Snowblind

Chapter 4: Making Plans

Los Angeles, California

October 13, 1994

The twin engine, propeller driven King Air 350 that belonged to Peterson Aviation Services Incorporated touched down gently on Runway 16R of Van Nuys Airport in the San Fernando Valley one hour and forty-two minutes after going wheels-up from San Jose International Airport in the San Francisco south bay area. The aircraft rolled out and exited the runway quite routinely and then navigated slowly along the taxiways until it arrived at the primary general aviation terminal. The engines shut down one by one and the door was opened from the inside, folding down to make a series of steps for easy egress from the fuselage.

It had been a routine flight in all aspects except one. For the two pilots who had been flying the aircraft these last six months and the group of musicians who had been the passengers on those flights, it was the end of their last trip together. Though there were two more nights of shows to be done—both were at The Forum in Inglewood, just outside of the Los Angeles city limits—there would be no more need for flying on the tour.

For Coop, Charlie, Liz, Little Stevie, and Dexter Price, this final flight meant little to them beyond relief to finally be back in Los Angeles where all except Charlie maintained a steady home and they would be sleeping in their own beds for the first time in months. They simply shook hands with the flight crew, exchanged a few parting pleasantries (including Charlie’s sincere gratitude for the crew’s fastidious attention to the non-existent HEPA filters which had kept him safe from high altitude microbes during the tour), and then gathered up their baggage for the walk to the terminal and the limousine that was waiting for them on the other side of it. For Natalie and Mark, on the other hand, there was a little more emotion attached. The two of them had fallen in love with each other during the tour—or at least deeply into lust—and they did not know when they were going to be able to see each other again. They stood together near the nose of the aircraft, holding each other tightly and whispering things into each other’s ears, and occasionally sharing soft, loving kisses. There were tears running down Nat’s face in a steady stream.

Celia witnessed all of this because this was a bit of an emotional moment for her as well. She was about to walk away from Suzie, the woman she had developed a considerable amount of infatuation for herself. She did not know when, if ever, she was going to see her again. She lingered inside the aircraft with her after everyone else had gone.

“Well ... it’s been fun, Suzie,” Celia told the pilot now.

Suzie smiled. “It could have been funner,” she told her.

Celia gave a sad chuckle at her words. Suzie had offered her mouth and her body to her indirectly many times and, when that produced no results, quite directly, coming right out and offering to service her in any way she wanted to be serviced. That had been last week, in Portland of all places! In the same hotel where she and Jake had come together one snowy night not so terribly long before. Suzie, of course, had no way of knowing or even suspecting what had occurred between her and Jake, so the offer coming in that city, in that hotel had been nothing but a coincidence, but it had still been a little shocking. She had been tempted—very tempted—to take Suzie up on the offer. Just a little lick between the legs. That wasn’t really cheating, was it? Certainly not after what she and Jake had done, right? But, in the end, she simply could not do it. She politely declined Suzie’s offer and spent the night alone in her hotel room, performing her own maintenance yet again.

“Yeah,” Celia acknowledged now. “It could have been, but alas ... it was not. No hard feelings?”

“I would think you’d know me better than that,” Suzie told her.

“I do. Just wanted to make sure. Any idea what your next assignment might be?”

“Returning the aircraft to San Diego,” she said. “After that, I have a few weeks off. I’ll get my apartment back in order, make sure all my bills are paid.”

“No trips?” Celia asked.

“No trips,” Suzie said. “I’ve done so much traveling on this assignment that staying home will be a novelty.” She gave a hopeful smile. “Maybe we can get together sometime. San Diego is not that far. I could drive up here in a few hours.”

“I’d like that,” Celia said. “For the friendship part though. Not for anything else. I enjoy your company. I’d like you to meet Greg. And I’d like to see what you’re like after a few drinks.”

“I enjoy your company as well, C,” she told her. “Even if it doesn’t include anything else. I’ll be looking forward to the visit.”

“I’ll call you as soon as things get settled,” Celia promised—and she was quite sincere about this. “And if I don’t, you have my personal number.”

“That I do.”

“Just don’t give it to the fine people of the entertainment press,” she warned.

“I would never do that,” she said.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Celia assured her. “And don’t feel weird about calling me if you just want to chat. Remember, I’m an ordinary person. I put my pants on one leg at a time.”

Suzie gave her a lecherous grin. “Do you take them off that way too?” she asked.

“Only if I’m the one taking them off ... not someone else,” she shot back.

They had a laugh about this.

“Well ... I guess I’d better get going,” Celia said. “It looks like Nat and Markie are done playing kissy-face with each other.” She held out her arms.

Suzie stepped into them and the two women shared a warm hug. Celia enjoyed the soft feel of her body against hers, the feminine smell of her skin. She drew back a little but did not release the embrace. Instead, she took her right hand and used her fingers to lift the pilot’s face up a bit. She then leaned in and put her lips to Suzie’s, kissing her. Her lips were soft, feminine, and felt good touching hers. She let the kiss linger for a bit before sliding out the tip of her tongue and letting it flit between the lips. Suzie’s tongue shot out to meet it. She moaned a little as they twirled their tongues together on a film of saliva.

Celia broke the kiss before it could become any more passionate. “Mmm,” she said with a sigh. “You taste like cinnamon gum.”

“What was that for?” Suzie asked, breathless.

Celia smiled. “I just wanted to see what it could be like,” she told her. She then released the embrace. “Keep in touch.”

“I will,” Suzie promised.

Celia gave her one last smile and then walked out of the aircraft. She headed for the terminal without looking back.

She climbed into the limousine with the members of her band. Instead of heading to a hotel—usually near the airport somewhere—it began to head for private houses, dropping people at their actual homes, one by one. Celia was the third to be deposited at her front doorstep.

Greg was inside waiting for her. He greeted her warmly, clearly happy that she was home. He never had made it out to see her during the tour.

“Jake came by yesterday,” Greg told her. “He just got back into town from Oregon two days ago.”

“That’s nice,” Celia said. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Greg smiled. “Don’t you want to see what he brought you?” he asked.

“Later,” she told him. “There’s something else I need to see right now.”

“Well ... if you insist,” he said, feigning reluctance.

“I insist,” she insisted.

She wasn’t sure if she really missed him or not—she thought maybe she did, at least a little bit anyway—but she certainly missed legally sanctioned sexual relations (as Nerdly would say).

The next hour was quite pleasurable for both of them.

Both of them dozed off after the sex was over, sleeping the sleep of the finally contented. Celia was awakened by the sound of the shower running some time later. She creaked open her eyes and saw that it was just past noon. She pondered getting out of bed for a moment but then decided she was just too comfortable. She stayed there, looking up at the ceiling fan and thinking about nothing in particular.

Greg came out of the shower room, naked as the day he was born. She took a moment to admire his form on an aesthetic level. He was thirty-eight years old and still quite hot looking. His face was handsome in an all-American sort of way, his body fit and trim from the eight to twelve hours a week he spent working out in the weight room. He was a Hollywood actor, after all, and physical fitness and attractiveness were mandatory for the position.

And then she found herself remembering what Jake had looked like naked. This sent a little burst of lust through her. Though Jake’s face was not as handsome as Greg’s, his body not as toned and tight, his muscles not as well-developed, he still cut a pretty good form. And then she started wondering what Suzie might have looked like naked. This sent another burst of lust through her as she pondered this thought.

At some point she noticed that her husband was not just getting dressed, but was getting dressed up. He had put on slacks and a dress shirt, was knotting one of his ties in a double Windsor.

“Uh ... are you going somewhere, hon?” she asked him.

He looked at her, as if trying to decide whether she was joking or not. “To Merrimack Studios,” he finally told her. “To attend the meeting with Johnny and Jerry Lancing and Frank Graham. I told you about it the last time we talked on the phone.”

“Oh ... yeah,” she said, remembering that now. Johnny was John Stapleton, Greg’s longtime agent, the man who had stood beside him even after the Northern Jungle fiasco. Jerry Lancing was one of the premier film producers of the last ten years, someone Greg had never worked with before. And Frank Graham was the head of production for Merrimack Studios, one of the more powerful media companies that operated out of Hollywood. They had a new project in the works and were interested in Greg Oldfellow as the leading man for it. They were going to meet today to talk things over. “I didn’t realize that was today.”

“I told you on the phone it was the day you came back,” Greg said. “We even had a discussion about how we’d have to get our first relations out of the way before I left for the meeting.”

She did not remember that part of the conversation at all, perhaps because she had been about a bottle and a half of wine in and Suzie had been sitting in her sitting room at the time. “I guess I just forgot,” she told Greg now. “Sorry. Being on the road makes me scatterbrained sometimes.”

“Apparently so,” he said, though not without a degree of affection. “Anyway, I’ve got a good feeling about this project. And after the success we had—that we’re still having—with Others, Lancing is really hot to get me into this film. He says I’d be perfect for the part.”

“What’s this flick going to be about?” she asked, seeing (with a fair degree of amusement) him wince at that word.

“Project,” he corrected sternly, “or film. I do not undertake consideration to appear in a ‘flick’.”

“How about a movie?” she asked.

“Now you’re just being sardonic,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” she said. “All right. What’s this project going to be about?”

“Some kind of a cop movie,” Greg replied.

“A cop movie? Hasn’t that been quite overdone?”

“That’s what I asked, but Lancing says that this cop movie will be different. He says it will be a realistic portrayal of a long-term street cop and what he goes through. Alcoholism, divorce, family issues, psychological problems, the whole bit. And there’s only one shootout in the whole thing, and that’s supposed to be a realistic portrayal of a police shooting as well.”

“Hmmm,” Celia said, pondering. “I guess that could be interesting.”

“I agree,” he said. “But then, I said that when the Northern Jungle was suggested to me as well. We know how that turned out. I’ll reserve judgement until I actually get a chance to read the script for the project.”

You read the script for the Northern Jungle project and you still signed up for that one, she thought, but did not say. “Well, I hope it works out for you,” she said. “I’m very happy things seem to have turned around in your career.”

“Me too,” he said. “And your career as well. Did I hear your last album just cleared triple platinum?”

“You did,” Celia said with a smile. “The tour did wonders for album sales, even after we raised the prices.”

“I can’t wait to hear the numbers at the next quarterly financial,” Greg said. “You might end up pulling in as much as I do this year.”

“Or maybe even more,” she said with a smile.

“Perhaps,” he said, though he did not seem to be terribly thrilled with that idea.

“I guess that selling out and raising those ticket prices was the thing to do after all,” she said. “True, I’m accused of being a money-hungry puta by a few, I’ve had people tell me to my face that I’m nothing but a corrupt record company lackey—all of which hurts me on a fundamental level, because that’s really not what I am—but people keep listening to me on the radio, and buying my CDs, and I sold out every venue I played. Every single one.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, coming to the side of the bed. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips. “I’ve got to go now. The limo should be outside any second.”

“All right,” she told him. “Good luck at the meeting.”

“I make my own luck,” he told her.

He left the room a moment later, closing the door behind him as a signal to the maid that she should not go in there just now. A few minutes later she heard the single honk of a horn that signaled the limousine was here. There was a muted beep from the alarm control box, letting her know that one of the doors had opened. He was on his way to Hollywood.

She rolled out of bed and put her bare feet on the floor. She considered taking a shower for a moment and then decided not to. True, she smelled like sex, but was that such a bad thing to smell like? Especially after so many months of never smelling that way? She thought not.

She went to the dresser and pulled out a ragged pair of sweatpants that she’d owned for years. She pulled them on over her legs without bothering to put underwear on first. She then went to the closet and pulled out a long nightshirt that was even older. It was pale blue with fluffy white clouds printed everywhere on it. There were several holes in it these days—one near the left armpit, one near the rear collar, and one tiny one just below the right breast region—but it was comfortable and familiar. She pulled it on over her head without bothering with a brassiere.

She left the room without brushing her hair or her teeth and padded downstairs to the kitchen, which was empty at the moment and sparkling clean, almost sterile. There was a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator. She got a large glass out of the cupboard, filled it with ice from the dispenser in the freezer door, and then poured tea until it was full. She took a sip as she walked out into the entertainment room.

There, sitting on the cabinet that held the house’s stereo system, she found a black CD case. The insert was simple, printed in normal script: BRAINWASH—MASTER CD.

She picked it up and opened it, revealing an ordinary looking compact disc that had the same words printed on it in the same style. She pulled out the insert and took a look at the track listing. There were ten songs on the CD. Jim Scanlon was credited with lyrics and vocals on three of them, Marcie Scanlon on three more, Stephanie Zool on another three. The tenth song—which was actually the first cut on the album—was listed as a duet of Jim and Marcie together, the lyrics credited to Marcie. Celia had never met any of them, but she had heard their demo tape multiple times. The tape had been crude, not of the best quality, and with no overdubs or even basic engineering. And she had still enjoyed hearing it. She couldn’t wait to hear what their music sounded like after being produced by Jake and engineered by the Nerdlys.

She turned on the stereo and popped the CD into one of the empty slots in the changer. She pushed the play button on the machine, adjusted the volume a bit, and then sat back down on the couch.

The music took her away, as good music always did and always would.

She listened to the CD twice and then turned the stereo back off. She then picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. The phone on the other end of the line rang three times before there was a click and a familiar female voice said “Hello?” in her ear.

“Hey, Teach,” she said. “It’s Celia.”

“C!” Laura replied, delight in her voice. “I heard you were coming home today. Are you back?”

“I am,” she said. “Just flew in a few hours ago. Now I’m sitting around in my jammies and thinking about getting into a bottle of wine.”

“I was just thinking about doing that myself,” Laura said. “Are you excited about the tour finally coming to an end?”

“Well, there are still two more shows to do. Tomorrow and Saturday night at the Forum.”

“Oh, I know that,” Laura said. “They’ve been talking about it endlessly on the radio and even on TV ever since we got home. All the tickets are sold out, but it sounds like some of the radio stations still have tickets to give away. People are very excited about it.”

“I’m just happy I’ll get to go home to my own bed after the shows,” she said. “No more hotel rooms. No more flights on the airplane.”

“So ... you’ve seen the last of your pilot friend then?” Laura asked.

“Probably not,” she said. “She lives in San Diego. We’re going to try to keep in touch.”

“Really?” Laura said, interest in her voice. “And how did the ... you know ... the temptations work out?”

“The temptations were a very real thing,” she told her. “But I was a good girl. She made the offer more than once, but ... I never took her up on it.”

“That’s good ... uh ... isn’t it?”

“It is,” Celia assured her. “At least I think it is. Anyway, are you getting excited about the wedding?” Jake and Laura’s date had been set as November 4, at a secluded oceanside resort near the town of Haena, on the north shore of Kauai, Hawaii. That particular date had been chosen because Celia would be home and able to attend, but Sharon Archer would still be far enough away from her projected delivery date of November 30 that travel across the ocean was reasonably safe.

“I’m actually kind of terrified,” Laura said. “And I’m not even sure why.”

“Weddings are stressful,” Celia said, remembering her own. “At least yours is low key, and with only a few guests. No bridesmaids or groomsmen. Just the maid of honor and the best man and you and Jake. And I think me and Nerdly are only in those positions as nods to tradition, right?”

“Well ... kind of,” Laura said.

“That’s okay. It’s a lot less hassle that way.”

“That’s the way Jake and I wanted it,” she said. “That’s okay, right? Should we have...”

“It’s perfect if that’s what you want,” Celia assured her. “How is your dress? Have you picked it up yet?”

“I don’t have a dress yet!” Laura said. “We only got home two days ago! I didn’t want to buy my wedding dress in Coos Bay.”

Celia shook her head back and forth. “Girl, you’d better get on the ball. You are only three weeks out.”

“I know,” Laura said. “I need to get on it. Will you help me after your last concert?”

“Absolutely,” Celia said. “We’ll tear up Rodeo Drive again, just like the last time.”

“It’s a date,” she said. “And I’m not planning on anything too elaborate. It’s going to be a simple ceremony. A simple dress will do me.”

“Did you invite your family?” Celia asked, remembering she had been pondering that dilemma the last time they’d gotten together.

“I sent them announcements,” Laura said. “If any of them had bothered to contact me, I would have invited them. None of them did.”

“It’s their loss,” Celia told her. “If they can’t be happy for you, fuck ‘em.”

“My feelings exactly.”

“Anyway,” Celia said, “the reason I actually called is to talk to Jake. Is he around?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He’s in the composition room working on something. I’ll go get him.”

“Thanks,” she said.

The phone thunked down and Celia heard the faint noises of the Kingsley household. A television was playing somewhere, and there was the sound of thumping footsteps. And then, for just a few seconds, she heard the sound of a drawn-out musical note—a G major if she was not mistaken. It sounded kind of like it was coming from an electric guitar, but not quite. It cut off instantly and then, a few moments later, the thumping of footsteps could be heard again. Finally, there was a shuffling sound and Jake was speaking to her.

“Hey, C,” he greeted. “Welcome home.”

She felt a little bit of a thrill at the sound of his voice and then pretended she hadn’t. “Thanks, Jake,” she returned. “It’s good to be home. Teach said you were composing. Hope I didn’t interrupt your creativity.”

“Naw, I was just playing around with something. Gordon gave me a talk box a few months back and I’ve been practicing with it.”

“A talk box?” she asked. “Like Peter Frampton’s?”

“That’s right. It’s kind of fun to play with. I took it up to Oregon with me and whenever things got too repetitious for me with the Brainwash recordings and I needed a break I would plug it in in one of the empty isolation rooms and play around with it. I think I’ve gotten to the point that I can make something approximating music with it.”

“Think you’ll use it on your next album?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “If I can fit it in somewhere. And if I can get good enough with it that I’d want to try laying it down as a track.”

“It’s good to have new challenges musically,” she opined. “Keeps us sharp.”

“I agree,” he said. “Although I really do need to start concentrating on composing some actual tunes as well.”

“You and me both,” she said. “I haven’t picked up a guitar for anything other than performing in months. After things settle down a little, I’m going to lock myself into my room and start strumming some things out.”

“No hurry really for either of us,” Jake said. “We’re both still on the top of the album charts, both still getting a ton of airplay. We still have two more songs to release for radio promotion. Not to sound like a record company suit or anything, but we’ve got at least another year or so before people will start expecting us to come out with something new.”

“True,” she said. “But still, I’ll feel better when I get a few ideas penned out.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jake said. “I have a few older tunes I could work up, and Gordon and I are still planning to put together that duet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We haven’t been able to actually sit down together since that night that Laura had her little run-in with the sea lion, but...”

Celia giggled into the phone. “That is such an awesome story,” she said. “I still laugh whenever I think about it.”

“Yeah, me too to tell you the truth. That was a hell of a night. Anyway, I’ve been working on my part of the tune and G’s been working on his. We’re gonna get together on Monday night and see what we’ve accomplished.”

“That should be interesting,” Celia said.

“I’m hoping so. Fusing rock and rap together isn’t easy, but I know it can be done.”

“Well, good luck with it. I can’t wait to hear what you come up with. If it’s anything like Step Inside, I’m sure people will love it.”

“That’s the theory we’re operating under.”

“Anyway,” Celia said. “The reason I called: I just listened to the master from Brainwash.”

“Yeah?” he returned. “What did you think?”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, quite honestly. “All ten tracks are muy bien. Masterpieces of composition and engineering. Especially the first cut, the duet.”

“Together,” Jake said. “That’s going to be their breakout hit. That tune is going to put Brainwash on the map.”

“It’s got energy, power,” Celia agreed. “I found myself actually having an emotional reaction as I listened to it.”

“The Nerdlys outdid themselves on that cut,” he said. “Of course, they had good material to work with, but they polished the shit out of that one. I thought Jim and Steph were going to kill them for a little bit there—all those overdub repeats, all the re-takes, all the tweaks on the bridge section—but I got a call from Jim the other day after they all got their master copies. They are quite pleased with the end effort. He said it’s hard to believe they’re even listening to their own shit.”

“So, they’re happy with it then?”

“Ecstatic with it. They can’t wait to hear themselves on the radio, though they’re still thinking that something’s going to prevent that.”

“Why in the world would they think that at this point in the process?” she asked.

“They’ve been told for years they don’t have the right look for success,” he said. “I guess when you’ve been held down so many times you just don’t expect anything else.”

“Well, I can’t wait to show them they’re wrong. What’s the next step?”

“Pauline and I are going to meet with the suits over at Aristocrat on Monday. We’re going to give the master to them and ask them to contract with us for MD&P.”

“And you think they’ll do it?” she asked.

“I think they’ll do it,” he replied. “As my man Don Corleone likes to say: We’re going to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

Los Angeles, California

October 17, 1994

Jake and Pauline were led into the meeting room on the top floor of the Aristocrat Records building as soon as they arrived. Both were dressed stylishly, but not formally. Jake wore a pair of slacks and a button up dress shirt without a tie. Pauline wore a blouse with a skirt, leather pumps, and no nylons. The suits they were meeting with—Joshua Flag, the head of the A&R department; Miles Crawford, the head of promotions; and James Rigger, the head of New Artist Development—were all wearing suits, of course. This did not make them look like stereotypical businessmen, however. Rigger had a gold stud in his left ear. Flag had hair longer than Jake’s. And Crawford, the oldest of the trio, had on a pair of dark sunglasses even though they were inside and the blinds had been closed.

“Welcome!” greeted Crawford, his phony, ass-kissing grin fixed firmly upon his face. He waved at the table where glasses of ice water and a small snack tray had been laid out. “Have a seat!”

Jake and Pauline took seats across from the suits. They then refused the offer of an alcoholic beverage and/or a few lines of premium cocaine. After that, they engaged in a few minutes of preliminaries, focusing heavily on the success of the Celia Valdez tour and the ongoing sales of both Celia’s and Jake’s albums. From there, they headed into a bit more delicate of a subject.

“I hear your wedding is coming up soon, Jake,” Crawford said.

Jake raised his eyebrows up a bit. God, how he hated dealing with these slimy rats on any level, but he really loathed when they tried to be personal with him. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.

“Oh, word gets around,” Crawford said, not offering any more than that.

“I guess it does,” Jake said sourly.

“I hear it’s to be in Hawaii?” Crawford said. “In early November, correct?”

“That’s right,” Jake confirmed.

“I haven’t received my invitation yet,” Crawford told him. “I’m not sure if I’m free on the date in question, but if I am, I’m always up for a little trip to the tropics.”

Jake stared at the man, fighting to keep his face neutral. Of all the fucking nerve! “I’m sorry, Crawford,” he said. “We’re only inviting friends and family to the wedding.”

Crawford’s grin slipped considerably. “I see,” he said slowly.

“Uh ... what Jake means to say,” Pauline quickly put in, “is that it’s to be a small ceremony, with limited seating, and Jake and Laura both prefer to keep business relationships separate from personal relationships. Right, Jake?”

“Right,” he said. “And speaking of business, how about we get to it? Anyone up for that?”

“Of course,” Crawford said, his little feelers quite obviously injured. Jake didn’t care. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Are you already putting together your next albums?” asked Rigger.

“We have not started on our next albums as of yet,” Jake said. “But we will start on them soon. In the meantime, however, KVA Records has another project we’d like to discuss.”

“Another project?” asked Crawford. “What do you mean?”

Jake looked at him carefully. “Are you really saying you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

“I’m sure I do not,” Crawford assured him. “Should I?”

“I guess not,” Jake said. It seemed that Crawford and his boys did not keep their ears as close to the ground as they liked to imply. True, they had known about his upcoming wedding—had probably heard about it from one of the tour managers who had heard about it by overhearing Celia talk—but they had no idea that Jake and the Nerdlys had just spent the past four and a half months up in Oregon recording and mastering an album.

“KVA Records has signed a new act to our label,” Pauline said, opening her briefcase. She pulled out a copy of the master CD. “They are called Brainwash and they are an experienced touring rock band out of Providence, Rhode Island.”

“You’ve signed an act to your label?” Rigger asked incredulously. “An unknown act?”

“That is correct,” Pauline said. “And for the past five months we have been working on recording a CD from them. That CD is what I now hold in my hand.”

“They’re not exactly an unknown act,” Jake put in. “They’re quite well-known throughout the New England region. They have been doing the club scene there for a number of years and they sell out every venue they perform in.”

“But they’ve never moved beyond New England?” asked Rigger.

“They have not,” Pauline said.

“Have they tried?” he wanted to know.

“They have,” Jake said, looking at the New Artist Development ‘expert’ sternly. “It seems that no record company exec even wants to give their music a listen because they don’t look good on camera.”

“Ahhh,” said Rigger knowingly. “They’re unattractive. That does explain things.”

“They’re not unattractive,” Jake said. “They’re just not glamorous Hollywood attractive.”

“The two amount to the same thing,” said Crawford.

Jake shook his head. “You people are so predictable,” he said.

Crawford ignored this remark. “Why are you telling us about this band?” he asked. “Why are you bringing a master CD here? Surely, you are not suggesting that we sign a band that has been passed on by others before us?”

Jake had to suppress the urge to say: “Don’t call me Shirley.” Somehow, he managed.

“We’re not suggesting you sign them,” Pauline said. “We have already signed them, have already paid to have this recording made, and are prepared to pay for the manufacturing and distribution costs. We just want the same thing we want from every other KVA project. We want you to promote the album for us.”

“Impossible,” said Rigger, shaking his head.

“I agree,” said Crawford.

“As do I,” said Flag.

Jake looked at the three of them. So far, things were going pretty much as he had expected. They were giving exactly the knee-jerk rejection of the proposal he had predicted. “You would reject this deal without even listening to the CD?” he asked them.

“We don’t need to listen to the CD,” said Flag. “You’re suggesting that I use my promotional apparatus and connections to promote an album that has no chance of succeeding. That’s absurd.”

“Absurd?” Pauline asked. She lifted the CD case and waved it before them. “How do you know that this isn’t some of the best music ever laid down on a CD? You’re seriously condemning this effort without even hearing it?”

“If they were that good, someone would have signed them by now,” Flag said confidently.

“Someone did sign them,” Pauline said. “We did.”

“You do not count,” Crawford said. “You can call yourself a record company all you want, but you don’t know the first thing about production and promotion of music.”

Jake’s eyebrows went up again. “Are you shitting me right now, Crawford?” he asked. “I don’t know the first thing about production or promotion? Me, who has produced four of the best-selling albums of the past decade over the last twenty-four months? Me, who has personally directed the promotion of all of those albums and the individual songs on them and kept at least one tune in the Top 25 at all times during that time period? Me, who has brought in millions of dollars in profit for your precious stockholders? Do you maybe want to reconsider that statement?”

“I will admit that you did a passable job on the production of those albums,” Crawford told him. “And your suggestions about promotion of the tunes did turn out advantageous, but that was because of the talent you and Celia possess and the preexisting fame each of you came into your solo careers with.”

“Preexisting fame?” Pauline asked. “Celia was considered a has-been. Those morons over at National didn’t even want to listen to her CD when it was first presented to them. And Jake went outside his genre. They only signed him because they heard how amazing Celia’s album actually was and it was a package deal.”

“That is neither here nor there,” Crawford said dismissively.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jake barked at him.

“It means that this Brainstem thing you’re suggesting is a completely different animal.”

“Brainwash,” Jake corrected. “And it’s not a different animal at all. It’s an album that KVA Records has put together, that we have contracted with a band to get out into the world, and we want you people to promote it.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible,” Crawford said.

“Impossible?” Jake asked.

“We are not in the business of promoting unknown bands that one of our independent labels just drags in off the street,” Crawford told them. “We’re in the business of making money, not losing it.”

“How would you lose money on this deal?” Pauline asked.

“Excuse me?” Crawford asked, as if she were an idiot.

“Tell me how you would lose money,” she said again. “KVA has already paid for the production of the album and provided a master copy. KVA will pay, in advance, for the manufacturing and distribution costs. All we want you to do is use the promotional machinery that is already in place to get the music some airplay. In return, we’re prepared to offer you forty percent royalties on sales of the album.”

“Forty percent of nothing is still nothing,” Flag said.

“I would think you would have more faith in Jake’s ability to produce good music than that,” Pauline said. “But even if you don’t, even if the album doesn’t sell a single copy, how is that costing Aristocrat any money? The worst-case scenario for you is that you don’t make any money for using your promotional apparatus. Since we paid for everything else, there is simply no way you can lose so much as a penny.”

It was a good point, an indisputable point you might even say, but Crawford and company were still not buying it. “There’s more to it than just the direct profit,” Rigger said.

“Please explain,” Pauline said.

“I can’t wait to hear this one,” Jake said with a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head.

“It’s a matter of good faith,” Rigger said. “We maintain a large collection of contacts in the radio industry and they are paid—indirectly of course—to promote songs and artists that we ask them to promote. It’s a system that has worked well for years, but it has a delicate balance. The system only works when we give them quality tunes to promote, tunes that will connect with their listeners who will then want to buy the albums from us. If we start giving them crap music that nobody wants to listen to, they’re forced to go against our wishes and stop playing it. That creates a loss of good faith. Loss of good faith leads down a road to a breakdown in the very system that supports both industries.”

“Well put!” Crawford said.

“Exactly,” said Flag. “And that’s why we cannot promote these Brainwater people.”

“Brainwash,” corrected Pauline.

“Whatever,” said Crawford.

“Let me get this straight,” Jake said, slowly, calmly. “You’re suggesting that if you were to promote Brainwash for us as we request, that it could bring about the destruction of the entire music and radio industry as we know it?”

“It could be a step in that direction, yes,” Rigger said.

“But you haven’t even listened to their tunes,” Jake said. “Again, how do you know that this isn’t the best music anyone has ever put out since the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac?”

“That’s beside the point,” Rigger said.

“Exactly,” Crawford added. “We don’t need to listen to it to know that this could not be an advantageous deal for us.”

Jake looked at his sister, seeing that she was looking back at him. He gave her a little smile and a little nod of the head. It was time to play their trump card.

“An advantageous deal,” Pauline said slowly. “That’s an interesting term, Crawford. Would you say that the contract you’ve enjoyed with KVA Records for the promotion of Jake and Celia’s second solo albums has been an advantageous deal?”

“Yes, it has,” Crawford said. “Nobody is disputing that. But again, you were already established artists when we signed you. We knew you would make money for us.”

“Uh huh,” Pauline said. “And do you know that if we signed with you for Jake and Celia’s third albums, that that would be advantageous as well?”

“We have no reason to believe otherwise,” Crawford said. “Provided both Jake and Celia stick with the formula that has made them successful to this point.”

“There is no fucking formula,” Jake said with a shake of the head. “We just make music.”

Before any of the suits could respond to that, Pauline steered them back on course. “As was said earlier,” she said, “that is neither here nor there. My point is that KVA signed with Aristocrat only for those two albums. We are under no obligation to sign with you for any further albums.”

“What do you mean?” asked Crawford. “I thought we had a good working relationship with each other.”

“We had an acceptable business relationship with you,” Pauline corrected. “There are other labels who would be happy to sign Jake and Celia for their next albums. And I’m sure that any or all of them would be happy to promote Brainwash for us as a condition of that deal.”

“What are you saying?” Crawford asked. “Are you suggesting you would refuse to sign with us, even if we offered the lowest royalty rate, if this group of yours is not promoted?”

“That is exactly what we’re saying,” Pauline said. “From this point forward, KVA Records will not do business with any corporate label if that label does not agree to promote Brainwash to the best of their ability, using all means at their disposal.”

“That’s blackmail!” Rigger protested.

“No,” Jake said, “it’s business. You only call it blackmail because you’re not on the winning side of it.”

“Well, you can just forget it!” Flag said. “We do not give into threats!”

“Now wait a minute,” Crawford said, holding up a hand. “Let’s talk about this for a minute.”

“Miles!” Flag said. “There is nothing to talk about! We do not do business this way!”

“Then you do not do business with us,” Pauline said with a smile. “Shall we conclude the meeting, gentlemen?”

“Yes!” said Flag.

“Not just yet,” said Crawford. His two comrades fumed at him, but kept their mouths closed for the moment. He turned back to Pauline. “What guarantee would we have that KVA would sign with us for the next Celia Valdez and Jake Kingsley albums if we did agree to go through with this promotion?”

“We would give you a deal similar to what we gave you for releasing Coop from his contract,” she said. “There will be a competitive bid for terms of the next albums by Jake and Celia. You will have the right to match the lowest bid and be awarded that contract as long as all other things remain equal—and that would include the obligation to promote Brainwash on any further albums.”

“Although, in honesty,” Jake said, “I’m pretty sure you’re going to be falling all over yourselves to promote Brainwash after you see what their first album does. They’re a treasure trove, guys. I’m not bullshitting you about that.”

“Hmmph,” Rigger said in disgust, shaking his head.

“We should reject this ridiculous proposal on general principles, Miles,” Flag said.

“Do that,” Jake said, “and you and your stockholders will be missing out on an assload of future revenue. Even if Brainwash tanks, you’ll never again be allowed to bid for a Jake Kingsley or Celia Valdez contract. Never. Not even if you offered us five percent and to pay for all production costs. We would shun you in perpetuity on our general principles.”

“They’re bluffing,” Rigger said confidently.

“We do not bluff,” Pauline said.

Crawford looked at them thoughtfully for a moment and then said: “You’re offering forty percent royalties for these Brain people, huh?”

“Brainwash,” Pauline said. “And yes. Forty percent.”

“Well ... that is a good amount for an unknown band,” Crawford said.

“I would go so far as to say it’s more than fair,” Jake said.

Crawford nodded. “Maybe we’ll at least take a listen to their CD.”

Laura was more than a little nervous as the dinner hour approached. In the kitchen, Elsa was preparing a feast of chicken enchiladas, homemade Spanish rice, and homemade refried beans. The smells of the cooking were incredible. Jake was setting up the bar to make margaritas for their alcoholic enjoyment. And Laura sat on the couch, wondering how things were going to go when Neesh and Gordon got here.

She had not seen or spoken to Neesh since that fabled night in Malibu when the dark-skinned beauty almost seduced her out on the dark beach. Though her injuries had healed from her encounter with the sea lion—mostly anyway, her toenails were still in the process of growing back and one of her toes now had a little jig where one had not existed before—her memories of the encounter were still quite fresh, quite vivid, quite erotic, and mixed with a large dash of guilt. She had still told no one about what had happened between her and Neesh. She wondered if Neesh had kept quiet as well.

There is no way she would have told Gordon about what we did, Laura told herself. Is there?

She didn’t think so, not after all her talk about “girl time” and “a little fun between the ladies”. While it was true that she and Neesh had been quite drunk at the time, it seemed obvious that Gordon’s fiancé did not have a lot of compunction about engaging in a little lesbian fun when the opportunity presented itself. Laura was quite certain that she was not the first woman Neesh had dallied with. But she had gotten the strong impression that Neesh kept this part of her life a secret from Gordon. It would be extremely unlikely she would have told him about it.

Just like you didn’t tell Jake about it, she thought.

“That’s not the same thing,” she said, and then winced as she realized that she had spoken aloud, and to herself.

She took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. Will she bring up what happened between us? she wondered. Not in front of Jake, of course, but when we’re alone? And if she does, what will I do? What will I say?

Here, she was torn in two directions. Her head, the part she did most of her thinking with, told her that she needed to take Neesh aside at some point, talk to her plainly and matter-of-factly and tell her that what happened between them that night had been a drunken mistake, that she regretted it now, and that nothing like that would ever happen again. But her loins ... they were saying something else entirely.

Remember what those boobs felt like in your hand, in your mouth? her loins asked greedily. Remember the taste of that nipple on your tongue, the feel of those soft, sexy lips kissing their way down your body, heading for the Gates of Heaven? Do you think maybe she’d be up for a little something like that again?

“Jesus, get yourself under control, girl,” she told herself, this time not realizing she’d spoken aloud.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, she was determined that the course of action her head dictated was how it was going to be. It was the right thing to do and she would do it. She would get Neesh alone and tell her that they could remain friends—she really did enjoy Neesh’s company on that level—but that there could be no more “girl time” between them.

She felt better having made this decision; like a responsible, rational adult. But she could not help but notice that her vagina was absolutely soaked from sexual excitement. Well, that was just a byproduct of turning the memory of that night around in her head. It was a natural biological response and nothing more. She was pondering whether she should slip into the bathroom for a few minutes to relieve the pressure. It would be easy enough to do. She was wearing a white and yellow summer dress and a frilly pair of panties underneath. It would be a simple matter of pulling up the dress, pulling her panties down a bit, and going to town. The way she felt, it wouldn’t take but two minutes.

Alas, this was not to be. The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of their guests.

Elsa opened the door for them and the couple entered the house. With another deep breath to gather her courage, Laura stood from the couch and went to greet them.

As always, the dress code at Jake’s house was informal-casual. Gordon was dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. He carried a portable electric piano in his hands. Neesh had adhered to the dress code as well. She had on a denim miniskirt that fell to mid-thigh and a sleeveless blouse. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone, allowing a fair amount of her cleavage to show. Nothing trashy or risqué, but quite alluring. She carried a bottle of expensive tequila.

The two musicians greeted each other warmly, sharing a complex handshake and a bro-hug. Then Gordon came over and gave Laura a big hug. She returned it affectionately. She really did like Gordon—a healthy chunk of the guilt she felt came from the fact that it was Gordon’s fiancé she had enjoyed ‘girl-time’ with.

Jake, meanwhile, was getting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Neesh.

“I guess now that you’ve seen me naked, we’re on hugging terms, huh?” she asked him.

“That sounds like a good rule,” Jake agreed with a chuckle.

And then Neesh turned to Laura. She had a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. “Hey, Teach,” she greeted. “Tripped over any sea animals lately?”

Laura laughed and held out her arms. “Not lately,” she told her.

They embraced. She felt Neesh’s body against hers, felt those wonderous breasts pushing against her, smelled the intoxicating smell of her skin. Neesh kissed her lightly on her cheek, patted her back a few times, and that was it. A normal, everyday hug of greeting between two female friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while.

But Laura felt herself flushing all the same. Her resolve, however, remained firm.

Neesh gave no hint whatsoever of what had occurred between them the last time they were together. The four of them sat down and drank a few margaritas before dinner, chatting about such things as the upcoming wedding.

“I’ve chartered a Gulfstream to fly us direct to Kauai the day before the wedding,” Jake told the couple. “You two are more than welcome to fly with us if you want.”

“Who is gonna be on the flight?” Gordon asked.

“Well, Laura and I, obviously,” he replied. “Greg and Celia. The Nerdlys. Coop and whoever he brings as a guest. Pauline and Obie and Tabby. And Elsa, of course.”

“What about that tranny-fucking motherfucker?” Gordon asked.

“Charlie? He’ll be at the wedding—him and his boyfriend presumably—but they’re flying in out of SFO. So are my parents, Nerdly’s parents, and Jill, our accountant, and her parents.”

“You invited your accountant to your wedding?” Neesh asked.

“She’s a good accountant,” he said with a smile.

“There is a lot to be said for a good accountant,” Gordon said seriously.

“Besides, she’s my twin. I’m pretty much obligated to invite her.”

“Your twin?” Neesh asked, confused.

“It’s a long story,” Jake told her.

Gordon turned to his fiancé. “What do you say, baby?” he asked. “You wanna fly private with all these whities and their long-sufferin’ help to the hoedown?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “It’s not like we aren’t always the only people of color in the cabin when we fly first class.”

“That’s the truth,” Gordon agreed. “Save us a couple of seats, homey. We’ll take you up on your offer.”

“It’s gonna be a fun flight,” Jake said.

At the dinner table, the two couples sat across from each other. Elsa served the food and then retreated, as usual. Her chicken enchiladas were divine, and everyone had at least two helpings of everything, washing the food down with more of Jake’s margaritas (made with the tequila Neesh and Gordon had brought) from a pitcher on the table. Jake and Gordon spoke about the song they were going to be working on, dominating most of the conversation. Laura spent a lot of the time looking at Neesh, searching for any kind of hint in her eyes, on her face, in her mannerisms, any kind of teasing light, any kind of flirtation.

She saw nothing of the sort, just the eyes and face of a dinner guest here to visit with friends.

After dinner, while Elsa was cleaning up the dishes and putting the kitchen and dining room back to its usual immaculate self, the four of them stepped out onto the back deck, fresh margaritas in their hands. Jake fired up a fat joint he’d rolled earlier and they passed it around until it was but a roach, snubbed out in the ashtray.

“Pretty good shit, homey,” Gordon remarked, his eyes half-lidded.

“Naturally,” Jake said.

“It puts me in the perfect mood for a little composition. Shall we go in and see what we’ve come up with?”

“Let’s do it,” Jake said, standing up.

As they headed for the house, Laura, feeling her nervousness kick up a few notches, looked over at Neesh. Now would be a good time to have their conversation, to lay down the rules. “Do you want to stay out here for a while?” she asked her. “Watch the sun go down over the city?” She steeled herself a little. “Catch up on things?”

“How about we go watch the boys for a bit?” Neesh suggested instead. “I’m kind of curious to see what they came up with.”

“Oh ... sure, of course,” Laura said, feeling mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was anxious to get the serious talk over with. But on the other, she was not terribly good at confrontation and was kind of relieved to put it off for now. Maybe a few more drinks would help her along.

They went into the entertainment room. Gordon set up his electric piano on one of the tables while Jake disappeared to the composition room to retrieve his guitar. Neesh and Laura sat next to each other on the couch across from Gordon, a respectable amount of distance between them.

“Do you have any white wine?” Neesh asked politely, holding up her margarita glass. “I think I should probably quit with these things or I’m gonna have a sour stomach later on.”

“You bet,” Laura chirped brightly. She walked over to the bar and pulled a bottle of Inglenook chardonnay out of the refrigerator. By the time she had opened it and poured two glasses, Jake had returned and sat on a chair next to Gordon.

The song Jake and Gordon were working on did not have a name as of yet. Jake had apparently been working on the chorus, both melody and lyrics, and he sang out what he’d come up with so far, strumming in the key of G major. Each chorus he sang started with the same two lines but then ended with different variations of the theme for the second two lines.

“I like it, homey,” G told him after hearing him run through it twice. “Now let me show you what I got.”

Gordon then played a melody on the piano. His, however, was in the key of E major, and at an entirely different tempo than Jake had been utilizing. He sang out three verses, all of them in the theme of some malevolent and ignorant entity taking advantage of him and treating him like a possession. There was a clear analogy to slavery in his words. But he wasn’t singing about the slave trade. It was clear he was singing about record company executives and their contracts.

“Hard hitting,” Jake said, visibly impressed after hearing the first go through.

“That shit’s from the heart, brother,” G told him. “From the fuckin’ heart.”

“I feel it,” Jake said, nodding. “And I have a bridge I’m working on to throw in there as well.”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Gordon said.

“What about the different keys?” Laura suddenly spoke up, the musician in her pushing forward for the first time in a while. She hadn’t picked up her saxophone in months now—hadn’t even taken it to Oregon with her—but listening to the composition just now stirred something. “I mean, the tempo is easy to adjust once you start putting it together, but you’re both composing in different keys.”

“I like E major,” Gordon said. “It’s what most of my tunes are composed in.”

“That makes sense,” Laura said. “You have a baritone voice and the two go together. Just like Jake likes G major and F major to go with his tenor voice. But you’ll have to pick one or the other, won’t you?”

“Not necessarily,” Jake said. “We can modulate. It’s been done many times before.”

“Well ... yes,” she agreed, “but it’s very hard to pull off successfully.”

Jake simply shrugged. “The Beatles did it with Penny Lane, Genesis with Invisible Touch, Bon Jovi with Livin’ on a Prayer, and Pink Floyd with pretty much all of their complex tunes.”

“Michael Jackson, Diana Ross, and Whitney Houston did that shit too,” Gordon put in. “It can be done.”

Neesh was shaking her head. “I don’t have the slightest idea what any of you are talking about,” she said.

“The key is the scale of notes the song is played in,” Laura told her. “It tends to be based on the range of the vocalist, but not always. Anyway, most songs remain in the same key throughout. To change key, or modulate, as the term goes, makes the music a lot more complex to play for one thing, but it also makes parts of the song sound different from each other. It’s hard to pull off without it jangling the listener. They may not know anything about music, but they’ll notice something off if you change key.”

“Unless you do it right,” Jake said. “And if we do this, we’ll do it right.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Gordon agreed.

Neesh shook her head again. “I still don’t have any idea what you all are talking about. Can we maybe talk about the law and contracts for a bit?”

They did not. Instead, the two musicians went back to work, playing their music for each other and experimenting with ways to combine it. Neesh and Laura watched them, mostly in silence, and sipped their wine, with Laura playing proper host and getting up to refill their glasses when they were empty. Before long, they’d worked their way through a bottle and a half.

After pouring their latest, Neesh leaned over to Laura just as she sat back down. “This is a getting a little bit tedious for me,” she whispered. “How about we go kick back on that deck out there now?”

Laura was feeling the effects of the wine quite strongly. Her nervousness about speaking of such a delicate subject was still there, but had retreated considerably. “Let’s do it,” she whispered back. She stood up again and turned to Gordon and Jake. “We’re going to go sit out on the deck for a bit, guys.”

“Sounds good,” Jake said without looking up at her, without even halting the strumming he’d been doing on his guitar. Gordon didn’t acknowledge the statement at all. He was busy penciling down a few notes on his pad.

“All right then,” Neesh said with a little smile. “Shall we head out?”

“We should,” Laura agreed.

Laura opened the sliding glass door and they stepped out onto the deck. She closed the door behind her, cutting off the sound of the music being played in the entertainment room. They sat down on the reclining chairs and looked out over the city. The sun was now down and the lights of Los Angeles were shining brightly. Off in the distance, the lights of a police helicopter blinked. It was even clear enough to see the buildings downtown. The temperature was quite pleasant, in the mid-sixties.

“Nice night,” Neesh remarked.

“It is,” Laura agreed.

“Gordon tells me that the property Jake bought on the ocean closed escrow last month.”

“That’s right,” Laura said. “He’s got a contractor working on improving the road and stringing power lines right now. And he’s got meetings scheduled with an architecture firm to start designing the house.”

“That’s very exciting,” Neesh said. “What’s he going to have them build? A mansion?”

She shook her head. “It’s going to be a big house—eight thousand square feet total, plus a guest house that will be another two thousand. But it’s all going to be single story. Jake is not pretentious. He wants a house that’s comfortable and has all the room he wants and needs, but not one that’s going to say, ‘look how rich I am’. He wants it to be the sort of house that people will look at—although the only way they’ll be able to see it is if they’re on a boat out in the ocean or flying over in an aircraft—and hardly even notice.”

“Interesting,” Neesh said thoughtfully. “That explains a lot about the wedding you two are having. Simple, intimate, and secluded.”

“It’s what we wanted,” she said.

“Really?” she asked. “Didn’t you ever dream about a huge production with hundreds of guests, the event of the season for your wedding? Everyone focusing on you, the bride?”

“No,” she said quite honestly. “The very thought would terrify me. In truth, I would’ve been happy driving down to the Justice of the Peace in our jeans and getting married that way.”

“You’re kidding,” Neesh said.

“Not at all,” she said. “Jake insisted that we have some sort of ceremony though. He wants his family and friends to be there.” She giggled a little. “And he wants to stomp on a wine glass at the end of the ceremony.”

“Stomp on a wine glass?” she asked. “He’s not Jewish, is he?”

“No, he’s not religious at all. Nerdly did that at his wedding, however, and Jake thought it was very cool.” Another giggle. “He told me once that the real reason he asked me to marry him was so he could stomp on the glass.”

Neesh laughed. “You two are an interesting couple,” she said. “I think you’re right for each other.”

“So do I,” Laura said. She swallowed. “And that’s why ... I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Neesh looked at her. “What happened on the beach the last time we were together?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Laura said. “About that.”

“I assume you’re not talking about you tripping over the sea lion and us having to sneak in the house naked?”

“No,” she said, “although that is a great story now that the injuries have healed and my toenails are growing back. I’m talking about what happened just before that.”

The light was dim out here, provided only by the inside lights shining through the windows, but it was enough that Laura could see Neesh smiling fondly. “That was just girl-time, Teach,” she said. “And it was interrupted girl-time at that.”

“You ... uh ... you seem to think of it a lot more casually than I’m able to,” she said.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Neesh asked her. “It’s not like it’s cheating. It’s just two girls...” a little naughty giggle, “ ... sometimes three, having some fun, sharing pleasures. Nobody can get pregnant from it. Nobody can get no disease from it—at least not very easily—and the very thought of it tends to turn guys on something fierce if they know about it. So, tell me, what’s wrong with a little girl-time every now and then?”

“Does Gordon know about your girl-time encounters?” Laura asked her.

“No,” she said without hesitation. “Gordon is a good man and I love him dearly, but I don’t think we’d see eye to eye on girl-time.”

“That’s what’s wrong with it,” Laura told her. “It’s deception and lying.”

Neesh simply shrugged. “All couples deceive each other and lie to each other about something. We don’t live in a seventies TV show here.”

“True, but...”

“Did you tell Jake about what happened between us?” Neesh asked her. “I’m assuming you haven’t since he’s acting pretty normal around me.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“Is that because you’re ashamed about what we did?”

“Well ... no,” she said. “I’m not ashamed, just ... guilty. And I don’t think telling Jake about what happened would help anything.”

She nodded. “I think I agree with you there.”

“But we can never do that again,” Laura said.

“No?” Neesh asked. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

Laura sighed. “Actually, I enjoyed it quite a lot,” she admitted. “Too much.”

“No such thing as enjoying something too much,” Neesh proclaimed.

“Oh, but there is,” Laura said. “And this is one of those things. I told Jake about what I did with those women in South America and he understood. He wasn’t upset with me about it. But what you and I did was different than that.”

“In what way?”

“I know your name,” she said. “You’re not an anonymous groupie that I’ll never see again. You’re the fiancé of one of Jake’s best friends. That puts this on a completely different level.”

“I suppose,” Neesh said thoughtfully. “Tell me something though, are you sad that we didn’t get to finish what we started that night?”

Laura nodded. “Yes,” she said.

Neesh smiled. “And do you think about what would have happened if we hadn’t lost our clothes, how it would’ve been, how it would’ve felt?”

“All the time,” Laura said.

“Me too,” Neesh said. “I think back about how you told me not to tease you. I should’ve listened. If I wouldn’t have teased, I could’ve had my mouth on your pussy and you never would’ve thought about those clothes, right?”

Laura licked her lips, feeling wetness seeping into her down below despite her resolve. She resisted an urge to touch the nipple on her breast through her dress. “Most likely,” she said, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.

“But you don’t want to have girl-time with me anymore?”

“I can’t,” Laura said. “I really can’t.”

Neesh nodded. “Well, all right then,” she said. “I guess I have to respect your wishes.”

“Thank you,” Laura said, relieved (but also disappointed?). “I hope this whole thing doesn’t alter our friendship. Because I really do enjoy having you as a friend, Neesh.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Neesh told her. “Friendship is more important than girl-time. One should not impact the other.”

“That’s good to know,” Laura said.

They talked no more of girl-time or what had happened between them. Instead, they talked of the upcoming wedding a little more, and then of Neesh and Gordon’s wedding in April. They finished their wine and did not pour any more.

“Well,” said Neesh. “You suppose we ought to go back in and see how our menfolk are doing?”

“I guess so,” Laura said.

They went back into the house. Gordon and Jake were still strumming guitar strings, playing piano keys, and singing verses and choruses. They hardly noticed the two ladies returning.

They sat and watched for a few minutes and then Neesh stood up. “Excuse me for a few,” she said. “I have to go pee.”

“You know where it’s at,” Laura said.

“Yes, I do,” Neesh concurred. She headed out the back of the entertainment room to the half bath in the hallway that led to the living room. She disappeared inside and shut the door behind her.

A few minutes went by. Laura watched the two musicians play—it seemed they were getting the basics of a tune dialed in—and thought about how her conversation with Neesh had gone. She had spoken plainly and stuck to her guns. She was quite proud herself, actually. And Neesh said they could still be friends! Even better.

She heard the bathroom door open up again. She then heard Neesh whispering her name.

She looked up and saw her standing just outside the bathroom door, gesturing to her.

What is this about? she wondered. Did she just start her period maybe, and doesn’t have any supplies on her? That seemed the most likely possibility. Even though Neesh, like Laura, was on birth control pills and her periods should have quite predictable, things still happened.

But that was not what this was about.

“What’s up?” Laura asked her after walking over to her.

“Nothing much,” Neesh said. “Just curious about something.”

“What’s that?”

She pointed to a door near the end of the hall, the last door on the right before entering the living room. “That room right there,” she said. “I don’t remember going in there when you gave me the tour the first time I was here.”

Laura furled her brow in confusion. She seemed to remember showing her everything in the house, but then again, that had been a while ago. And that was not exactly the most memorable room in the house. “It’s just a guest room,” she told her. “And not even one of the bigger ones. We don’t even really use it.”

“Can I see it?” Neesh asked.

“The guest room? Uh ... sure, if you really want to.”

“I really want to,” Neesh told her.

Laura shrugged and led her over to the door. She opened it. It was one of the smaller rooms in the house, only twelve feet by twelve feet. There was a twin bed in here, neatly made up and with recently laundered sheets thanks to Elsa. Next to it was a small nightstand and a dresser. The air smelled fresh and clean—again thanks to Elsa.

“It’s pretty much just your basic room,” Laura said, leading Neesh inside. “Nobody has slept in here in all the time I’ve lived here, although Elsa told me that her grandson used to stay in here on the nights he would...”

There was a click as Neesh shut the door behind them.

Laura turned and looked at her, seeing the smile on her face, the hungry look in her eyes. “Neesh,” she said carefully. “What are you doing?”

Neesh locked the door and then took a step closer to her. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do,” she said softly.

“Now wait a minute,” Laura said, feeling a little jolt of adrenaline going through her—and a little jolt of lust as well. “We agreed that nothing would happen between us, remember?”

“I remember,” Neesh said. “I’m just not sure you were being truthful with me.”

“I was, Neesh,” Laura insisted, feeling herself trembling a little now. She was not sure, however, if it was from fear or arousal. “We can’t do anything.”

“I’m not going to attack you, Teach,” Neesh told her. “I would never do something like that. What I am going to do is walk up you, take your face in my hands, and then kiss you. If you don’t want me to do that, all you need to do is put your hands up to my shoulders and gently push me away before my mouth makes contact with yours. If you do that, I will turn around and walk out of this room and never try anything with you again.”

“Neesh ... I ... we ... uh...”

Neesh walked over to her until they were standing almost chest to chest. “I notice you haven’t pushed me away yet,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to ... I mean we shouldn’t ... I mean...”

But Neesh knew what she meant. She put her hands to the side of Laura’s face. They were soft hands, feminine hands. She then leaned in and put her lips to Laura’s lips. Laura brought her hands up, but she did not push Neesh away. Instead, she put them around Neesh’s waist and pulled her closer.

Neesh slid her tongue out and into Laura’s mouth. Laura, thinking my God, this just feels too good, slid her tongue out to meet it. They kissed deeply, passionately and Laura felt herself getting lost in the sensation, felt her resolve go crumbling to the ground like a building undergoing controlled demolition.

They continued to swap tongues as Neesh slid her hands down and cupped Laura’s ass, pulling her tighter against her. Neesh then broke the kiss and moved her mouth to Laura’s jaw, just below her left ear. She kissed and sucked the flesh here, occasionally nibbling on the earlobe. It was driving Laura insane with lust. Her insanity kicked up a few notches when Neesh began to whisper into her ear between kisses.

“You’ve been wanting to do this with me all night, haven’t you?” she whispered.

Laura moaned a little, and then let her own hands drop down beneath the hem of Neesh’s miniskirt, so she was touching the backs of her thighs.

“Haven’t you?” Neesh insisted.

“Yes,” Laura admitted.

“And I’ve been wanting you too,” Neesh whispered. “Ever since I first walked in the door and hugged you, my pussy has been dripping.”

“Oh God,” Laura groaned.

“I’m going to finish what I started on the beach that night,” Neesh said. “Right here and right now.”

“But ... but ... Jake and Gordon,” Laura said. “They’re right out there.”

“Yes, we’ll have to make it quick,” Neesh said. She disengaged her mouth and leaned back a little, breaking the embrace. “I need to come first though. If I don’t, I’m going to go out of my fucking mind.”

“You mean ... you want me to ... to...”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet, Teach,” Neesh told her. “Maybe another night, after a girl’s night out perhaps?” She smiled naughtily. “Yes, I like the sound of that. But, for now...” She put her fingers to her blouse and undid another two buttons. She pulled it open, revealing her large breasts incased in a silky white bra. The bra was a front-loader, as evidenced by the fact that she reached between her boobs and undid the fastener. Her mammaries spilled out into the air.

This was Laura’s first truly good look at them in proper lighting. They were indeed magnificent. The nipples were hard, just begging to have a mouth upon them.

“Come here,” Neesh said. “Suck my tits. Suck them like a baby sucks on its mommy’s tits.”

She did not hesitate. She stepped forward, put her arms around Neesh’s waist, and slurped the left nipple into her mouth. It was every bit as enjoyable as she remembered.

“Yesss,” Neesh moaned. “Suck on them. Worship them. And while you’re doing that, put your hand up under my skirt and touch me.”

Oh God, Laura thought with a shudder, all doubts about this encounter now pretty much destroyed. This is so fucking hot!

She slid her right hand up the inside of Neesh’s bare right leg, trailing her fingertips upward, along the soft, sexy flesh of her inner thigh. She probed up under the skirt, going higher, higher, and soon found out that Neesh was not wearing any panties.

“Isn’t that naughty of me?” Neesh said with a chuckle. “I’ve been sitting next to you all night long with no underwear on, just letting my juices drip down.”

Laura moaned again and then switched to the other nipple, attacking it with lips and tongue.

“Now slide you fingers inside of me and start fucking me with them,” Neesh told her.

Laura did as commanded. Neesh was tight and smooth but quite wet. Her fingers slid in easily. She began to pump them in and out.

“That’s it,” Neesh panted, her own hand stroking Laura’s hair. “Now use your thumb to play with my clit while you do that. Be aggressive, Teach. I’m on a fucking hair trigger here.”

Laura began to manipulate her clit with her thumb while continuing to drive the fingers in and out. Neesh was right. It didn’t take her long at all. Within thirty seconds or so, Neesh’s pants became erratic and irregular, and her pelvis began to thrust back against the fingers.

“Yess, yesss ... Oh fuck yes,” Neesh cried through gritted teeth as her release came. “Keep it up, keep it up, let me get through the follow-through ... Oh yes.”

Laura was now completely engulfed in sapphic lust. She no longer cared that Jake and Gordon were outside the door only thirty feet away. What they were doing in here was so forbidden, so sexy, so fucking hot!

“Excellent job, Teach,” Neesh panted as she pushed Laura’s invading fingers free of her body.

“That was incredible,” Laura whispered. “I actually made you come.”

“Yes, you did,” Neesh agreed. She was still holding Laura’s wrist. She gently pulled it out from under her skirt and brought the hand up, so it was just in front of Laura’s face. Her fingers were glistening with wetness. “Now taste me,” she commanded.

“Taste you?” Laura said doubtfully.

“My juices are all over your fingers,” Neesh said. “Taste me.”

Laura hesitated for the briefest instance. She had tasted her own juices many times—sometimes on her own fingers while she played with herself, sometimes on Jake’s mouth after he’d been down below eating her, and occasionally on Jake’s dick if she sucked him after he’d been inside of her—and actually quite enjoyed them, but this was another woman’s juices they were talking about her. But then the smell reached her nose. It was a sharp, tangy smell, very similar to what her own juices smelled like, but different in a fundamental way.

“Come on, baby,” Neesh whispered. “Do it.”

Laura did it. She sucked her fingers into her mouth and tasted Neesh. It was a good taste; a sexy taste; one she would never forget. She found herself wondering what it would be like to taste it from the source.

“That’s it, you nasty girl,” Neesh said. “Now it’s your turn to come.”

“Yes,” Laura said, nodding. “I want to come. I need to come.”

“And you will,” Neesh said. “And no teasing this time. I’m going right for it. Are you wearing panties under that dress?”

“Yes,” Laura said.

Neesh seemed a little disappointed by this but shrugged it off. “All right. Take ‘em off and lay back on the bed. Let me show you what girl-time is all about.”

Laura reached up under her dress and slid her panties down. The crotch of them was absolutely saturated. She tossed them to the side of the bed and then lay down upon it, hardly hearing the little squeak of the springs. She spread her legs, revealing her swollen, glistening sex to Neesh’s eyes.

Neesh put her face between Laura’s legs and showed her what girl-time was all about.

It took less than two minutes.