“Fair enough,” Jake said. He finished the last bite of his sandwich and then looked at Celia carefully. “Are you really doing okay, C?”
She looked back at him, her eyes touching his. “I don’t know,” she finally said.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “It’s more than just Greg not being able to join you, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s more than that. And I’m not ready to talk about it just yet. It’s ... well ... it’s complicated.”
“All right,” he said, reaching across and giving her hand a squeeze. “Just know that I’m always here for you.”
“I know you are, Jake,” she said. “And I appreciate that. Have you heard from Laura lately?”
Jake’s situation with Laura was similar to what Celia was undergoing with Greg. She had finished up the US portion of the Bobby Z tour and returned to Los Angeles, but she had not been able to come up to Oregon to visit him because they were working every day rehearsing up the new set they would be doing for the South American tour. “Not in a few days,” he said. “Last I talked to her they were still working on their set, getting it dialed in. They leave for Caracas the day after Christmas.”
“I envy her,” Celia said at the mention of her native country’s capital city. “It’s been so long since I’ve been home ... my real home. Caracas is only about a four-hour drive from Barquisimeto. It’s one of my favorite cities.” She shook her head a little. “All the things I could show her if I was there. All my old stomping grounds.”
“Maybe you should take a trip home once we’re done recording,” he suggested.
“Maybe I will,” she said. “I’d love to show you my home town sometime, Jake—Caracas too. Will you think about going with me?”
“Uh ... well ... maybe,” he said, caught off-guard a little. “It depends on what Laura has going at the time. And what about Greg? I’m sure he’d like to see the sights of Venezuela with you.”
“Maybe,” she said stiffly. She then gave him a meaningful look. “And maybe not.”
Whatever is bothering her, he thought, it sure as shit has something to do with Greg. What happened between them? It was more than just the separation. It had to be. They had been separated for longer periods during their relationship.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asked her softly.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Sorry to be such a downer.”
“You undoubtedly have your reasons,” Jake told her. “Listen, I’m going to go call that record store and see what I can arrange. Sound cool?”
“Sounds cool,” she said. “And think about Venezuela, huh? I think you’d like it there.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” he promised.
In the corner of the cafeteria was a desk with a phone on it. Jake sat down and pulled a piece of paper and a pen from one of the desk drawers. He then dialed nine for an outside line and then information for the Portland region. He asked for and received the number for the Portland Music Store—a robotic voice recited the number to him in exaggerated, monotone fashion, something that had popped up over the past year or so and that Jake was still not used to—and he jotted it down. He then dialed another outside line, dialed a one for long distance, the area code, and then the number. Two hundred miles away, a phone began to ring.
“Portland Music Store,” a male voice chirped up. “This is Frank. How my I help you?”
Jake smiled. He remembered Frank from his first visit there. “Hey, Frank,” Jake said. “Jake Kingsley here. How are you doing?”
“Jake Kingsley?” Frank said slowly. “The Jake Kingsley?”
“Well, every Jake Kingsley is the Jake Kingsley, if you know what I mean, but yeah, I’m the Jake Kingsley you’re thinking of. I was in there last year with a cute redhead and we bought a soprano sax from you, remember?”
“I certainly remember that, Mr. Kingsley,” Frank assured him. “It’s an honor talking to you again. I understand that the sax we sold you is the one that Laura Best plays on your song South Island Blur.”
“That is right,” Jake said.
“And that was the song you two played in the store!” he said excitedly. “The first time I heard it on the radio I remembered how you and she played and sang for us that day.”
“We were just trying out the instrument and needed to see if it sounded like we thought it would before we committed to purchase. As it turned out, that was a good investment.”
“And a pretty good commission for me as well,” Frank said. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Kingsley?”
“You can call me Jake,” Jake told him. “And the reason I called is that Celia Valdez and I are over here in Coos Bay recording new albums. You’ve heard of Celia Valdez, right?”
“Of course I’ve heard of her,” he said. “We play her album on the overhead all the time.”
“Very nice,” Jake said. “Anyway, to make a long story short, Celia is in need of a new twelve-string acoustic guitar; a high-end Gibson model hopefully, although I’m sure she can live with a Guild or an Ibanez if that’s all you got, as long as it’s of recording quality caliber. Do you have such a thing in the store?”
“We have two professional quality Gibson twelve-strings in stock right now,” Frank told him. “One is the strict acoustic, the model 24. The other is the acoustic-electric version. We don’t have any high-end Ibanez twelve-strings at all, but we do have a mid-range Yamaha if that would suit your needs.”
“How much is the model 24?” Jake asked.
“I’m afraid it’s rather pricey,” Frank told him. “It’s listed at $2599.”
“That is rather pricey,” Jake agreed, but he knew it was well worth it. The Gibson model 24 was a well-made instrument that would last for generations—as long as someone didn’t leave it exposed to the fog overnight.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to negotiate price with you, Mister ... uh ... I mean, Jake.”
“That’s okay,” Jake said. “I understand. Now, Celia and I were thinking about coming in tomorrow morning to check out the instrument and, as long as nothing is wrong with it, to buy it from you.”
“That’s awesome, Jake!” Frank said.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “But the thing is, we’re both pretty recognizable these days. We’d like to make this transaction quietly and privately if that is possible. What are the chances we could get you to open the shop an hour early so we could conduct business without getting mobbed?”
“Uh ... well ... I think for a sale like that, my manager would be happy to do it. Can I just check with him on this?”
“Absolutely,” Jake said.
“Hang tight, Jake,” Frank said. “I’m gonna put you on hold for a minute.”
“No problem,” Jake said.
There was click and then the on-hold music began to play. Jake felt a little tug of sadness as he heard the tune. It was a saxophone melody being laid down by Laura Best herself. He had never heard it before, but he knew her playing.
Just as the tune was winding down, the phone clicked again and Frank was back. “Are you still there, Jake?”
“I’m still here,” he assured him.
“Bart ... that’s the manager, says he would be happy to open up the shop an hour early for you. That would be nine o’clock.”
“Perfect,” Jake said. “We’ll see you then.”
“Uh ... before you go though, how exactly are you getting here? Are you driving?”
“No,” Jake said. “I have my plane. We’ll be flying into Hillsboro and then renting a car from there. Why do you ask?”
“Well ... I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to the weather reports,” Frank told him, “but there’s supposed to be a storm coming in.”
“A storm?” Jake asked. He had not, in fact, looked at a single weather report in days since he had not been planning any flights ... until now.