“Sorry, Cindy,” Jake apologized.
The Archers, as a group, were also quite in favor of the burgeoning relationship between the singer and the saxophonist, particularly Nerdly himself. Jake was Bill’s best friend in the entire world—except for Sharon, of course—and his oldest, most loyal friend. They had known each other for as long as either of them had memories in this life. They had grown up together, had played music together, had fornicated with band followers of loose morality together, had done illicit drugs together. Jake had been the best man at his wedding, his name signed on the ketuvah, or wedding contract with Sharon. He was the brother Nerdly had never had. Bill wanted nothing but happiness and contentment for him and had watched in alarm as Jake’s life had nearly spiraled out of control following the near simultaneous breakups of his relationship with Helen and the band Intemperance. He had noticed over the years that Jake’s stability and happiness levels were directly correlational with his stability and contentment in a romantic relationship with a woman. And Laura seemed such a copacetic companion for him now that she had abandoned the socially unsanctioned relationship she had been in before. Though he had liked Helen tremendously—he and Sharon had both been quite despondent for a time after the breakup—he too realized that Jake and Laura had much more in common. He liked her, and he thought, in time, he would like her as much as, if not more, than he had liked Helen.
The couple carried their coffee cups over to the large dining room table and sat down in the chairs across from Greg and Celia, next to Phil.
Phil was perhaps the worst dressed gay man that Jake had ever met. He was currently wearing a pair of baggy black jeans and a bright orange sweater that made him look like a county jail inmate, or perhaps a misplaced San Francisco Giants fan. This was typical of his attire, perhaps even a little quieter than some.
“How’s the morning going, Phil?” Laura asked him, reaching over to finger the material of his sweater.
“Pretty good,” Phil said. “Just wondering if you’re going to need me today.”
“We’re not,” Jake told him. “We have to get those bass and drum tracks laid down today. That is our mission. And even if we manage to complete it, we’ll still be working primarily on the outro. No vocals are likely to be recorded today.”
Phil nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Looks like a day off. Can I use your car again, Jake?”
“It’s all yours,” Jake assured him.
“Perfect, thank you,” Phil said, smiling, hoping that today might be the day he successfully found whatever gay community had to exist in this place so he could get himself laid. Having Jake’s Beemer would undoubtedly help in the second endeavor, if not the first.
Phil too was quite pleased with the relationship between Jake and Laura, and not just because the singer was nice enough to let him use his sixty thousand dollar car. He genuinely loved Laura as a man would love his own sister and he was quite happy that she had finally ended that horrid relationship with Dave the dentist—well ... Dave had yet to acknowledge the fact that the relationship was over, but that was just a formality. And though Phil had been a bit chagrined to find that Jake was not gay or even bisexual—what a goddamn shame that was!—he liked the man and respected him musically. True, he had quite a colorful past, some of which was dotted with reports of him not treating his girlfriends so nicely, but he had gotten to know the man over the past few months and he had a hard time equating those reports with what he saw and knew. Jake treated Laura well and he cared about her. And, based on the sounds he had heard coming out of that bedroom on a few occasions, he knew his way around the female anatomy. Those sounds, after all, had never come out of Laura’s bedroom when Dr. Dave had been in there.
“Just don’t leave me an empty tank,” Jake warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Phil assured him.
Jake turned back toward Greg and Celia. “What are you gonna do today, Greg?” Jake asked the actor, who was impeccably dressed in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, as usual. Perhaps Phil could learn a few fashion tips from him?
“Well, now that there seems to be a break in the rain,” Greg responded, “I’m going to drive out and look at the site again.”
The site he was referring to was a 3000-acre parcel of beachfront dune property outside of the Coos County town of Bandon, about twenty minutes north of the Coos Bay Bridge off Highway 101. Currently owned by a land rich, income poor extended family that had held title to it since the days when the State of Oregon had been called Oregon Territory and the coastal regions had been accessible only by ocean going vessels, they were looking to unload it for the purpose of cashing in on land they had no financial means to develop. Greg, who had fallen in love with the region after visiting it the first time, had seen the potential of the property. Since it sat atop sand dunes, for the most part, it could not be developed into a dense residential and commercial area, but it would be ideal for an exclusive oceanfront golf resort worthy of the PGA tour. He was currently in the process of trying to find investors for the project and he was actually starting to get a few nibbles of interest, both from individuals and real estate development companies.
“You really think you’re going to get this thing off the ground, huh?” Jake asked.
“I am unequivocally going to get it off the ground,” Greg replied confidently. “My mind is set. When my mind is set, I accomplish what I’m after.”
Jake nodded. You had to respect an attitude like that.
“I’d love to come out and look at the area some time,” Laura said shyly. She was still somewhat awed by the fact that she was living in a house with Greg Oldfellow and that she could just converse with him whenever she wanted like he was a normal human being.
“Funny you should ask that,” Greg said. “I’ve been wanting Jake to come out and take a look at it as well. Maybe we could make a day of it the next time there’s a break in the action.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I would like to take a look. Maybe next Sunday?”
“It’s a date,” Greg said. “I’ll pencil it into my schedule.”
Greg was also quite happy about the new relationship between Jake and Laura. Though he considered the rock and roll musician a close friend—one of his closest true friends, as opposed to professional friends, hangers-on, and business associates, although Jake was, in fact, a business associate as well—he had not failed to pick up on the uncomfortable vibe that existed between his friend and his wife. It was a vibe he had first noticed when Jake and Helen had visited his new home in Palm Springs more than two years ago, when they had put on a little impromptu concert with their guitars after dinner. That vibe had grown considerably stronger, easier to pick up on in the past six months since they had started working closely together on their album projects. Of course, he did not understand what Celia could possibly see in the musician when compared to himself—Jake after all, was worth only a twentieth or so of what Greg was, was uneducated, and sang songs for a living, for Christ’s sake—that connection was undeniably there. But now that Jake’s attention was occupied with the cute saxophonist—Greg often wondered what she looked like naked, and how she was in bed (perhaps Jake would share some of those details with him they next time they pounded down some drinks together without the women present)—he was hopeful that vibe would dampen down to some degree. Not that he feared that Celia would actually act upon the vibe, because he knew she wouldn’t, and not because he thought that Jake would be so crass as to sleep with his friend’s wife, because he knew he wouldn’t, but just because the mere existence of that connection nagged at him, like a piece of meat stuck in one’s tooth, or a canker sore in one’s mouth.