"Uh, you can call me Gordon, ma'am," Gordon said politely.
"Gordon?" Gerald whispered in disbelief.
"Surely you didn't think this gentleman's parents named him Bigg G, did you?" Elsa enquired.
"Uh... no," Gerald said. "But Gordon?"
"It's the name they gave me," Gordon said with a shrug.
"Don't worry, Bigg G," Gerald told him. "We won't tell nobody."
"You will tell nobody," Elsa said sternly.
"No, we won't!" Gerald insisted. "I promise!"
"I believe your nana was correcting your grammar," Gordon told him. "The proper phrase would be 'we will tell nobody', although it would be more correct to say 'we will not tell anybody'."
Gerald and Delilah were looking at Gordon in shock. A rap singer was correcting their grammar? But Elsa seemed strangely impressed.
"Oh, so you do hold some rudimentary grasp of the English language and its nuances, Mr. G?" she asked.
"I do," he agreed. "I just try not to let that get out."
The ice was effectively broken at that point. Jake formally introduced Elsa to Gordon and then did the same for the two kids. Elsa passed a few semi-kind words with him and then declared she needed to get back to work on her tacos. In light of the special guest, she excused Gerald and Delilah from further kitchen duties and allowed them to accompany Jake and Gordon out onto the back deck.
For the next twenty minutes the two kids pestered the rapper with a thousand questions about anything and everything they could think of. Gerald asked about the motivation for certain songs, about what kind of car he drove, about what kind of house he lived in. Delilah asked about his girlfriends and what life was like on the road and about when his next album was coming out. Gordon fielded their enquiries expertly, with the air of a man who had done so a thousand times before. Neither of the kids realized they were receiving pat, nothing answers to most of their questions. They were too much in awe to be even speaking with him.
Finally, Elsa called everyone in for dinner. Elsa generally did not allow the kids to eat with Jake when he had a guest over — she said it was not proper decorum for an employee to take advantage of her position like that — but in this case she made an exception since Bigg G had, after all, come over specifically to meet them. Elsa herself stayed in the background while the four of them tore into her platter of tacos, her homemade Spanish rice, and her homemade frijoles. Gordon seemed particularly appreciative of the food. He put away four of the tacos and two helpings of the rice and beans.
"Ma'am," he told Elsa when he finally finished up, "those were, without a doubt, the best tacos I have ever had in my life. Jake was right. You are an excellent cook."
"Why thank you, Mr. G," she replied. "I've always made it my policy to be the very best at what I do. That is why I work for the likes of Mr. Kingsley. He appreciates the work and the toil that has gone into perfecting my profession."
"I appreciate it as well," Gordon said. "Any chance I might be able to steal you away from him once I get my next contract going?"
She pretended to think this over for a second. "No, I'm afraid not," she finally said. "I've spent far too much time breaking in Mr. Kingsley. I'd hate to have to start all over with someone new."
Gordon and Jake both laughed at this.
Elsa didn't smile. It was not in her nature. She did, however, pull an expensive camera from one of her apron pocket. "If it's not a violation of any copyright rules," she said, "may I take your picture with the children, Mr. G? I'm sure they would love having photographic proof of this encounter to share with their peers."
"Of course you may," Gordon replied, much to the delight of Delilah and Gerald.
She snapped off about a dozen shots, Gordon the centerpiece in all of them. Some were of the four of them at the table. Some were of Gordon posing with each of the children and then with the both of them together. Though they didn't seem particularly interested in having Jake in any of the shots, they had enough manners not to say so when Elsa posed the four of them together.
"And now," Elsa proclaimed once the photography session was at an end, "I believe it is time for Jake and his guest to leave the table and for a certain couple of freeloading ruffians to help me clean up this kitchen."
"Aww, Nana!" Gerald proclaimed. "Why you wanna be doing that to us?"
"Yeah, Nana," Delilah echoed. "How often do we get to be hangin' with Bigg G?"
"You've hung with Mr. G quite enough," Elsa said. "And I already let you out of a portion of your meal preparation duties on his behalf. You will not be escaping your clean-up obligations. Remember my rules for allowing you to take advantage of Mr. Kingsley's hospitality."
"We remember," both said sourly. The rules in question were that if they were going to be at her employer's house, they were damn sure going to help her with her duties. In truth, the two kids actually tended to slow her down a bit when they helped, but it was the point of the matter to Elsa. If you wanted something in this world, you had to pay the price for it. The price for using Jake's swimming pool and watching his big screen television and listening to his vast music collection was a certain amount of mandatory housework.
Jake knew his cue as well as the two children. He pushed back from the table and asked Gordon if he'd like a beer and a smoke out on the back deck. Gordon agreed that this was a stellar plan. They got up and, after making a quick stop at the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of Corona and a lime apiece, headed out the back door to the outside.
It was the nicest part of a summer day out on Jake's deck. Though it faced southward, the sizzling LA summer sun had moved far enough to the west that the privacy trees on that side of the yard blocked its rays from shining on the deck or the pool. They sat down at one of the redwood deck tables and Jake pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shorts. He lit up and relished the first after-meal drag. Gordon pulled out his own pack of Kool menthols but made no move to extract one from the pack. Instead he pointed at Jake's pack.
"You mind if I get one of them?" he asked.
"Sure," Jake said with a shrug. "They're not menthols though."
"I know. That's why I want one," Gordon said, grabbing one from Jake's pack and lighting up. "I hate these fucking Kools." He exhaled slowly, his face showing an expression of bliss. "Ahhh," he groaned. "Now that's a proper smoke."
Jake looked at him strangely for a second. "If you don't like the Kools," he said, "why don't you just have them buy you some Marlboros or some Camels?" He knew, of course, that Gordon's smokes would be supplied by National Records — all recoupable on the expense reports.
"They won't do it," he said. "It's one of those image things they always pushing. Someone told them that a brother is supposed to smoke Kools, and that's all they buy me. They even get pissy with me if I use some of my allowance money to buy real smokes, especially if I do it at a club."
Jake shook his head, though not in disbelief. "I forgot what it was like to be under their thumb like that, all those weird ideas they get about what enhances the image and what doesn't. Like someone would decide they don't like your music anymore because they found out you liked to smoke Marlboros instead of Kools."
Gordon picked up his Corona bottle and took a good swig out of it. "They'd have a shitfit if they knew I was drinking this beaner beer too," he said. "They want me swilling down Colt 45 or King Cobra. I like to have a little scotch on the rocks every now and then — something I picked up from my old man, you know — but they'd probably try to breach me if they found out about that."
"With me, it was trying to regulate the women I dated," Jake said. "When they found out that Mindy Snow and I were going out, they acted like I'd just raped a nun in the middle of the Sistine Chapel. They swore to God I'd never sell another record if me and Mindy became public. And, of course, when we did become public, the next album we put out sold like wildfire."