“I want to keep making the commute,” Laura told him.
He looked at her. “You do?”
She nodded. “I do,” she said. “And it’s not because I’ll have to clean the house and do the laundry and take out the garbage and all that. I did all those things most of my life. It’s nice to have someone to do them for you, but I’m not afraid of work.”
“What’s the reason then?” he asked.
“I love this house,” she said. “I want to be here every night that I can, with you. I want to sit out on this deck every night and watch the sun go down. I want to sleep in our bedroom every night hearing the ocean. This is our home, Jake, and I want to be here whenever we can be here.”
He continued to look at her for a moment and then nodded. “All right,” he said. “We’ll be here whenever we can then.”
“Even if we have to get up at six-fucking-twenty,” she said.
“Six-fucking-twenty,” he agreed, putting his arm around her and pulling her a little closer.
They sat there contentedly as the sky continued to darken, as the birds all found shelter for the night, as the chilly salt wind washed over them.
“You know,” Laura said at last, “this seems like a really good place for me to suck your dick.”
“What if Elsa looks out here?” he asked.
“It’s dark enough now,” she said. “She won’t be able to see what we’re doing.”
Jake looked back at the house, seeing the light through the windows. He could see Elsa’s figure moving about in there, taking care of her final chores for the night before she retired to the guest house. Laura was right. She would not be able to see what they were doing unless she actually came outside.
“Well...” he told her, “if you really want to.”
“I really want to,” she said, leaning in and nibbling at his ear. “Now break it out.”
He broke it out. And the day ended on a very pleasant note indeed.
Chapter 11: The Rehearsal
Half Moon Bay, California
July 14, 1995
The Pillar Point Inn was arguably the nicest hotel and spa in the Half Moon Bay region. It stood six stories tall, with three complete wings, on a vast stretch of lovingly manicured green lawn that sat atop a bluff overlooking the ocean in a town where African-Americans were rarely seen. The staff of the facility, from the manager all the way down to the lowliest housekeeper, were used to dealing with the upper crust of society in their day-to-day operation. They all seemed more than a bit intimidated when the wedding party for the Gordon Paladay/Tanisha Jefferson nuptials rolled in on this Friday afternoon. G’s entire family and the vast majority of his friends were black; most of them lifelong residents of East Palo Alto, which was only thirty minutes away by car but an entirely different universe socio-economically. Half of Neesh’s family were black as well—those on her father’s side—though they were more your upper-middle-class blacks (many of them were intimidated by G’s people as well). The other half of Neesh’s family—those on her mother’s side—were Vietnamese, and they were almost as perplexing to the staff as the blacks were.
Still, the hotel employees remained polite and subservient—probably more out of fear than professionalism—and the wedding rehearsal on the bluff went well. Neesh practiced walking down the aisle with Bartholomew Jefferson, her father. Her group of bridesmaids, which included Laura; and her maid of honor, a beautiful olive-skinned woman named Talia Livnat; practiced taking their positions. Jake and Nerdly, who were the only white groomsmen, practiced their roles in the ceremony while G himself and Ricky, his best man, worked on their own struts to the preacher’s podium. Everyone was dressed casually for the rehearsal, mostly jeans and pullover shirts, and they had time to go over everything twice. From there, the group broke up and headed for the main event center in the hotel, where the rehearsal dinner would now be served.
The food for the rehearsal dinner was catered by the hotel, as they would the reception tomorrow, and it was very good. Filet mignon wrapped in bacon served with sautéed mushrooms, potatoes au gratin, and steamed asparagus. For dessert there was crème brulee. And, naturally, there was an open bar for the enjoyment of the wedding party.
After eating, people broke up into groups and mingled a bit. Laura headed over to where the ladies were congregating, and Jake headed over to where G sat with his parents. Jake had been briefly introduced to them earlier. Their names were Tevin and Ramona. Tevin was a big, burly man with graying hair, powerful looking arms, and a considerable beer belly. Ramona was short, dark skinned, and quite chubby herself. Their last names were not Paladay, as Jake discovered when he sat down with them to mingle.
“I’m not Gordon’s biological daddy,” Tevin explained. “Ramona and I met and started steppin’ out together back when Gordon was fourteen years old.”
“That’s right,” said Ramona. “His real father ain’t been around since Gordie was ‘bout three years old or so. Tyrone Paladay was his name.” She looked at Jake matter-of-factly. “He was a shiftless nigger. Couldn’t hold no job, couldn’t keep his prick in his pants, got into freebasin’ that cocaine. I sent his ass down the road. I heard he ended up in prison at some point.”
“Didn’t stop his ass from comin’ sniffin’ around once Gordon made it big though,” said Tevin. “Didn’t try to make no contact with him all that time and then once he finds out Bigg G got his fuckin’ DNA, he all of a sudden want to get together and ‘make up for lost time’. Shee-it.”
“I told him to take a flying fuck,” Gordon said. He put his arm around Tevin’s shoulder and pulled him close. “This man here is my real pop. Before he came along, I was heading down a bad road. Cuttin’ school more than I was going, playing around with the rock cocaine, hanging out with the local Crips and startin’ to think about joining up officially, not listening to my momma.”
“That’s for sure,” Ramona said, nodding her head.
“And then pop here showed me what it was like to really be a man,” Gordon said. “He kicked my ass for me when I needed it.”
“And you needed it a lot those first few years,” Tevin said with a grin.
“Shore did,” Ramona agreed.
“Yeah, I was gettin’ to be a thug all right,” Gordon said. “But he showed me that a man takes care of his family, that he works hard to do that, that he does what needs to be done when it needs to be done. Because of pop, I got away from the gangs and the drugs, graduated high school, developed my musical talent into something I could sell, and learned the work ethic to stick with it. Hell, I even went to college, if you can believe that shit. That’s why I call this man ‘pop’, Jake. He’s my dad and I’m proud to have him here with me.”
“Amen to that,” Ramona said.
“What kind of work did you do?” Jake asked him.
“Janitor up the hospital in Stanford,” Tevin said. “And I’m still doing it. Been pushin’ a broom and cleaning the floors and toilets there thirty-five years now. Course, they don’t like me callin’ myself a ‘janitor’. They want me to say I’m in ‘environmental services.’ Ain’t that some shit?”
“You’re still working there?” Jake asked, surprised.
“He’s still working there,” Gordon said sourly. “And mama’s still working at the grocery store on Donohoe Street. And they both still livin’ in that little two-bedroom house in East Palo Alto. The one with the chain link all around it and the goddamn crack house next door.”
“No kidding?” Jake asked.
“I’ve offered many times to set them up in a fuckin’ mansion on the hillside in Los Gatos or a bayfront pad in Burlingame and give them a bank account full of dead presidents and credit cards that they don’t have to pay on. They won’t take it.”