“No?” Jake asked.
Greg shook his head. “I’m sure it’s just a passing fad and that it won’t end up going anywhere in the long term. But for now, it’s just a few clicks of the mouse to find out that it’s going to be forty-eight degrees and windy when we land in Chicago tomorrow. And that there is rain forecast for the day that we’re supposed to start our first photography takes.”
“Email, huh?” Jake said. “I heard Nerdly going on about that a few weeks ago. He says it’s going to replace the US Postal Service eventually. That no one will ever send letters or memos to anyone in another ten years.”
Greg shook his head again. “I find that really hard to believe,” he prophesized.
They puffed their cigars a bit and then had a few sips of Cognac.
“I’ve been kind of busy with the Brainwash project these past few months,” Jake said. “You haven’t told me how things are going with our favorite actress.”
“Mindy Snow,” Greg said. He shrugged. “We’ve been in meetings together on multiple occasions now. We’ve even done some basic readings of some of our primary scenes in the script. So far ... nothing unusual to report. She’s been polite and very professional with me the entire time. She seems to be taking her role very seriously.”
“Really?” Jake asked.
“It’s the truth,” he said. “She has made no allusions to anything. In fact, she has pretty much only talked business with me when we’ve been together. Like I said, very professional, very goal oriented.”
“Interesting,” Jake said. “I find that a particularly ominous development.”
“Maybe she’s turned over a new leaf?” Greg suggested.
“No,” Jake said firmly. “There is no new leaf for Mindy Snow. Watch your ass.”
Greg nodded. “If there’s one thing I learned how to do when I was riding with Chicago PD on the south side, it’s how to watch my ass.”
“Are you coming to the studio tomorrow?” Celia asked Laura as she poured the two of them fresh glasses of white wine. Tomorrow Jake and Celia planned to meet at ten o’clock in the morning at KVA’s studio in Santa Clarita. Both had the basics of ten to twelve tunes they had worked up and they wanted to get started on their next albums.
“I don’t know,” Laura said with a shrug. “Should I?”
“You should,” Celia told her. “Has Jake played any of his tunes for you yet?”
“A few,” she said. “I like to listen to him strum and sing and he likes to ask me what I think of the melodies and the lyrics.”
“That’s because you’re a musician,” Celia said. “You have insight into the art. I’d love to hear your opinion on some of my work too.”
“If you really think I’ll be helpful,” Laura said.
“I really think you will,” Celia said. “And you should bring your sax with you too. Jake says you’ll be our sax player this next round?”
She nodded. “I’m out of practice, but I promised him I would play.”
“Then you should start plugging in as soon as possible. I’ve already got five songs in mind that will need an alto sax as either the primary melody or for the fills. It would be nice to hear you play it out for me so I can see if I’m on track or not.”
“All right,” she said. “I guess I’ll be there. It’s time I started getting back into the groove again.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Celia said happily. “And there’s another thing. Do you have any plans for this weekend?”
“This weekend, no.” she said. “Remember, I’m currently unemployed. I don’t even have housewife responsibilities thanks to Elsa. Why do you ask?”
“I’m driving to Palm Springs on Friday morning,” Celia told her. “My friend Suzie is going to meet me there.”
“Suzie the pilot?” Laura asked.
Celia nodded. “That’s the one.”
“The one you had the little crush on?”
“The one I have the little crush on,” Celia said. “We’re going to have a girl’s weekend at the Palm Spring house. I invited her a few weeks ago when she came up to visit Greg and I and ... well ... she took me up on it.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Probably not,” Celia said. “I resisted her the whole time we were out on tour and I’m pretty sure I can resist her now, but ... well ... you’re one of my best friends too, and you’re one of the girls, and ... well ... I thought it would fun if you joined us.”
“Is there more to it than that?” Laura asked.
“Maybe a little,” Celia said. “I thought things might be a little easier on everyone involved if ... well ... I had a chaperone with me.”
“You want me to be your chaperone?” Laura asked.
“I think it would be a prudent precaution,” Celia said meaningfully. “Say you’ll do it, Teach. For me?”
Laura smiled. “I’ll do it,” she said. “As long as Jake doesn’t mind.”
“Deal,” Celia said with a smile. “You’ll be my guardian against licentious temptation.”
Yes, Laura thought, I’ll be your guardian. But she couldn’t help but think of the words of Juvenal, the second century Roman poet who had asked the ubiquitous question: But who guards the guardians?
The very next afternoon, while Jake, Celia, and Laura were in the KVA Studios building, strumming out the very beginnings of the tunes that would hopefully appear on their next albums, Matt Tisdale received one of the strangest phone calls of his life.
He was sitting in his house in San Juan Capistrano, a sheaf of musical scores before him that he was editing for clarity. He and his band were going to be hitting the recording studio in National’s basement next week to start work on his third album. He was very excited about this album as he was doing some entirely new sounds with his guitars and his effects pedals. He could not wait to start laying down some tracks.
He had just taken his fourth bong hit of the day and was sipping from his second Jack and Coke. He lit a cigarette and took a few drags and was just starting to think about crunching up a nice line of Bolivian flake when he heard the phone ring. He ignored it as usual, knowing that Chuckie would pick it up and screen the caller for him.
About a minute later, Charles came into the room carrying the cordless phone in his hands.
“Mr. Tisdale,” the butler said apologetically, “I am aware of your feelings on the matter, but I have Mr. Bill Archer on the line, and he insists on speaking to you.”
Matt looked at him to see if this was some kind of fucking joke, although as far as he knew, Chuckie possessed no sense of humor. Chuckie did not seem like he was anything but serious.
“Nerdly is on the phone?” Matt said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I am not, sir,” Charles said. “He insists upon talking to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to him,” Matt said. “I thought I’d made that quite fucking clear on multiple fucking occasions.”
“You have, sir,” Charles said, “but he says it is of the utmost importance.”
“The utmost importance?”
“Correct, sir. He says it is regarding a promise he once made to you.”
“What fucking promise?” Matt demanded.
“He did not enlighten me to what the particular promise was. He only said that he wished to relay some information to you and that it is for your ears only.”
Matt’s curiosity started to get the better of his anger now. What the fuck could Nerdly possibly be talking about? Had something happened to Jake, perhaps? Had he crashed his fucking plane and killed his sellout ass? That thought seemed like a reasonable possibility. And, to his surprise, the notion that Kingsley might be dead did not delight him as he would have sworn it would. It actually filled him with a sense of dread and foreboding.
“All right,” Matt said, holding out his hand. “Give me the fucking phone.”
Charles handed the phone over and then quickly retreated from the room. Matt looked at it for a moment, considered just hanging it up for a second, and then realized he had to know what this shit was about. He put it to his ear.