not obligated to do this. If you say no, that’s fine. We will not hold it against you. And if you do not want to watch Caydee full time while we’re gone, that is fine as well. We will still pay you your normal rate for the days and we’ll just take Caydee with us and make do. After all, we did it in Glacier Park. We can do it in New York.”

“No no,” she said quickly. “I’ll do it. It sounds like fun. I’ve never been to New York before.”

“Awesome!” Laura said. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

I bet you are, Meghan thought with a little smile.

The Matt Tisdale Faithless Tour of 1998, meanwhile, was working its way east to west along the northern part of the United States. Greg Gahn had once again been placed in charge of operations. Grinning weasel that he was, he was an excellent road manager. The Faithless and Living in Limbo tours had crossed each other in the Midwest but had never played in the same city at the same time. The closest they came to each other was when Matt and the boys were playing in Chicago on the same night that Celia and company were playing in Lansing, Michigan.

On the day that Celia was to perform in Albany, Matt and crew were in Seattle. Their show the night before had been in Spokane, Washington, and they had flown into the rainy city (which was living up to its name) in the afternoon. It was one of the scheduled nights off for the crew and the band so the first of three Seattle shows would be the next night. Matt and the boys celebrated their night of freedom by invading the hotel bar and pounding down the drinks while checking out the local gash. There was a good selection of women in the bar but none of them were Matt Tisdale fans. No one was able to hook up before the hotel’s head of security came and politely told the musicians and their paramedic that they needed to go up to their rooms because people were complaining about their behavior.

The old Matt would have likely started a fight over this issue, might have even ended up dealing with the Seattle police department and getting a little tour of the King County jail. But the new, more mature Matt simply offered a few insults to the security guy, suggested that the women complaining were a bunch of stuck-up prudes who were missing out on the schlong-fest of their lives, and then headed upstairs to do some more drinking in Matt’s suite while they waited for it to be dinnertime.

Once up there, Matt rolled a few joints from his stash and fired one up. The bandmembers and Jim Ramos, the paramedic, passed it back and forth until they were all feeling quite good, and then Matt whipped out his little cocaine kit. He was the only one who indulged in this particular vice, so he only lined up two rails on the mirror. He snorted them up with the sterling silver straw and smiled as he felt the drug go to work on him.

He walked over to the bar and started mixing up another Jack and coke. As he took the first drink of it, he felt a burning sensation begin. It was centered in his upper abdomen, just below the margin of his ribcage, and it radiated upwards along his esophagus, even into his jaw and right shoulder a little.

Oh, fuck me, he thought sourly, not this shit again. This was not the first time this had happened. Over the last few days he had had the sensation several times, usually ... well, he hated to make the connection, but usually right after he snorted a few rails.

Must be a fuckin’ ulcer, he thought. And the coke draining down into my stomach must be aggravating it. What a fuckin’ rip. Add that to the list of fucking issues that his favorite indulgence caused. Not as annoying as the frequent nosebleeds, but definitely more annoying than the chronic sinus infections.

“Hey, Jimbo!” he barked at the paramedic. “What do you got in your bag for fuckin’ heartburn?”

Jim, who was working on a rum and coke of his own, looked up with his pot-bleary eyes. “Heartburn? What do you mean?”

“Just what I said, fuckin’ heartburn,” Matt told him. He pointed to his epigastrium. “Burning right here and goes up into my throat and jaw. You got some shit for that, or what?”

“I’ve got some Maalox in there,” Jim said. “Are you sure it’s heartburn though?”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure,” Matt said. “Bust that shit out and let me take a hit.”

Jim went to the football that was sitting over by the front door. He carried it over to the bar and set it down. He opened it up, fished around for a few seconds, and then pulled out a white plastic bottle with a red lid. The safety seal was still intact. Jim quickly pulled it off, shook the bottle a few times, and then unscrewed the lid. He handed the bottle to Matt. “Here,” he said, “chug some of this.”

“How much?”

“A nice big swallow,” Jim said. “Two tablespoons worth.”

Matt sniffed the rim of the bottle and then put it to his lips. He chugged a healthy shot of the white liquid. “Gross,” he said after swallowing. “It tastes like fuckin’ chalk with a little mint flavoring in it.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to serve that shit with dinner,” Jim agreed. “It should soothe your stomach though.”

“Thanks, dude,” Matt said.

“Let me check your pulse real quick,” Jim said, reaching for his wrist.

“My pulse is fine, dude,” Matt said. “Haven’t had any of that SVT shit since they burned my fuckin’ heart.”

Jim checked anyway. It was going fast—a hundred and twenty-four beats per minute—but not SVT fast. The tachycardia was likely because Matt had just snorted two lines of uncut Bolivian cocaine. “You really should think about cutting down on the coke, Matt,” he told the guitarist, not for the first time.

“Sure, I’ll think about it,” Matt said. “I ain’t gonna do it, but I’ll fuckin’ think about it.”

Jim just shook his head. “That’s my medical advice for the day. You feeling better?”

Matt took inventory. The pain was still there, but it had eased considerably. “Yeah, I do. Thanks again.”

“It’s what you pay me for,” Jim said.

Matt carried his drink back to the couch and sat down. He had a few slugs to wash the chalky mint taste out of his mouth. He then lit a cigarette and took a big drag. The pain lingered for a few more minutes and then slowly faded away. Matt was glad to feel it go.

Unfortunately, it would return the next day during the sound check. And it was a pain that was not being caused by an ulcer, but by an occlusion of blood flow in Matt’s left anterior descending coronary artery, the vessel that suppled blood flow to most of the left ventricle of his heart, the ventricle that was responsible for pumping blood out through the aorta so it could deliver oxygen to the brain and other body tissues. And just upstream of that occlusion was a large piece of atherosclerotic plaque that blood platelets had accumulated on and caused a clot to form over the past few days. It was only hanging there by a tiny thread. It would not take much to cause it to break free and travel further down the grossly occluded artery, where it would then get stuck like a cork in a bottle.

The United Airlines Boeing 777 touched down at John F. Kennedy International at 4:35 PM, local time. Jake, Laura, Meghan, and Caydee were among the first to deplane from the first-class section in the front of the aircraft. It had been an uneventful flight, with only minor turbulence when they crossed the Rocky Mountains. Thanks to Caydee and her car seat and diaper bag and clothing bag, they had checked baggage to collect, which delayed their departure from the busy airport by more than thirty minutes. A limousine was waiting for them in front of the terminal building. They climbed inside and the driver fought his way through the thick New York City traffic, across the Queensboro Bridge, and into Manhattan. They arrived at the Plaza Hotel near Central Park South at 6:30.

Jake tipped the driver forty dollars. He then tipped the bellhop who brought their baggage up to their suite another twenty. The suite was quite impressive—it should be for sixteen hundred bucks a night—and Meghan was blown away by the opulence.

“This whole bedroom is for me?” she asked, wide-eyed as she looked at the huge bed, the private bath, the view of Central Park far below.

“All for you,” Jake assured her. “The room is registered to us, of course, but we’ll be ... you know ... sleeping elsewhere.”

“You can set up Caydee’s crib in the secondary bedroom,” Laura said. “Just keep her door open in case she wakes up in the night. She usually doesn’t, but it is a new place for her, and she did sleep an awful lot on the plane.”

“I understand,” Meghan said.

Caydee was, in fact, quite full of energy at the moment. She was now toddling around pretty well, moving from place to place, exploring the room. She looked at the large television mounted on the wall and pointed at it. “Teeve!” she shouted in delight. “Teeve, Dada! Teeve, Mama!”

“That’s right,” Laura said with a smile. “It’s a TV.”

“Teeve!” she shouted again.

Jake walked over to the phone and picked it up.

“Pho!” Caydee said. “Dada pho!”

“That’s right, Caydee,” Jake said. “Daddy’s using the phone. Time to play the quiet game for a minute.”

“Qui?”

“That’s right,” Jake said. “The quiet game.”

Caydee giggled a little and then began walking around and naming off other objects. She was not very good at the quiet game.

Jake knew that Celia and the band had checked in a few hours ago after the flight from Albany. He did not know what room she was in. He dialed the front desk and asked to be connected to Marie Vasquez’s room. The operator knew, of course, that Marie Vasquez was really Celia Valdez, but she also knew that anyone who knew to ask for her by that name was someone authorized to be connected. “Right away, sir,” she said politely. There was a click and the phone began to ring in his ear.

It was picked up on the third ring. “Marie Vasquez’s room,” Celia’s voice said.

“It’s us, C,” Jake said. “We just checked in.”

“I was starting to worry about you,” she said warmly. “Your flight landed at 4:30, right?”

“We had checked baggage,” Jake said. “And then the traffic was terrible. We’re here safe now though.”

“What room?” she asked.

“We’re in 2112,” Jake said.

“Just down the hall then,” Celia said. “I’m in 2103. Hang tight. I’ll be right over.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” Jake said.

Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Jake opened it and a moment later had his arms full of a five-foot eleven-and-a-half-inch Venezuelan female. She hugged him tightly, letting him feel her breasts against his chest, and then kissed him soundly on the mouth. She looked incredibly beautiful, her hair down, a pair of form-fitting slacks outlining her butt and legs, a low-cut blouse showing off her cleavage.

“Wow,” Meghan said, wide-eyed at the greeting.

Jake actually flushed a little. Celia stepped back and looked him up and down. “God, I’ve missed you two,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“We promised we’d be here,” Laura said, stepping over and holding out her arms.

The two women embraced just as enthusiastically. Celia bent her head down and gave Laura a resounding kiss on the lips as well. Laura blushed at the gesture but seemed very pleased by the affection. Meghan continued to stare at them, wide-eyed. She was now blushing as well.

“Hey, Meghan,” Celia greeted. “Glad you could come with them.” She hugged her with a more typical Celia hug. She did not kiss her (much to Meghan’s relief). Celia then turned her attention to the little red-haired girl that was toddling around the room. “Madre de Dios!” she exclaimed. “Is that little Caydee I see?”

“Caydee!” Caydee shouted with glee. She was pretty good at saying her own name (it helped that it was two very easy syllables).

“Is she talking now?” Celia asked.

“She’s getting there,” Laura said. “She can say Mama, Dada, Caydee, May-kin (that’s what she calls Meghan), Essa (that’s what she calls Elsa) and a few other things.”

“And she’s walking too!” Celia said. “And look how big she is now!”

“Growing like a weed,” Jake said. “Twenty-one pounds now.”

“Come here, chiquita,” Celia said, kneeling down on the floor. “Come give me a hug!”

Caydee smiled and toddled quickly over, holding out her arms as she went. She slammed into Celia and gave her a big hug. She then kissed her several times on the face.

“You remember Celia, right, Caydee?” Laura asked.

“See-ya!” Caydee said, delighted.

“That’s right,” Laura said. “Celia!”

“See-ya!” she said again. “Owe me!”

“Owe you?” Celia asked.

“She’s saying ‘hold me’,” Jake said. “She wants you to pick her up.”

“Oh, of course,” Celia said, laughing. She picked Caydee up and gave her another hug.

“See-ya owe me!” Caydee giggled.

“I think she missed you,” Laura observed.

“I guess so,” Celia said warmly.

They made a little idle chit-chat for a few minutes and then Celia suggested they go downstairs for dinner. Jake and Laura were up for this—they had eaten appetizers on the plane but nothing since—even though their bodies were still on west coast time.

“I don’t want to dress up though,” Jake said. “Let’s go somewhere we can have an eleven-month-old in a high chair and I can wear these jeans and this shirt.”

“There’s a pizza place across the street,” Celia suggested. “Genuine New York pizza. I’ve eaten there before.”

“Let’s do it,” Jake said.

“Uh ... should I stay here?” Meghan asked shyly.

“Not unless you want to,” Jake told her. “You do like pizza, don’t you?”

“I love pizza,” she said. “I just thought maybe you all would like to be ... you know ... alone.”

“Alone time will be later,” Celia said. “Come with us. The pizza is on me. Tomorrow night we’re eating in the Park Place here in the hotel though. That’s a dressy place full of snooty people. Jake will pay for that one.”

“I didn’t bring any dressy clothes,” Meghan said. In truth, she did not really even own any dressy clothes.

“Then we’ll go shopping tomorrow and get you some,” Celia said. “We’re in New York City, at Park Avenue South. And we’re girls. Shopping is what we do.”

“But ... uh ... I’m not sure I can afford ... you know...”

“You don’t need to afford anything,” Laura said. “Our treat. Now come on. Let’s go eat.”

They made their way downstairs and across the street to the pizza place. They were recognized for who they were, but that did not seem to really cross anyone’s eyes. The other customers looked at them, and there were some whispers, but no one approached them. They ordered a large combination pizza and a single slice of cheese pizza for Caydee. She chomped it contentedly while drinking water out of a sippy cup. The adults shared a pitcher of draft beer to chase their pizza down.

After eating, they packed up the leftover pizza in a cardboard box and returned to Room 2112. Laura changed Caydee’s diaper and put her in her jammies. It was technically now her bedtime, but she was also on west coast time still and did not seem the least bit sleepy. Jake, Laura, and Celia had a few glasses of wine from the bar and talked about how the tour was going. Meghan simply sat on the couch, watching television, drinking a diet Pepsi, and feeling awkward as she saw the looks and touches the three lovers were sharing with each other.

“You know,” she finally said, “Caydee’s probably going to be up for a few more hours. The jetlag and all.”

“Probably,” Laura agreed.

“So ... uh ... if you all want to ... you know ... be alone, I’ve got her. I’ll make sure she gets to bed and all that.”

Laura smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, Meghan,” she said. “I think maybe we do want to be alone.”

“Yes,” Celia said, perhaps a little embarrassment in her tone. “That would be nice.”

“Go,” Meghan said. “Caydee and I will read some books and maybe do some coloring.”

They went, telling Meghan what room they were in and that she should call them if anything happened. She promised she would.

Once they got to Celia’s suite—which was pretty much identical to the one that Meghan and Caydee were staying in—Jake suggested that he and Laura take a quick shower as they had been traveling all day.

“Fuck that,” Celia said, shaking her head. “I’ve been waiting for months for this. I do not want to wait any longer.”

“We might not smell so fresh,” Laura said.

Celia grinned lasciviously. “That’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes that makes it better. Now, give me some loving.”

They gave her some loving. It was very enjoyable for all concerned, sweaty smells and all.

It was as they were laying on the bed, letting the sweat dry and enjoying the afterglow, that the phone began to ring. They all looked at it for a moment and then Laura, who was the closest to it, picked it up.

“Marie Vasquez’s room,” she said. She listened for a moment and then said, “Oh ... hi, Meghan. What is it? Is there something wrong with Caydee?” She listened again and then looked over at Jake. “Caydee’s fine, but Pauline called the room looking for you.”

“Pauline? What does she want?”

Laura put the phone back to her ear. “Did she say what she wanted?” Another listening period. “Okay, thanks, Meghan. We’ll take care of it.” She hung up. She turned back to Jake. “She didn’t say what the issue was. She just told Meghan to have you call her at home right away.”

“Oh man,” Jake said. “I hate unexpected phone calls from Pauline. It’s never good news.”

Laura got up and let him sit on the edge of the bed. He looked at the directions on the phone, figured out that he could dial long distance without involving the hotel operator, and then dialed Pauline’s home number from memory. She picked it up on the second ring.

“Hey, Paulie,” he said, bracing himself for whatever shit was hitting the fan now. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Matt,” she said.

“What happened?”

“I got a call from Jim, his paramedic, a few minutes ago. Matt had a heart attack.”

“A heart attack?” Jake asked. “Jesus fucking Christ. Is he okay?”

“We don’t know yet,” Pauline said. “He started having pain while he was doing the sound check for the first Seattle show. He thought it was heartburn and chugged some Maalox, but the pain just kept getting worse. And then he started sweating and having trouble breathing. Jim hooked him up to his heart monitor thing and he realized what was going on. They called 911 and the ambulance took him to the hospital with lights and sirens. They did an EKG when they got there and confirmed he was having a heart attack, and a pretty bad one at that, according to Jim. They rushed him into the cardiac cath lab and that’s where he’s at now.”

Jake took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Son of a bitch,” he said softly.

The End of Book V