Climbing the Rock

Chapter 10A: Exposures

It was eleven o'clock the next morning when Mindy dropped Jake off in the usual place. As was the usual routine, they did not kiss or hug or show any sort of affection toward each other. They simply smiled, said their goodbyes, and parted company.

Jake was limping as he made his way back to his building. He was tired, having gotten less than two hours of broken sleep the night before. He and Mindy had spent the entire night naked in her bedroom, lustfully boffing each other's brains out. Her appetite for sex was incredible, something one had to experience to believe. She could scream out four, five, even six orgasms and still she wanted more. Jake's jaw was so stiff from eating her he could barely open it. He had fingernail scratches all over his back and buttocks. His lower back and groin muscles ached with a dull soreness that throbbed outward with each step he took. His penis was shriveled and raw, with abrasions in several places. It had done its duty well, performing all that was asked of it without faltering, ejaculating no less than six times in the past eighteen hours, but it was letting him know about it now.

In all, aches, pains, and abrasions aside, he had to note this down as a successful date. All he had been hoping for, after all, was to finally get his hand on Mindy's bare tit. At the same time, however, the sweet and wholesome image he had held of her had been altered a bit by the sixteen-hour sex marathon. But, all in all, it was not really a bad alteration. She was certainly better in bed — and on the floor, and in the shower, and in the tub, and over the sink — than he had been expecting when he'd started the relationship.

"Good morning, Mr. Kingsley," the doorman greeted as Jake came limping into the lobby. They no longer bothered enquiring where he'd been.

"Morning," Jake mumbled, going right past without slowing. As always, however, while he waited for the elevator to arrive he saw the doorman speaking into his phone, informing Manny that their wandering subject was home.

He rode up to his floor, limped down the hall, and then used his key to open the door to his condo. Manny was there to greet him, a worried expression on his face.

"Welcome home, sir," he said politely, sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose a little as he caught the unmistakable odor of Mindy's musk clinging to him. He had taken a shower before coming home but she had grabbed him as he'd come out of it, laying him down on the bathroom floor for one last ride.

Jake grunted an unintelligible response and closed the door behind him. As he stepped out of the entryway and into the living room he saw Shaver sitting on the couch, dressed in his usual tailored suit and sipping a Chivas on the rocks.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Jake asked Manny. "He's not welcome in this house. Is there anyone you won't let in?"

Manny chewed his lips nervously but before he could answer, Shaver did.

"Mr. Crow instructed him to let me in," he said. "There's something of importance I need to speak with you about, Jake."

"I have nothing to say to you, Shaver," Jake told him. "I thought we made that clear some time ago. You fucked us with your contract. You're raking in millions off of us while we're going deeper in the hole every day. I know we can't get rid of you, but we're done dealing with you."

"Jake..." Shaver said.

"If Crow or anyone else from National has anything to say to me, they can say it themselves. They already know that."

"This has to do with Mindy Snow," Shaver said.

Jake froze, feeling a burst of adrenaline go shooting through him at the mention of her name. What did they know? Obviously something. "What are you talking about?"

"Your girlfriend, Mindy Snow, the actress," Shaver said. "The story about you two is going to break in the next few days. Since I'm your agent, its me the reporters are going to be calling. Like it or not, Jake, you're going to have to deal with me on this."

Jake sighed, shaking his head. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and get four or five hours of sleep, but it looked like that wasn't in the cards just yet. "All right," he said. He looked at Manny. "Manny, fix me up a rum and coke, heavy on the rum, and bring me a pack of smokes and a lighter."

"Yes, sir," Manny said, almost skittering away.

Jake walked over to the easy chair and sat down. "All right, Shaver," he said. "Tell me what's going on."

"You were at Point Dume beach with Ms. Snow yesterday," Shaver said. "There was a photographer there as well. He used a high magnification telephoto lens and shot almost a dozen rolls of film of the two of you lying on the beach, holding hands, rubbing suntan oil on each other, and playing in the surf. The photographer has been identified as Paul Peterson, a well-known independent who specializes in celebrity shots."

"A paparazzi?" Jake asked.

"Correct. We have yet to hear who he will be selling the shots to, but the most likely is the American Watcher tabloid. They have the biggest budget for shots such as this and he has a long history with them."

This was all just a little too much for Jake to process at once. He decided to take things one at a time, starting with the most obvious question first. "How do you know about all this?" he asked.

"Steve Crow called me and told me," he said.

Jake resisted the urge to yell. "Okay," he said. "And how does Steve Crow know about all this?"

"I'm not really at liberty to say. The information is accurate, however. I have no doubt about..."

Jake leaned forward, his eyes burning into Shaver. "How does he know?" he said, a hint of menace in his voice.

"Jake..."

"How?" Jake barked.

Shaver took a deep breath. "A private investigator in the employ of National Records was there on the beach watching the two of you," he finally said.

Jake shook his head in disgust. "A private investigator was following me?" he asked. Had he really thought that Doolittle was really going to let him live his own life? Had he really?

"Jake, I had nothing to do with that," Shaver said. "Had I been asked, I would have advised against it."

"Sure you would've," Jake said. "How long has this asshole been following me?"

"Ever since you met with Mr. Doolittle about which songs you would be recording."

"So they've followed Mindy and I everywhere we've been since our second date?"

"They know everything, Jake," Shaver confirmed. "They know she picks you up three blocks from here and you usually drive to her house. They know you drove up to her house once, that you drove around the rural part of the county on another occasion and had dinner in a restaurant together, and they know you went to the beach and then spent the night at her house last night."

"Those fucks," Jake said, enraged.

"Here," Shaver said, whipping out his little silver case. "Let me set you up a couple of lines. That way you'll be able to..."

"I don't want any of your blow, Shaver," Jake told him.

He seemed hurt but he put his case away. "Look, Jake. All they're trying to do is protect you. They've invested a lot of money in you and they just want to know that you're not putting yourself in any danger — physical danger or professional danger. And you have to know that this relationship you're in with Mindy Snow certainly falls into the professional danger category."

"Professional danger?"

"The relationship is bad for both of you. Your images are incompatible. It would be bad for her for it to be known she was seeing a rock musician and it would be bad for you for it to be known you're seeing a... well... a character actor known for family values roles."

"I'm not going to stop seeing Mindy because National Records doesn't like what it does to my image," Jake said. "Nor does their concern for all of this give them the right to send detectives after me." He shook his head in anger. "That fucker followed us everywhere?"

"Everywhere," Shaver confirmed again. "But you're missing the point. What we need to do is start worrying about damage control."

Jake wasn't listening. "How in the hell did this snooping fuck even know..." He stopped mid-question as Manny came into the room, carrying Jake's drink, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a crystal ashtray.

"How did he know what?" Shaver asked, ignoring Manny as he set his bounty down before Jake — at least until he noticed Jake glaring at the manservant in a knowing way.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Manny asked, catching the glare as well.

"No," Jake said. "Nothing at all."

"Will there be anything else?"

"No," Jake told him. "Go find something to do."

"How about you, Mr. Shaver?" Manny asked. "Can I refresh your..."

"He won't be staying long," Jake interrupted. "Go find something to do."

"Of course, sir," Manny said. He bid a hasty retreat.

"What were you going to ask, Jake?" Shaver enquired once he was gone.

"Nothing," Jake said. "Don't worry about it."

Shaver nodded. "Okay then," he said. "Let's talk damage control. My suggestion is that when the press calls to ask about this we simply tell them that you and Ms. Snow are nothing more than friends. You met initially at her movie premier, correct?"

"Yes," Jake said.

"You decided to get together and go to the beach after that," Shaver said. "My understanding is that there are no... well... compromising pictures. About the worst they have are the shots of you holding hands and rubbing oil on each other. That's something that two people who are friends would conceivably do, right? Of course, we should touch bases with Ms. Snow's agent and let her know the pictures are coming out as well. That way, we can coordinate the story so it matches. I can't imagine Ms. Snow's people will have any problem with the denial."

"Right," Jake said. "Sounds good. Do it."

Shaver seemed surprised. He had obviously been expecting some sort of a fight over this. "Really?"

"Really," Jake said. "I'm sure you're an expert in this sort of thing. I don't give a shit if the whole world knows I'm dating Mindy, but I don't want to hurt her career. But don't contact her or her agent until I get a chance to talk to her."

"When will you do that?" Shaver asked.

"As soon as she gets home. That should be in about forty minutes or so."

"Uh... okay," Shaver said. "Can I wait with you until..."

"No," Jake said. "I don't want to look at your lying, cheating face any more than I have to. I'll call you at your office."

Shaver looked like he wanted to say something but decided not to. Instead, he simply said, "Okay, I'll do that."

"One other thing, before you go," Jake said.

"What's that?"

"How did that paparazzi prick know we were going to be at that beach?"

"We don't know," Shaver said. "You can be sure that nobody at National tipped him off. They were horrified when they heard about these photos. I suppose its possible that it was nothing more than bad luck. You know? That he just coincidentally happened to be there for reasons of his own and saw you with Mindy."

Jake shook his head. "No way. That's an isolated beach out in the middle of nowhere. The only way he could've just happened to be there at the same time we were was for someone to have told him we were going to be there. Now who might've done that?"

Shaver shrugged. "I see where you're coming from, but who would have the motivation to do that? It doesn't make sense."

"No," Jake said. "It doesn't. But someone called him up and tipped him off. Someone wanted pictures of us together."

But as hard as they stretched their imaginations, neither could think of a single person who had anything to gain by having the relationship go public.

Shaver left — or was rather ejected from the premises. Jake sat and finished his drink. It was the first alcohol he'd had in two days and it imparted his body with a slight buzz. He stood up, taking his empty glass, and walked into the kitchen, where Manny was chopping up onions.

"What you making, Manny?" Jake asked him.

"Chicken Bourgeois," he said, over-pronouncing the French. "It's a casserole with..."

"Cool," Jake said, setting his empty glass down next to the cutting board. "How about you fire me up with another drink?"

"Uh... sure," Manny said, a funny look on his face. Generally if Jake came in and found him busy with something he would make his own drink, or fetch his own cigarettes, or do whatever other minor task he wished done. "As you wish."

"And hang out in the living room when you're done," Jake told him. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yes, sir," Manny said, the funny look turning to a slightly troubled one.

Jake left him and went into the office. Here, in addition to a desk, a filing cabinet, a phone, and a water cooler, was a wall safe. He dialed the combination from memory — a number that Manny knew as well — and opened it. Inside was half an ounce of premium marijuana, a few pill bottles with things such as Valium and morphine and codeine in them (items that Jake never bothered with), and a gold plated case that contained several grams of cocaine and all of the paraphernalia for ingesting it. He took the case down and set it on the desk.

He sat down in the chair and opened the case up. He didn't use cocaine very much now that he was off tour. Realizing how dangerous the stuff was, how he had come to rely on it to get him awake in the mornings and to get him into the mood for the nightly festivities, he had made a conscious and successful effort to slow way down on the white powder. These days he used it maybe once a week, sometimes less, imbibing only when he was going out to a club or when he was having a party. But he needed some now to fortify himself for his coming discussion with Manny.

He dumped out two small lines on the mirror, crushed them up into a fine powder, and then snorted them with the gold plated straw that was part of the kit. He sniffed a few times and then closed up the kit and put it away. By the time he was done with this task he could feel the drug surging through his system. Though not quite as good as Shaver's Bolivian flake, it was still, as the saying went, some pretty good shit, lovingly produced in the illicit warehouses of Columbia, smuggled across the border in shipping containers, and delivered to Jake's safe completely uncut. His aches and pains faded away like an afterimage, his fatigue disappeared and was replaced by elation and energy, and his heart rate, which had been chugging along at a sedate seventy-two beats per minute, kicked up to a hundred and twenty. He felt good, like he could take on the world, which was the proper frame of mind for what needed to be done.

He found Manny sitting on the couch expectantly, as ordered. His fresh drink sat next to the ashtray. Jake sat down and lit a smoke, taking a few deep drags. He then turned to Manny and stared at him.

Manny grew nervous under his gaze, as was the intent. "What's the matter, sir?" he asked. "You seem... uh... upset."

Jake took a sip from his drink and another drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke directly in Manny's face and then set the smoke in the ashtray. "You tapped my phone for them, didn't you?" he asked.

Manny managed to look appalled by this accusation. "Excuse me, sir?" he asked. "Tapped your phone? I would never do anything like that."

"Then how did the snooping little fuck they hired to follow me around know when and where Mindy would be picking me up? How did he just happen to be there when I climbed in her car?"

"He probably staked you out," Manny said. "That's what people like that do."

Jake chuckled a little, though it was far from a friendly chuckle. "You just made your first mistake in the interrogation, Manny," he told him. "You should've asked what sneaking fuck I was talking about, shouldn't you have? After all, you weren't in here for any of the conversation about him. So how do you even know about him unless the people who pay you told you about him?"

Manny blanched as this was pointed out to him. He did recover quickly though. "Mr. Shaver told me about it," he said.

"Uh huh," Jake said. "I believe that about as much as I believe in Santa Clause. But that's not my concern at the moment. My concern is the tap that has been placed on my phone. I want you to show me where it is and then to show me the tape recorder or whatever you're using that is capturing everything I say."

"Jake," Manny said. "You're being paranoid. I would never tap your phone."

"Well somebody has," Jake said. "I might be able to believe that the private eye was staking out my building to follow us when we leave — just maybe — but I can't buy that he just happened to have been in position yesterday when Mindy picked me up at the warehouse. Sorry, that ain't gonna fly. Someone told him that we planned to meet there and the only way that information could have gotten to him was for someone to have been listening in on our phone conversations. Now I know you didn't do something so amateurish as picking up the extension and listening in that way. I was sort of expecting that and listening for the click and it never came. That means there's a tap somewhere."

Manny shook his head. "I suppose its possible," he said. "But I didn't do it. Maybe the private investigator tapped the phone himself."

"Oh I have no doubt that he is the one who installed it," Jake said. "But he had to have been let in here by you, and you are the one who is listening to the tapes and reporting to him."

"Jake," he said. "He doesn't need me to do that. Surely you know that taps can be very sophisticated. He could be receiving radio transmissions of your conversations."

"He could be, but he's not," Jake said. "It would be expensive to do that and he would have to monitor the transmission twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to be sure he caught everything. Wouldn't it be a lot easier for them to use the sneaking little mole they already have in the residence to monitor tapes for them? I mean, what would it take you? A couple of hours a day?"

"I'm not a spy, Jake. I don't know how many times I have to..."

Jake stood up suddenly and grabbed Manny by the front of his shirt. He pulled him bodily to his feet, spun him around, and then slammed him into the nearest wall hard enough to knock two pictures to the floor. Manny's expression registered shocked surprise and the first hints of fear.

"What are you doing?" Manny yelled. "You can't..."

Jake pulled him back and then slammed him into the wall again, harder this time. Another picture went down, the glass in the frame shattering on impact. "I can and I am," Jake yelled at him. "You're going to take me to that fucking tap right now or I'm going to beat the living shit out of you. You want a few scars on that pretty face of yours? I can give them to you."

"I'll call the cops!" Manny threatened, a little breathlessly since the wind had been driven from his lungs. "They'll arrest you!"

"Maybe," Jake said. "And then what? National will put one of their high priced lawyers on the case and get me off. After all, I'm someone who makes millions of dollars for them, ain't I? What do you do for them? You spy on me and stew fucking rabbits for me. You don't make them any money. Anyone could do what you're doing. You are a replaceable asset. And the way the high priced lawyer will get me off is by finding out every sordid thing you've ever done and bringing it out in open court. The media will be all over the case since I'm a celebrity. They'll expose you for the flaming faggot you are and any hope you ever had of being an actor will be destroyed. So go ahead and call the fucking cops. But first, you're going to tell me where that goddamned phone tap is!"

"Jake, there is no..."

Jake spun him around and threw him into the couch. He caught the back of it with his legs, flipped upside down, bounced onto the coffee table, knocking over Jake's drink and the ashtray, and then crashed to the floor. Before he could even begin to get up, Jake was upon him, pushing him back into the floor.

"Where's the fucking tap at?" Jake asked. "That's the last time I ask. You say there isn't one again, I start punching that pretty face."

Manny was now quite terrified. His eyes were bugging out in fear. "All right," he said. "All right! Let go of me!"

"Are you gonna show me where it is?" Jake asked.

"Yes," he said, crying now. "I'll show you. Just don't hit my face."

Jake stood up, jerking Manny to his feet. He pushed him towards the phone in the living room. "This one first. Did he put one in there?"

"They're not in the phones," Manny sobbed. "My God, did you have to be so violent?"

"Apparently I did," Jake said, without remorse. "And what do you mean they're not in the phones?"

"You don't have to put them in the phones," Manny said. "You just have to tap into the line."

"Oh," Jake said. "Guess I've been watching too many spy movies. Show me where the shit is."

Manny, still sobbing, led Jake to the back bedroom of the house, where Manny slept. The room was neat and tastefully decorated. Manny went to his bed and pulled it away from the wall. He picked up a small handheld tape recorder, which was plugged into a socket that had been installed in the wall.

"I thought you had your own phone line," Jake said.

"I do," Manny said. "But the main phone line is back here too. He just cut a hole in the wall, tapped into it, and then installed the tape recorder."

"And you've listened to all of my phone conversations on that thing?" Jake asked. "Listened to them and reported everything to this investigator asshole?"

"Yes," Manny blubbered. "I'm sorry, Jake. I had to do it. It's my job!"

"Uh huh," Jake said. "That's what the boys at Nuremberg all said too." He took the recorder out of Manny's hand and yanked it forcefully out of the wall. He dropped it to the floor and stomped on it with his foot, until it was nothing more than a smashed piece of components and plastic. "You can give that back to them now. Are there any more?"

"No," Manny said. "Why would there be?"

Jake nodded. He believed him. "And is there anything else in this house I need to know about? Bugs in my bedroom? Cameras in the fuckin bathroom?"

Manny shook his head. "They just wanted to know where you were going and what you were doing."

"Okay, and now for the big question. Did you play a little double agent on National and tip off that paparazzi fuck that Mindy and I were going to be at the beach yesterday?"

Again, Manny showed just how far into the loop he was by not expressing any surprise over the fact that a paparazzi had taken shots of the two lovers. Obviously Shaver or, more likely, Crow had already briefed him on that. "Of course not," he said. "That would be career suicide for me to do something like that. Besides, I didn't know what beach you were going to. Ms. Snow never mentioned that on the phone."

He did have a point there. "Okay," Jake said. "This is the deal. You tell Crow and that PI whatever the fuck you need to tell them. I would suggest the truth — that I beat the information out of your snooping ass — but that's up to you. In the future, you will allow no more recording devices or snooping devices of any kind to be installed in this house. You can keep informing on me like you're supposed to, but stick to your own observations. If I find out you're bugging or tapping or doing anything else along those lines, I will throw your ass off the fucking balcony. Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded. "Yes, Jake," he said. "You make yourself clear."

"And do you believe me?"

Manny shuddered. "I believe you."

He called Mindy thirty minutes later. She expressed shock and embarrassment when he told her they had been captured on film, especially when he told her how he knew they had been captured.

"They tapped your phone?" she cried. "Oh my God, Jake. All those things I said to you. All those private conversations! They know everything we said to each other?"

"Well, Manny heard them all," he said. "I don't think he made a transcript though. He just reported the who and the where of the meetings."

"I still feel violated," she said. "My God. Listening in on private phone calls? What kind of people do you work for?"

"I think we've been over that one," he said. "But trust me when I say that it won't be happening again."

"How did you get him to admit it?" she asked. He had left his interrogation method out of the story.

"We had a heart to heart talk," Jake told her. "But enough about me. What's this going to do to you? What's our next move?"

She sighed. "I suppose I going to have to call Georgette and make a confession to her. It's her they're going to be calling when they decide to break the story. I think the best thing to do is to tell them that you and I are friends, that we met at the premier and found out we both liked the beach so we decided to go there together. After all, they didn't film us doing anything... you know... naughty. We didn't even kiss." She giggled. "Not there anyway."

Jake smiled despite everything that had happened. "Yes, it's a good thing they didn't catch our action a little later that day. Anyway, that's the same thing Shaver said we should tell them. Just good friends, nothing more. But will anyone believe it?"

"Of course not," she said. "People always want to assume the worst."

Jake did not point out that in this case, the assumption would be right. "Won't that hurt your image?"

"Maybe a little," she said. "I don't think it will be a fatal blow though. What about your image?"

"Well, they might not invite me to the next convention on Satanism and Practical Human Sacrifice, but I didn't have anything to wear to it anyway."

She laughed. "Oh you," she said. "Really though, is this going to hurt you?"

"No," he said. "It won't hurt a bit. I told you, I don't give a crap about my image. I'm just a musician. I try to let my music speak for itself."

"But your record company isn't happy."

"Screw them. They're never happy about anything. There is one thing I'm wondering about though."

"What's that?" she asked.

"How did that photographer know we were going to be there? Manny couldn't have told him because he didn't know where we were going. Did you tell anyone you were going to that particular beach?"

"Well, I told Carmella to pack me up to go to the beach, but I didn't tell her which one. And even if I did, Carmella would never snitch me out to the paparazzi. Not in a million years."

"Does anyone else know that you go there?"

"A couple of girlfriends of mine, but I didn't tell any of them I would be there that day, let alone that I would be there with Jake Kingsley."

"Hmm," he said, shaking his head. "It's just weird that he knew to be there. Someone had to have tipped him off."

"Unless he really was there completely by coincidence," she said. "Who knows? Stranger things have happened."

"I suppose," Jake said. "But it just doesn't ring true."

It turned out that Shaver's prediction was the correct one. A reporter from American Watcher called Shaver's office early Monday morning, letting him know that certain photographs of Jake Kingsley in the company of Mindy Snow on a certain isolated beach were in his possession and the tabloid was planning on printing some of them along with a story in the following Friday's edition. Would Mr. Kingsley care to comment for the record? Shaver told the reporter that Mr. Kingsley would not care to comment and that the only comment he, Shaver, was offering was that Jake and Mindy had met at the premier of Thinner Than Water and had since become friends — and only friends.

"Are you denying that there is a romantic relationship between them?" the reporter asked.

"I am absolutely denying it," Shaver said firmly.

"But the pictures show them rubbing suntan lotion on each other and walking hand in hand."

"Those are things that male and female friends are known to do," Shaver said. "There is no romantic involvement between the two of them at all."

The reporter pestered a little more, but Shaver refused to comment further.

Georgette, Mindy's agent, received a call from the same reporter only minutes later. She too denied any romantic involvement between the two stars. She expanded a little bit on Shaver's friendship explanation by stating that Jake had mentioned to Mindy at the movie premier that he loved the beach but had a hard time finding one that wasn't swarming with people. Since Mindy knew about the isolation of Point Dume, she offered to take him there.

"But what about the hand-holding and the suntan oil rubbing?" he'd asked her. "That seems a little more than friendly."

"Mindy is a little naïve about men's attention toward her," Georgette replied. "I'm sure that Mr. Kingsley had something other than friendship on his mind, but with Mindy, I assure you that she was treating such gestures of affection as nothing more than a brother-sister type of interaction. She took Mr. Kingsley back to his home afterward and that was the end of it."

"Did Jake try anything with her?" the reporter asked.

"I am not at liberty to say what Mr. Kingsley might have attempted or not attempted," she said. "But I can state with absolute certainty that he would have been shot down in flames if he did. Mindy would never become romantically involved with such a person as Jake Kingsley."

By Tuesday afternoon word had leaked about the upcoming article and pictures. The entertainment shows, the celebrity gossip rags, and even the legitimate national news programs were all reporting that pictures of Jake Kingsley with Mindy Snow on an isolated beach were forthcoming in the next issue of American Watcher. Descriptions of what the pictures would show were part of the leak and the public grew excited at the prospect of seeing Mindy Snow in a bikini.

Wednesday was the third day of Intemperance's recording session. When the limousine dropped the band members off in front of the National Records building that morning, a group of paparazzi, news reporters, and print reporters were gathered out front waiting for them. Flashbulbs exploded and questions were shouted.

"Tell us about you and Mindy Snow," one demanded.

"Did you kiss her?" asked another.

"Did you try anything with her?" asked another.

"How long have you and Mindy been seeing each other?"

Jake weaved his way through the throng like a halfback on a running play. Only when he reached the door did he turn around and give a brief statement.

"Mindy and I are just friends," he said. "Nothing more. I didn't try anything with her and she didn't try anything with me. That is all."

The same throng was there when they left at 6:30 that evening. And they were there the next morning as well. Jake talked to them no further, but they didn't give up. They showed up everywhere he went, asking, shouting, and snapping pictures. Matt was even cornered by them at the Pink Flamingo on Thursday night, while he was partying and scoping out the likely groupie prospects for his enjoyment that evening. He offered perhaps the most colorful statement on the matter.

"There ain't nothing between Jake and Mindy Snow," he told them. "I guarantee it."

When asked how he could be so sure, he replied, "Because me and Jake are tight with each other, you know? If he would've tapped into something as juicy as that, he damn sure would've given me all the stinky details."

Advertising rates for that week's American Watcher were jacked up to almost double what they normally were and they sold out every square inch within hours. On Friday morning the issue was released for sale. All across the country it was placed in the usual locations: supermarket checkout displays, newsstands, convenience store shelves. The issues flew off the stands almost as fast as they could be stocked. Extra printings were ordered and they sold out as well. More than three million were bought in the first twenty-four hours — a new record. By week's end more than nine million copies were purchased — another record.

The headline on the front page proclaimed, in extra large print, JAKE KINGSLEY AND MINDY SNOW PHOTOGRAPHED ON DESERTED BEACH! In smaller print, below this, was a sub-headline that read, THE YOUNG CELEBS DENY ANY ROMANTIC INVOLVMENT. WHAT DO YOU THINK?? Below this, taking up most of the available space, was a high-resolution picture of the two of them walking hand in hand in the breaking waves. The shot had been taken from the front and had caught them gazing at each other and smiling in that goofy way that lovers smile at each other. It was the perfect teaser shot. Mindy looked alluring and gorgeous in her red bikini, her young breasts — which a generation of adolescents had drooled over while watching The Slow Lane — pushing the cups out in a most appetizing way. FULL PHOTO SPREAD INSIDE! promised yet another headline at the bottom of the page.

And indeed there was a full photo spread. It took up five pages of the issue, starting with Mindy removing her shirt and pants. There was a shot of Jake rubbing oil on her back and one of Mindy rubbing oil on his back. There was one of them lying on their backs on the beach, the angle suggesting it had been taken from the dunes behind them. There were several hand-in-hand shots as they walked in the waves. There were shots of them playing in the surf, one in which Jake had his hands on her waist and was lifting her in the air. Each shot had a caption beneath which explained for the visually impaired exactly what was taking place.

The article that accompanied the pictures was short — less than a thousand words. It claimed that world-renowned photojournalist Paul Peterson had been on "sabbatical" at his favorite beach when — to his utter surprise — Jake Kingsley and Mindy Snow had shown up in a Porsche 911 convertible and set up camp less than fifty yards from him. Mr. Peterson stated for the record that the two "celebs" frolicked on the beach for more than three hours, eating a picnic lunch, rubbing oil on each other's body, and playing in the surf like two people who are intimately familiar with each other. They then "climbed back in Mr. Kingsley's sports car" (apparently they didn't realize it was Mindy's car — or if they did, they thought it sounded better if they didn't) and "headed off into the sunset, looking like they had further business to attend to". There was then a brief background about Jake in which the cocaine from the butt-crack allegations were rehashed (in case anyone had forgotten about that) and a notation that the two celebs had been seen talking together for an extended time during the premier of Thinner Than Water in Los Angeles (a story which had been printed in American Watcher the week after the premier but had been largely forgotten at this point). The official statements from Shaver and Georgette rounded out the story.

"Goddamn," Matt said that Friday morning as the band — having just arrived at the recording studio — looked at the pictures for the first time. "She really is a tasty piece of poontang."

"I used to masturbate to her on The Slow Lane," Bill added. "I can see now that I was justified and correct in doing such."

"Did she let you spooge on her tits, Jake?" Coop asked. "Tell me you did that at least once."

"Yeah," said Jake, who had shared the fact of his all night copulation with the band but not the details. "I did that at least once."

While they were all holding up their hands for high-fives at this revelation, Crow came in the room, his dark sunglasses hiding his expression. "Those fucking reporters are everywhere out there," he proclaimed. "You didn't say anything to them, did you, Jake?"

"Just the standard, 'no comment'."

"Good," Crow said. "Keep that up and hopefully this will blow over in a few weeks. The most important thing is for you to stay well away from that girl from here on out."

"Excuse me?" Jake said, his eyes starting to glare a little. He and Crow had already had a long and heartfelt discussion about the tap on his phone and the PI hired to tail him (Crow had assured him it was all Doolittle's idea and that it wouldn't happen again).

Crow looked at him strangely. "Well, obviously you can't take the risk of being seen with her anymore. The photos they got are damaging enough."

"If she wants to continue seeing me, then we will continue seeing each other," Jake told him. "You can't dictate who I do and do not socialize with. We've already been over this."

"Jake," Crow said. "Try to think of Matt and Bill and Coop and Darren. You may not care about your own career, but you're hurting the rest of the band too. Dating little Miss Sweet and Innocent will cause your fans to lose respect for the entire band."

"Whoa there," Matt spoke up. "Hold the fucking phone, dickweed. Don't go invoking my fuckin name in this shit and trying to claim that I have a problem with who Jake is slipping his salami to. If he wants to hose down Snow White with all the fuckin forest animals singing to the rhythm of his balls slapping, that's his business. It won't do shit for our image, either good or bad. Our music is what sells the albums and that ain't changing."

"Yeah," Darren said righteously. "What he fuckin said!"

"Goddamn right," said Coop. "I'm proud of Jake for scoring with her! Don't be telling me what I should and shouldn't mind him doing."

"I agree as well," Bill said. "Who Jake chooses to copulate with is his prerogative. I fail to see any intrinsic harm in our popular image secondary to his choice of companionship."

"Well said, Nerdly," Matt said.

"Thank you," Bill replied.

Crow next tried to play on Jake's sensitivities toward Mindy herself. "What about her career?" he asked. "Did you ever think of that? However badly this revelation harms your image, it's ten times worse for her. She's supposed to be a respectable girl-next-door. If a sexual relationship with you becomes confirmed her fans won't take her seriously anymore. Parents won't let their kids watch her movies."

This did pull on Jake's conscience the tiniest bit. After all, he had developed rather strong feelings for Mindy and did not like to think he was doing irreparable harm to her career. He did not let Crow know this however, nor did he let Crow's argument sway him.

"It's nice of you to think of Mindy's image," he said, "but how about we let Mindy be the one to worry about that? If she thinks its too much, she'll call me and tell me its over. If she does that, I'll respect her wishes. But until then, you can just keep your nose out of my business."

Crow wanted to argue further but he'd already learned enough about Jake's stubbornness to know it would be futile. "Will you at least try to be discrete?" he asked.

"Sure," Jake promised. "For Mindy's sake, I will be discrete. I'll be the epitome of discretion."