Climbing the Rock

Chapter 11A: The Razor

Jake stopped the Corvette before the closed gate that guarded access to Mindy's property. There was a mailbox, a newspaper delivery box, and a small intercom box that could be used to communicate with the inside of the house. Jake pushed the intercom button, holding it down for several seconds.

He hoped he was wrong about what he was thinking — he hoped that sincerely and with all his heart — but he rather suspected that he wasn't. No matter how hard his brain tried to twist and distort the information into something favorable, there were still two irrefutable damnations it could not get around. Mindy was the only person who had known that she and Jake were going to be at Point Dume and she was the only person who had known they were going to be at Lake Casita. And Paul Peterson, the "world renowned photojournalist" had somehow shown up, camera in hand, at both places.

It was conceivable that coincidence was at work here. Peterson might have just happened to be on sabbatical at Point Dume at that particular moment in time and it was within the realm of possibility that one of the boat rental employees had tipped him off about Jake and Mindy renting a cabin cruiser and heading out onto the lake. If Jake were trying to prove his suspicions in a court of law he would certainly be shot down at the preliminary hearing stage. But this was not a court of law. This was real life and in real life Jake believed in a thing called Occam's Razor — a concept which stated: when presented with two (or more) possible explanations for an event, and with all other things being equal, the most likely explanation is usually the correct one. It had been the application of this concept to the question of how National Records' private snoop had been able to follow Jake and Mindy around that had led Jake to the correct conclusion that his phone had been tapped and that Manny had not just assisted in the placement of this tap but was also actively monitoring it. And when he applied Occam's Razor to the question of how Paul Peterson was mysteriously finding his way to the secluded meeting places of Jake and Mindy — meeting places that only Mindy knew about in advance — the simplest and most likely explanation, and therefore most likely the correct one, was that Mindy herself was contacting the photographer and tipping him off. Jake had no idea why Mindy would do such a thing but that was irrelevant to Occam and his razor. The why would be answered later perhaps.

There was no answer to his first intercom buzz. He pushed it again, holding the button down for a full ten seconds this time. This did the trick.

"Hello?" came Carmella's heavily accented voice. "Can I help you?"

He pushed the talk button. "It's Jake, Carmella," he said. "I need to see Mindy right away."

"Jake?" she said, her accent thinning considerably now that she knew who was there. "We weren't expecting you. Did you call?"

"No, I didn't," he replied. "Is Mindy there? This is really kind of important."

"Hold on," she said. There was silence on the box for the better part of two minutes. Finally, a click and Carmella's voice again. "Jake?"

"Still here," he said.

"Come on up."

The gate opened and he drove through, following the narrow access road up to the guest slot in front of the house. He left the keys in the car and walked to the front door. Carmella opened it before he could knock. She looked nervous and slightly guilty for some reason, her cheerfulness at greeting him somewhat forced.

"Where's Mindy?" he asked.

"She's in her bedroom," she said. "She said to go ahead and send you back."

"Thank you," he said, heading that way.

"Would you like anything to drink, Jake?" Carmella asked him. "Or perhaps a snack?"

"No thanks," he said curtly, not looking back at her.

He opened the door to the bedroom — a room where he'd spent many an hour in sexual overload — and beheld the enigmatic actress sitting on her bed. She was dressed in a red velour robe, her pretty legs crossed in a lady-like manner. Her hair was wrapped in a white towel and her face was void of make-up though still quite beautiful. She had a serious expression on her face.

"Hey, Jake," she said, looking at him. "What brings you here unannounced? Aren't you supposed to be recording?"

"I left early today," he said, closing the door behind him and entering the room.

She nodded, unsurprised. "I assume you saw this week's American Watcher?"

"Oh yes," he said. "I found it quite interesting, especially the article."

"The article?"

"Uh huh. It tells a lot when one reads between the lines."

Her expression soured a little and then she shrugged. "Well, I guess the jig is up. You figured me out, didn't you? I was kind of expecting you to."

He stared at her. "You're not going to deny it? That you were the one who tipped off Paul Peterson about the beach and the lake?"

She shook her head. "Not really much point in denying it, is there? Yes, I tipped him off both times. I arranged for those photos of us to be taken. Georgette figured it out this morning too. I got off the phone with her about an hour ago. Man, was she pissed off."

"I can sympathize with her," Jake said. "I'm a bit pissed off myself."

She shrugged again. "Sorry," she said. "I wasn't doing it to piss you off, or to piss Georgette off. I hope you'll understand that."

Her casual, matter-of-fact tone was infuriating. She had just admitted to lying and deceit and was shrugging it off like it was nothing. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and took a deep breath, commanding himself to keep his temper under control. It held for the time being.

"Why?" he asked her. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Why do we do anything in Hollywood?" she replied. "For publicity."

"Publicity?" he asked. "You just destroyed your image! You've already lost one film role because you're seeing me and you'll probably lose any others they were considering you for now that there are photos of you traipsing around naked with the satanic, butt-crack sniffing rock musician."

She scoffed disgustedly, shaking her head. "You don't understand, do you?"

"No," he said. "I don't. Please make me understand."

She patted the bed next to her. "Why don't you come and sit down?"

"I'll stand," he said.

She frowned a little but didn't push the issue. "All right," she said. "The reason I arranged for those photos was because I didn't want any of those stupid roles they were trying to set me up in."

"You didn't want them?"

"No," she said. "Jesus, you heard what those fucking flicks were about. A film about a girl's softball team? A film about a girl and her horse? They're a bunch of cutesy, do-gooder, feel good films that no one but teenagers will ever watch. Meanwhile there are dozens of other films that will start production soon that are worth a shit. Films about gambling and war and nuclear weapons and hot, torrid love affairs between people who are not supposed to be having them. Films that are going to be nominated for academy awards next year, that will win academy awards next year. Films that need strong female leads and supports. Films that I can't even get a reading for because I'm cutesy little Mindy Snow who used to be on The Slow Lane, who looks like a fucking spokesgirl for the abstinence movement and the good Christian lifestyle. I'm tired of that shit, Jake. I'm tired of being trapped by my own image. So I'm forcing the world to accept my new image. I'm a sexy, provocative girl and I'm a damn good actress. I deserve more than just fuzzy little family movies."

"So you used me for this?" he said, though it was not a question. "You set me up and displayed me like a prop in one of your films?"

"Well, that's kind of a harsh way of putting it," she said, "but... yeah, I guess I did."

He clenched his fists again, took another deep breath. When he was semi-composed once more he asked, "So when did you decide to do this?"

"Quite some time ago," she said. "When you were on all the front pages for snorting coke out of that girl's ass and when all the parents who love my movies were carrying signs out in front of your concerts, that's when I knew you were the one. I insisted that Georgette invite you to the premier. She didn't want to at first but I convinced her that it was a good idea since we do have some fan demographic crossover."

"You were planning this before you ever met me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "You were the perfect bad-boy to change my image. I thought about going after Matt since he's got an even worse reputation than you, but that would've been too much, too shocking. That probably would have had the opposite effect than I intended."

"So... so the wholesome, old-fashioned girl bit you hit me with at the premier, and on the phone, and on our dates. That wasn't real?"

"Oh, Jake," she said with pity in her voice. "I'm an actress, remember? I figured out in our first conversation that you enjoyed the little miss innocent act I was putting on at the premier so I just carried it out a little further until I had you hooked on me. It was easy."

Jake was stunned by the casual, almost off-handed way she admitted her deceit. He had thought he was falling in love with her and she had just been pretending the entire time in order to help her career along. "This is unbelievable," he said to her.

"I'm sorry, Jake," she said. "I wasn't doing any of this to hurt you."

"You know," he said, "I've been used by women before. What man hasn't? I gave a year of my life to a girl who dated me because it pissed off her dad. I've slept with a hundred groupies who were just using me to say they fucked a rock star. But you..." He shook his head. "My god, Mindy. The coldness and the calculation that you put into it is beyond anything I've ever had to deal with before. I'm just a tool to you, nothing more. You played with my emotions and manipulated me just so you could position me in front of a camera for you. I don't think there's even a word for a girl like you."

"Jake," she said, softly. "You don't understand."

"I do understand," he said. "I'm gonna go call for a limo to come pick me up. I'll leave the Corvette outside with the key in it. When they send me the pink slip, I'll sign it over to you and have Shaver mail it to you." He turned to go.

"Jake," she said, "let me finish what I have to say."

"You have finished," he told her.

"No, I haven't, Jake. For God's sake, stop being so dramatic. That's my job! Turn around and look at me."

He stopped his trek toward the door. Slowly he turned around.

"I'm being honest now," she said. "Would you prefer that I lie to you and try to tell you a big bullshit story about how it was all a spur-of-the-moment thing to call Peterson up? I lied to you in the beginning and I started this relationship with you for less than honorable reasons. I admit that freely and I'm sorry that life is so unfair that people like me have to do things like that to people like you."

He said nothing, just continued to stare at her.

"But I'm not cold and emotionless, Jake. I started this relationship for the publicity, that's true, but as we went along I really learned to like you. I like you a lot, Jake. I like being with you, talking to you, and I especially like fucking you. You're the first man I've ever met who is able to keep up with me in bed. I didn't intend to fuck you after that day on the beach but having your hands all over me all day made me so horny for you that I had to have you. I was never faking anything in the bedroom with you. In fact, I'm wet right now just looking at you."

Jake had to fight down a tinge of desire that tried to flood him at her words. Looking at her beautiful face, seeing those smooth, sexy legs, the painted toenails, seeing the jiggling bulges beneath her short robe that told him there was nothing on beneath it, knowing the sensuousness and aggressive sexuality she was capable of, it was hard not to become aroused when she told him he was making her wet, but he kept his composure.

"It's over, Mindy," he told her. "I'm not a puppet on a string who jumps when you tell me to. I'm sorry that I'm screwing up your little plan, but you can count me out."

"Jake," she said, her brown eyes peering meaningfully into his, "you're being dramatic again. My plan has already been successful. There are naked pictures of you and I together. If you leave right now, it won't matter. The damage I wished to inflict upon my image has already been done."

"Good," he said. "Then you don't need me anymore."

"Exactly," she said. "You just made my point for me."

Jake stared at her in confusion. "How's that?"

"I don't need you anymore for what I originally intended," she said. "It's over and done. The pictures have been taken, my reputation has been irrevocably altered to what I wish. There is no reason for me to continue seeing you except for the obvious one."

"The obvious one?"

She smiled seductively. "I want to keep seeing you because I like you," she said. "I am in a state of incredible infatuation over you. I long to hear your voice every day, to feel your body against mine, to feel your cock driving into my body. Why do you think I bought you that car? I didn't have to do that in order for my plan to work. I mean, sure, it helped to create another sighting of us together, but I could've done that anywhere. I bought you the car because I'm hot for you and because I wanted to do something for you... something to make you... to make you like me."

He shook his head violently. "I can't be with you after this, Mindy. You took advantage of me, played me, made a fool out of me. I'm done playing games with you. It's time for me to go."

"You don't have to be faithful to me," she said, uncrossing her legs, letting her robe ride up a bit on her thighs. "I know you're going to go out on the road again. I know there are women you'll want to fuck. I'm not going to stop you from doing that. In fact, I encourage you to do it. Hell, its more practice for when you come back to me."

Jake looked at her, mouth agape. "This is insane," he said. "You think I'm going to keep seeing you after what you've just told me?"

"You don't have to love me or anything," she said. "You just have to fuck me. Admit it, I'm the best you've ever had, aren't I?"

He could hardly deny that. "You are very... enthusiastic about sex," he said. "But that doesn't change the fact that..."

"Why don't you fuck me right now, Jake?" she asked, letting her legs fall apart a little, just enough to let him visualize her upper thighs.

"Mindy," he said, dragging his eyes away from the appetizing sight. "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say."

"I understand," she told him. "I understand everything. I had myself shaved today."

This threw him off track a bit. "Shaved?" he said.

"My pussy," she said. "It's all nice and smooth now. Not a hair on it. It's something I like to do every now and then. Today seemed to be the proper occasion. Would you like to see it?"

"No," he said. "I wouldn't."

But she knew otherwise. She slowly pulled the tie on her robe and let it fall open, baring her body to his gaze. She slowly spread her legs, showing him her swollen vaginal lips. Her entire crotch was indeed completely bare of hair.

"Jesus," he muttered, unable to drag his eyes away from it. In 1983 it was very rare for a woman to shave her genitals. Jake, despite all of the women he'd enjoyed over the past year and in his pre-fame life, had never seen a shaved pussy in the flesh. He found himself licking his lips, felt his manhood stirring in his jeans.

"You like it?" Mindy asked, opening her legs a little wider. "I think it's sexy."

"Its very nice," he said, his voice sounding far away. "But it doesn't change anything. You're just trying to use sex to get what you want from me."

"Did you notice," she asked, "that I said 'I had myself shaved'? I didn't do it myself."

"You... you didn't?"

She shook her head, letting the manicured middle finger of her left hand dip down and slide between her lips. She drug it slowly upward, over her clit and up onto the bare skin just above her slit. It left a trail of moisture behind. "Nope," she said. "Carmella does it for me." She put her finger in her mouth and licked the juices off.

Jake's little head was now quite in the game and was calling for a strategic huddle. He tried to fight the rebellion but his eyes could not stop staring at her smooth, sexy, aroused pussy. His mind had locked onto the thought of Carmella kneeling between Mindy's naked thighs and shaving her.

"That's right," Mindy said, putting her finger back down and stroking herself again. "Carmella was in here doing the deed for me. In fact, she was just finishing up when you buzzed the intercom. She took my razor and ran it all over me, from my ass to the top, and along the sides of my lips. She had to take my lips in her hands in order to pull them tight."

"Mindy..." he said, but he couldn't think of anything to say after it.

"I'm not into having sex with women, of course," she said, letting the tip of her finger slide between her lips. "Its been offered. Veronica wanted to eat me out in my trailer while we were filming Thinner Than Water. I turned her down — politely. But there is something about a woman's hands on my body that I like, even if I don't want their mouth and tongue on me. I let Veronica feel my tits once while we were showering. It felt nice. She played with herself while she squeezed them. Made herself come right there in the shower stall." She smiled with sexual nostalgia and slid her finger a little further inside of her pussy. "I will admit that was hot. I played with myself when she was done, right in front of her. She tried to kiss me but I wouldn't let her."

"Jesus Christ," Jake said, licking his lips unconsciously, knowing he should just turn around and leave but unable to muster the willpower to do so.

"But anyway, back to Carmella," Mindy said, her right hand going to her nipple where it started to pull and twist it. Her left began to slide a finger in and out of her pussy, almost casually. "I think she knows how much I like feeling her touch me. She's always gentle and she never complains when I ask her to shave me. And when she's done... mmmm... you know what she does?"

"What?" Jake squeaked.

"She takes baby oil and she rubs it all over my pussy. You notice how soft and silky it looks right now? That's because she just got done rubbing it down before you came in. She slid her fingers in and out of me to make sure it got everywhere. It felt so good, Jake. I almost came all over her hand. In fact, I bet if you would've gotten close enough to her, you would have smelled my pussy all over her fingers."

Jake broke at this point. The visual image of Carmella fingering her coupled with the actual image of her playing with her shaven pussy was too much for him to take. He fell on her, burying his face between her legs, his tongue stabbing out and licking her juices. She squealed in delight at the contact.

He ended up staying for dinner and for a long, extended dessert. When he left at eleven o'clock that night he was behind the wheel of his Corvette and they had plans to get together the following weekend.

On the following Monday morning Shaver and Georgette, meeting each other in person for the first time, gave an impromptu press conference in front of the National Records building shortly after Jake and the rest of the band arrived and fought their way through the throng awaiting them. The statements the two agents gave were short and to the point. They admitted that Jake and Mindy were indeed involved in a romantic relationship with each other and that their previous denials regarding this relationship were out of a desire to keep their private lives private. Both Shaver and Georgette managed to sound indignant and angry as they chastised the media for sticking their noses into the business of two consenting adults. Neither Jake nor Mindy were present at the press conference although prepared statements — again having primarily to do with their wish for privacy — were read. There was no question period after the statements were given but that did not stop the press from shouting them at the retreating agents.

"When did they first become intimate?"

"Did they have sex together the night of the Thinner Than Water premier?"

"Does Mindy snort cocaine with Jake?"

"Are they considering marriage?"

Strangely enough, or perhaps not so strangely, the number of paparazzi and media people hounding Jake and Mindy decreased dramatically once the admission of their involvement was released. There were still paparazzi popping up whenever they were together, and there were occasional groups of reporters and videographers shouting at them and trying to catch them on tape, but they stopped showing up in front of Jake's building and at the National Records building. They stopped hounding them when they went out to clubs or restaurants together. Now that the world knew they were together and they had acknowledged it, the focus had turned from merely catching them in each other's presence to simply keeping a loose eye out for scandalous behavior.

Jake went back to ignoring Shaver, talking to him only when there was something new to release to the public — which wasn't often. Georgette, however, like any good agent, quickly embraced the new reality her client had forged and began seeking ways to shape it for the best advantage. Jake noticed their efforts the first time they went to a club together after the admission. Mindy wore a red dress that was short in the legs and displayed an impressive amount of her very impressive cleavage. Instead of sipping demurely from a glass of diet cola like she usually did in public, she ordered Long Island iced teas and drank several of them in rapid succession. She also chain smoked cigarettes from Jake's pack and made a point of swearing whenever a likely member of the press was near.

"All this is going to get you better movie roles?" he asked her after her third drink and her sixth cigarette.

"Goddamn right," she told him. "The public needs to see me as an adult. A hot, sexy, alluring adult. Actresses who look like adults get adult roles." She put out her latest cigarette. "Come on. Let's dance. Let's show these people what we can do."

What they could do on the dance floor was quite a lot. Jake, like most musicians, had natural rhythm. He had also been forced to take an intense accelerated course in modern dance before going out on the Descent Into Nothing tour. His body, used to brutal aerobic workouts and grueling ninety-minute sets on the stage was in excellent shape despite the cigarettes and the booze he imbibed in. And he certainly knew how to move his body to the music. Mindy, though not a musician, had more than three years of dance lessons under her belt as part of her dramatic arts training. She too was in superb shape secondary to thrice weekly workout sessions. The first tune they danced to was We Got the Beat, by The Go-Go's. They moved against and around each other with a fluid-like precision, their shoulders, hips, legs, and feet moving almost in unison.

The crowd was impressed with the two of them, so impressed, in fact, that for the next song — Physical, by Olivia Newton-John — they did something that Jake thought was only done on movies like Saturday Night Fever and Flashdance. They formed a circle around the two celebrities, clapping their hands to the beat, and letting them dance alone in the middle of the floor. Jake felt exposed like he never did onstage, felt all the eyes looking at him, staring at him. He prayed he wouldn't do anything stupid or nerdy. He kept the neutral expression on his face and let his body and his instincts for music take over. He didn't particularly care for Physical — not in a million years would he have chosen it as the song to dance to before a crowd — but he at least knew it well since the American public had been inundated with it over the past eighteen months far beyond what a reasonable culture could be expected to tolerate. Mindy knew the song well too, and the two of them twisted and turned, spun and swayed, doing what they did best: performing. As the song played out they began to get more daring, more risqué. Their bodies moved closer together, so Mindy's breasts were virtually dragging up and down his chest, their pelvic regions ground together, and their hands moved up and down each other's backs, dipping dangerously close to the border between lower back and ass. Flashbulbs began to fire off around them but neither noticed, so intent were they upon their dancing. And when the song finally ended the entire club erupted in spontaneous applause, cheering and whistling at them.

"That was fuckin' fab!" Mindy yelled, loud enough for anyone within twenty feet to hear. "Let's go get another drink."

They went back to his place after the club that night and he took her less than thirty seconds after they walked in the door, pushing her against his couch, lifting her red dress above her waist, pulling her matching red panties to the side, and slamming into her while she panted and yelled obscenities to the room.

In the very next issue of Celebrity News magazine, there was a picture on the cover of the two of them on the dance floor, Mindy's breasts pushed against his lower chest, her lips less than two inches from his neck, his hands just above her ass. JAKE AND MINDY GET 'PHYSICAL' read the caption. The article that accompanied it was four pages long and described every detail of their dance.

"Is that what you were after?" Jake asked her the following Sunday, as they paddled surfboards out beyond the breakers at Point Dume. "Pictures of innocent Mindy Snow dancing dirty?"

"That's exactly what I was after," she said. "You did good."

"I'm glad I make such a good prop," he said sourly.

She gave him a hurt look. "Jake," she said, "we've been over this. You know I'm not seeing you just for the publicity. I told you that the day you found out. I'm with you because I like being with you. The publicity is now just a pleasant side-effect."

"Yeah," he said, partially mollified. "I guess so. Come on. Let's catch a wave."

In truth, he wasn't quite sure what to think of Mindy anymore. He couldn't tell from day to day, from minute to minute whether this entire thing was just an act or whether, as she claimed, it had merely started out that way and had evolved into a real relationship. She was as passionate as she could possibly be in the bedroom and when they were alone together — completely alone, out of the public eye — she was just as sweet and caring as she'd always been. They still talked on the phone for hours at a time during the week when they couldn't get together. It was when they were in public, however, or when there was even the slightest possibility that a member of the public might be watching them, that the whole relationship seemed contrived and scripted. Even now, as they were floating a hundred yards offshore of a relatively isolated beach, her mannerisms, her movements, even her clothing, were all designed to project the image she was fomenting. She was wearing a skimpy blue bikini that flirted with the local community standards of decency. She frequently held hands with him, or rubbed his back, or stole kisses, or grabbed his butt, not out of spontaneity or affection, he was sure, but out of the hope that someone back on shore was seeing her do it or even photographing it.

Subsequently, when he began to get irritated with these phony overtures of affection — as he was getting quicker and quicker to do with each public appearance — he would try to reject them. He would twist away from her kissing mouth, or pull his hand from her questing fingers, or grow surly and silent to her conversational gambits. At this point she would usually chastise him, hissing words through clenched teeth that was "spoiling the image."

Sometimes — usually in the midst of one of these public put-ons — he would swear he couldn't take it anymore. I'm not an actor, he would tell himself, and I'm tired of pretending. Several times he had decided it was time to put a stop to it. That's it, he would vow, as soon as we get home I'm breaking up with her. I can't take this anymore. And then they would get back to his place — or her place, depending on what they had been doing and where they had been doing it — and she would turn her raw sexuality, her deviant nastiness, full force upon him and his will would wither, his resolve crumble, under the onslaught of black eroticism. That was where she had him and she knew it, and she had no compunctions about using it.

On one occasion she had gone out onto his balcony, pushed off her pants and panties, and then sat on the balcony rail, her legs spread widely. He fucked her right there, holding onto her waist and pounding in and out, knowing that a simple mis-balance would send her careening downward to crash on the sidewalk three hundred feet below. On another occasion she had dressed in the white blouse and hoop skirt she used to wear on The Slow Lane, her hair done in exactly the fashion her character had been known for, the standard naïve clichés like "gee willikers" and "goodness gracious" coming out of her lips in exactly the right tone and inflection as he lifted the skirt and slid into her body. No matter how old the public posturing and contrived mannerisms got, the sex remained quite fresh and Jake, led by the penis, remained an official part of her life.

Recording for The Thrill of Doing Business was officially and totally completed on October 28. Since Descent Into Nothing was still holding firm in the top ten of album sales — it had slipped from number one but was steady at number three — and since four of the songs from Descent were still enjoying saturation airplay nationwide, Crow told the band Thrill would not be released until at least January 31, and possibly not until the beginning of March.

"Now we're going to shoot three videos for the first three scheduled single releases," he told them, "and we're going to have you do an extensive rehearsal for the upcoming tour, but we won't start any of that until November 16. Until then, you boys are officially on vacation. Tell us where you want to go and we'll arrange for it. You've earned it."

They were glad for the vacation but no one wasted any sentimentality on National's generosity. Their vacation expenses would of course be deducted from their recoupable expenses accounts.

Matt, Coop, and Darren all elected to go to an exclusive resort in Rio de Janeiro. Jake and Bill made different plans. They both wanted to go home and visit their families. Crow, when given this request, attempted to veto it on the grounds that there would be no favorable publicity resulting from such a trip.

"Going home is boring," he told them. "We want shots of you running rampant through some tropical beach somewhere, getting in trouble with the tourists girls and the locals. Visiting your mom and dad is just a little too wholesome, don't you think?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jake said. "I thought this vacation thing was supposed to be so we could rest and relax before going out on the road. I wasn't aware it was nothing but a publicity angle for you."

"Everything is a publicity angle," Crow told him. "You know that. Now look, why don't we set you two up at a resort down in Cabo? If you really want to see your parents, I'll arrange to have them flown up here for a couple of days when you get back."

They declined his kind offer and Mindy came to their rescue. Stating that she thought it was high time she met her boyfriend's parents, she booked the three of them on a private jet and they flew to Heritage County airport on November 1. The trip was a disaster pretty much from the point they landed.

Jake looked out the aircraft window as they taxied to the general aviation terminal and saw no less than six news vans, their antennas poking up into the sky, and nearly fifty reporters, photographers, and videographers standing between them and the terminal entrance.

"Holy shit," he said as the plane came to a stop and all the cameras pointed at the door. "How did they know we were going to be here?"

Mindy gave a nervous little giggle. "Well... uh... actually, I think Georgette might've... you know... tipped them a little."

"Georgette told them we were coming here?" he asked, feeling his anger start to rise.

"She thought it might be a good idea for the press to know I was coming home with you to meet your parents," she said. "You know? It gives the relationship a little more weight, makes it seem serious. It's one of those milestone things."

"Oh my God," Jake said, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding anything but. "I didn't know there would be that many of them out there."

He held his tongue for the time being. They stepped out into the throng and the cameras began to fire like machine guns. The reporters began shouting their inane questions.

"Are you going to meet Jake's parent's right now, Mindy?"

"Is it true you're going to announce your engagement to them?"

"What about the reports that you're pregnant?"

"Do you think your mother will approve of Mindy, Jake?"

They kept their heads down, their expressions blank, and their mouths shut as they pushed through the throng and entered the terminal building. Inside were hundreds of fans and onlookers, all of them crowding around the group, shouting their own questions, snapping their own pictures, asking for autographs. Another group of people stood near the doors holding up protest signs that said things like HERITAGE SAYS NO TO INTEMPERANCE and HERITAGE HOLDS NO PRIDE IN THE SINNER and GO BACK TO HOLLYWOOD, FREAKS (and take your corrupt whore with you).

They signed no autographs, talked to no one as they worked their way to the rental car counter to sign out the two Mercedes that Mindy had reserved for them. Throughout the entire process the mob remained behind them, shouting, photographing, protesting, and filming. A fight broke out between a few of the protesters and the fans and airport security came rushing in to try to break it up. The counter girl, meanwhile, was so starstruck by the presence of the musicians and the actress, and so nervous by the presence of the cameras filming her every move, she was fumbling and stuttering through the paperwork and was speaking so softly they couldn't understand her.

At last they were given their keys and they worked their way out to the lot. The crowd, newly reinforced by the media, followed behind them, still shouting, fighting, and pleading for autographs. Jake and Mindy climbed in one car and Bill into the other. They had to honk their horns and rudely force their way through all of the people in order to get out of the lot.

"Well," Jake said, his fists clenched on the steering wheel in anger, "you got your publicity... again."

"I'm sorry, Jake," she said, utilizing her patented little-girl-who-has-done-wrong voice. "I really didn't know it was going to be like this."

He said no more.

Jake's parents had invited Bill's parents over for a homecoming party for their two celebrity sons. As they drove down the freeway and through the suburban streets, two news helicopters shadowed them, no doubt broadcasting their progress live to the noontime viewing audience. When they pulled onto the street where Jake had grown up, they found it lined with even more news vans, reporters, and hundreds of people. They were on the neighbors' lawns, parked in their driveways, milling about in the street. There were more sign holders as well. They had occupied the driveway of the Williams family, who lived next door to the Kingsley's.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jake said as they forced their way down the street. "Is nothing sacred to these people?"

"It would seem not," Bill said.

The warmth of the family reunion was somewhat cooled by the need to make a mad rush from the driveway into the home. The horde rushed at them as they emerged from the cars, trampling through his mother's flowerbed, stomping over his father's immaculately landscaped front lawn. Jake's dad ripped open the front door as they approached and practically dragged them inside.

"You people are on private property!" his dad yelled from the doorway. "Get back out to the street or I'll be forced to call the sheriff's department."

"You're an ACLU lawyer," one of the reporters shouted back. "Would you really call a law enforcement agency on someone?"

His dad slammed the door without answering.

Jake looked around, seeing the stunned faces of his parents, his sister, and Bill's parents. They were all gathered around the television, which was showing a live view of the outside of the house as taken from one of the news helicopters.

"Well," Jake said, "I see how you knew we were here."

Jake's dad shook his head wearily. "It's been like this since yesterday," he said. "They've been calling us and showing up here sporadically ever since that article about... you know... the cocaine and the butt thing. But now they've been swarming us mercilessly."

Jake cast an angry look at Mindy, who at least had the decency to blush and look ashamed, although it was probably her acting skills he was seeing instead of sincerity. "I'm sorry," he said. "They were tipped off that I was bringing Mindy here."

"Who would do such a thing?" his mother asked. "Was it the airplane people?"

"Something like that," Jake said, casting one more angry glance at Mindy.

Now that things had settled a bit, they were finally able to complete the ritual of reunion. Jake hugged his mother, his father, his sister (who whispered, "your job is still a lot more interesting than mine" in his ear) and Bill's parents. Bill did the same in reverse order. Jake then formally introduced Mindy to everyone.

Mindy blushed and cooed and responded with a charming amount of shyness as her hand was shaken by Bill's parents, her person was hugged by Jake's mother and sister, and her cheek was kissed by Jake's dad. She told them she was happy to meet them and that she'd heard a lot about them. She charmed everyone completely and totally without even breaking a sweat. She awed them in a way they had never been awed by Jake or Bill. Jake and Bill were merely their sons, their brothers, their family friends. No matter how famous they were, each person in this house had changed Bill's or Jake's diapers at some point in their lives. But Mindy was the first actual celebrity any of them had ever met. She was plied with questions about life in the movie studio, about episodes of The Slow Lane, and about her current career. Jake was astounded to find that his own family had bought into many of the rumors that were floating around about the two of them.

"Is it true that you're going to announce your engagement?" his father asked.

"I heard that Mindy is... you know... expecting." That from his mother.

They denied all the various speculations and Mindy answered all of the questions posed of her with exactly what the asker wanted to hear. Eventually they were able to settle down in the family room and sip from drinks while they waited for the food to be served.

And as they talked, the continuous clatter of helicopter blades came from overhead, sometimes so loudly that the windows rattled in their frames. While they were eating, one of the news photographers suddenly appeared in the kitchen window, his camera snapping away through the glass.

Jake felt horrible as he saw his mother near tears, as he heard his father lapsing into uncharacteristic anger and profanity as he stormed across the room and ripped the curtains shut.

"I'm sorry," he said for perhaps the twentieth time. "I'm really sorry about all this."

They had intended to stay overnight at his parent's house. At the suggestion of three sheriff's deputies, their sergeant, and their lieutenant, all of whom showed up in response to neighbor complaints about the unruly mob that had taken over their quiet street, Jake, Mindy, and Bill elected to get hotel rooms instead. Mindy made one phone call to Georgette in Los Angeles and an hour later they had two suites at the Royal Gardens. They ran the gauntlet to their rental cars and fought their way out of the driveway and down the street, cameras filming and snapping, questions shouted, protesters screaming the entire time. Half of the mob climbed into their vehicles and followed the celebrities downtown. The other half remained in front of Jake's parent's house, where they continually knocked on the door and called on the phone, demanding to know what had taken place within those walls.

Tom Kingsley finally stepped out onto the porch and addressed them. "Look," he said angrily, "Mindy is not pregnant, they are not engaged, and nothing of interest took place in here. We are a simple family who had not seen our son in months and we tried to have a reunion with him and meet his girlfriend. That is all I have to say. Now all of you, please get out of here."

"Mr. Kingsley," someone shouted, "what do you think of the corrupting influence your son is having on Mindy?"

"Did they mention any possibility of becoming engaged?" shouted another.

"Did you raise your son to be a Satanist?" enquired one of the protestors.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tom said, shaking his head. He turned his back and walked back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

About an hour later, the crowd slowly drifted away, one by one, returning peace to the neighborhood.

By this point Jake, Mindy, and Bill had arrived at the Royal Gardens. Bill was in his suite enjoying the company of a nineteen-year-old cocktail waitress he'd met downstairs in the bar. He was stroking her hair and explaining to her the finer points of chemical bonding as it related to the mixing of alcoholic beverages. The waitress was nodding vigorously, understanding only one out of every three words he said, and wondering when she could stop listening to the eccentric rock star and start fucking him.

Jake and Mindy were in the suite next door. Mindy was crying and Jake was red-faced with anger.

"I can't take this anymore," he told her. "You've gone too far this time! This was supposed to be a nice, relaxing visit with my family. I came here to Heritage to get away from all the goddamn photographers and news people! I wanted to just be a normal person for a few days, to introduce you to my parents, to show you around my hometown. And what did you do? You turned it into a fucking circus!"

"Jake, I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't know the Heritage media was going to be so aggressive. I just wanted it known that you were bringing me home to meet your parents."

"Yes," he said. "You did it for that sacred image of yours. Just like you do everything! I'm tired of this shit, Mindy. For God's sake, the fucking cops kicked me out of my parents' house!"

"They didn't kick you out," she said. "They just asked us to..."

"Don't tell me what the fuck they asked me to do!" he screamed, causing her to back up in fear. "Cops came to my parents house, Mindy! A whole bunch of fucking cops! They came in and they said their piece and I had to leave that house! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you know how embarrassed I am about that? And do you know why that happened? Because of you and your need to have every fucking thing we do chronicled in those tabloid rags!"

"Jake..."

"There's nothing more to say," he told her. "This is the last fucking straw."

"Don't say that, Jake," she said, still sobbing. "I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that. I made a mistake by tipping them off. I realize that now. I was completely out of line. Please forgive me."

"It's not that easy, Mindy," he told her, trying not to look at her tear-streaked face because it was dampening his anger, something he didn't really want done right now.

"Please, Jake, don't leave me because of this," she pleaded. "I'll make it up to you."

"No," he said firmly. "This has got to end. I've been played for a fool long enough."

"No, Jake, no!" she sobbed, breaking down completely. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. Her tears were hot against his skin, her body soft against him.

He tried to push her away but he simply couldn't find the will to do it. Her tears were getting to him, burrowing right under his resolve and lifting it from its moorings inch by inch. Soon instead of pushing at her his arms went around her.

"Please don't leave me, Jake," she repeated, over and over. "Please don't."

"This has got to stop, Mindy," he said, his hands running up and down her back. "I can't go on like this."

"I'll make it up to you, Jake," she cried, more tears spilling onto his neck. "I swear! Just don't leave me. Give me another chance! Let me make it up to you!"

He didn't agree to this, but he didn't disagree either. And soon her soft lips were putting gentle kisses on his tear-stained neck as she kept muttering "please, please". Her soft body kept grinding into his, her breasts to his chests, her thighs to his. And, as she no doubt intended, the blood began to rush from one head to the other. Once this began to occur it was only a matter of seconds before her lips were on his mouth, her tongue probing gently outward, touching his. And then the clothing began to come off, piece by piece. Soon they were naked, flesh-to-flesh, grinding against each other on the King-sized bed.