“She might,” Jake agreed.
“And I am leaving for three months on New Year’s Day, so if anything was going to happen, it would have to be before then.”
“That’s true as well.”
“And even if she did want to do it with me, and if we could make it happen before New Year’s Day, there’s a good chance she would not want a man watching her. She is a lesbian, remember, not a bisexual.”
“Another good point,” Jake said.
“I just wanted to make sure you understood all that.”
“I understand,” Jake said. “So ... are you going to go for it, or what?”
She smiled, partly in arousal, partly in nervousness. “Yes,” she said. “I’m going to go for it.”
They picked up Molly and Eric at their Toluca Lake house at 4:30 that afternoon. Eric was wearing his normal outfit of black jeans, a black shirt, and black shoes, his eyes cast toward the ground as he approached the limo. Jake hardly glanced at him. Instead, he let his eyes take in the form and figure of Molly. She did not look much like she had in his mind’s eye, but she was still quite attractive. Laura was right. It did not appear possible that she was forty years of age. Her hair was short, and she was only a little taller than Laura, but her body was nicely put together and she looked to be in very good physical shape. Her face was pretty, devoid of makeup except for some lip gloss, and without even a hint of stereotypical lesbian features. She had been advised to dress business casual level and so she had. She wore a pair of tan slacks, a button-up white blouse with long sleeves, and a pair of modest black heels.
Tony, their driver for the evening, opened the door of the limo for the pair and they climbed inside, taking the side seats on the left side. Eric quickly slid all the way around into the corner. Molly took the time to adhere to social convention and waited to be introduced. Laura performed the ritual since it seemed that Eric had no intention of doing so. Molly seemed a little bit starstruck to meet Jake Kingsley. She told him that she was a fan of his music, both from the Intemperance days and his solo albums.
“I’m glad you enjoy it,” Jake said, pleased, as always, when someone sincerely relayed that they liked his music.
“I’m not as much of a fan of Matt Tisdale’s Intemperance songs though,” she said. “A little too sexist and misogynistic for my tastes.”
“Yeah,” Jake agreed cordially, “I don’t think Matt will ever be asked to speak at a feminist rally, that’s for sure.”
The ride to Pauline’s Silver Lake house was only about fifteen minutes. Nonetheless, Laura offered to pour wine for everyone. Molly had never been in a limo before, so she readily accepted on the grounds that it was part of the limo experience. Jake accepted because it was Christmas—a festive day that called for imbibing (not that he really needed an excuse). Eric declined. He had taken a Xanax before leaving the house to prevent a panic attack at the social gathering and therefore would not be drinking any alcohol at all.
The gathering was considerably smaller than had been the case at Thanksgiving. The Kingsley and Archer parents were, of course, still at home in Cypress County, and the Nerdlys were celebrating the eighth and final night of Hanukkah with the Cohens—Sharon’s parents. That left only Obie, Pauline, Tabby, Greg, Celia, Jake and Laura with their two guests. Eric had already met all of them at Thanksgiving. He only muttered back at everyone when they greeted him, as was his style. Molly, on the other hand, seemed a little overwhelmed to be in the presence of all the celebrities. She was particularly enamored to meet Celia and Greg and, for a few minutes, it looked like maybe she was going to have to pop one of Eric’s Xanax pills as well. She was tongue-tied and gushing when introduced, hardly able to spit out a coherent phrase. However, once she was assured that Celia and Greg and Obie all put their pants on one leg at a time, just like her (and after she put down a fairly potent scotch and soda Jake mixed for her at the bar) she mellowed out and started to enjoy herself.
Obie was cooking up an eighteen-pound standing rib roast for their Christmas dinner while Pauline was making mashed potatoes and gravy and steamed asparagus. While dinner was cooking, everyone drank expensive red wine from France (except for Obie, who drank scotch on the rocks; Tabby, who drank apple juice from a sippy cup—neat; and Eric, who drank nothing). Molly seemed to grow more comfortable in the setting the more wine she drank and soon she and Laura and Celia were sitting on one of the couches, talking and giggling and taking turns playing with Tabby and the multitude of new Christmas toys she had scored.
They ate dinner at 6:30 and then Jake and Laura cleared the table of dishes (Pauline’s housekeeper was home with her family for Christmas) and spent some time putting them in the dishwasher.
“How goes Operation Clambake?” Jake asked her as they worked together in the kitchen.
She tried to scowl at him in a wifely manner but could not quite pull it off because of the giggles. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. “She’s a little intimidated by all of us, I think, and this is hardly the setting to start coming onto someone. And besides ... I don’t really know how to come on to someone.”
“You did a pretty good job with me that night in the hot tub up in Oregon,” Jake reminded her.
She blushed and giggled a little more at this reminder of their first sexual encounter. “This is not really the same kind of situation,” she said. “Nor do I think that approach would be successful here.”
“Perhaps not,” he allowed.
“I told you not to get your hopes up,” she reminded him.
“I’m not,” he said, “but what about your hopes? You still want to piece of that pie, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said, her eyes shining.
“Then you have to up your game a little,” Jake said. “We’re spending New Year’s Eve in Granada Hills. Maybe she’d like to come over.”
“Maybe,” Laura said thoughtfully.
“Without Eric,” he added.
“Without Eric,” she repeated.
“And if she would prefer that I be elsewhere that night ... I’m okay with that. I could always go stay with the Nerdlys.”
“Stay with Bill and Sharon?” she asked. “Wouldn’t they wonder why you wanted to stay the night with them while I’m at home on our last night for three months?”
“I’ll tell them we had a fight,” he said.
“Oh ... okay,” she said with a shrug. “I guess that would work. Just don’t tell them the real reason.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her.
After getting the dishwasher started and the kitchen back in order, everyone had the crème brulee that Greg and Celia had brought for dessert. After that, they all broke up into groups again for some final conversation for the last stage of the get-together. Obie and Jake went over and sat next to Eric on the couch.
“How’s the old social anxiety tonight, boy?” Obie asked the violinist.
“It’s okay,” Eric answered meekly. “The Xanax is keeping it under control.”
“Doesn’t that stuff make you sleepy?” Jake asked him.
“A little,” he said, still looking at the floor. “I’m used to it.”
“You ever thought about just firing up on some booze instead of taking pills?” Obie asked him. He hefted his scotch glass up. “Good old American coping—the way we won the west. This shit is bad for you in many ways, but it’s great for mellowing out the old noggin.”
“I always throw up if I drink too much of it,” Eric said.
“Well shit, everyone does that,” Obie said. “I spent many a night back in my younger days worshipping the porcelain god.”
“It only takes about three drinks for me,” Eric told him.
“Three drinks?” Obie asked incredulously. “That’s some fucked up shit, boy.”