"Yes, Elsa," Jake said. "And thanks."
"Never boring," she said, heading toward the coffee making supplies.
Jake found Winslow pretty much as he'd left him: snorting and bleeding into the tissues while he blubbered.
"Here you go, Winslow," Jake said, handing him one of the icepacks. "Put it on your face. If you spread it out a little it'll cover your eye and your nose."
Winslow simply nodded and did as he was told. Jake sat down in the antique rocking chair directly across from him and put his own icepack on. The two men sat there for almost fifteen minutes, holding ice to their injuries and not talking. Gradually, Winslow's sobs went away. Elsa came in with a carafe of freshly-brewed Jamaican Blue Mountain, two cups, two saucers, and an ashtray. She set them all down on the antique table between the two men and, with a brief affectionate look at Jake, she retreated.
Jake put his icepack down and poured each of them a cup of coffee. He pulled out his cigarette pack — which was a bit rumpled after the fracas — and shook one out. He put it between his lips and then offered the pack to Winslow.
"No thanks," Winslow told him. "I don't smoke."
"Seems like this might be a good time to start," Jake said.
Winslow looked at him blankly. "You like to rub things in, don't you?" he asked.
"No, not really," Jake said, sparking up and taking a deep drag. "I think I was just trying to ease the tension a little. It looks like I failed at that."
Winslow had no response for that. He picked up his coffee cup and took a small sip. His eyes widened a little and he nodded appreciably. "Jamaican Blue," he said. "You do have good taste in coffee."
"Elsa introduced me to it," Jake said. "I used to drink the stuff that came in the big red can."
"My God," Winslow said, looking at Jake fearfully, as if he'd just realized that he really was dealing with a barbarian.
"Yeah," Jake said. "It's sad but true. I used to drink Black Velvet and coke too. These days, I like nothing better than a good thirty-year-old scotch. I do insist it be on the rocks though. Some of my barbarism remains, I'm afraid."
Winslow took another sip of his coffee — a larger one this time. He had nothing else to say on that particular subject.
"So," Jake said, "I guess we should maybe talk about why you followed me home and launched an ill-advised attack on me on my front porch. I'm pretty sure I know the reason, but... well... I'd rather hear it out of your lips before I go admitting to anything."
Winslow cast his eyes downward in shame. "You've been having an affair with my wife," he said. It was not a question. It was a stated fact.
"Yes," Jake said. "I guess I have. Sorry about that."
Winslow looked up at him, aghast. "Sorry about that?" he said, his voice coming up a few decibels. "I find out you've been fucking my wife for the past five months, that you've fucked her in my bed at a party that I hosted, and that I was then enticed to... to... put my mouth on her... her... you know... after you fucked her, and all you have to say is 'sorry about that'?"
Jake tapped his ashes into the ashtray and took another drag. He blew it out slowly. "What do you want from me, Winslow?" he asked. "You tried to kick my ass for it and you couldn't. I didn't beat you to a pulp afterward. I didn't call the cops on you and have you arrested for assault. I invite you into my house so your dumb ass doesn't get a DUI or end up dead in a car crash. I give you a cup of the best coffee on Earth. I tell you I'm sorry for doing what I did. In my book, that's about as far as I'm willing to go in return for the remorse I'm feeling for this particular transgression. You've treated me like nothing but a piece of shit ever since the first time I met you. You're condescending, elitist, and one of the biggest fucking snobs I've ever met. Did I start fucking your wife because of that? No, I didn't. I started fucking your wife because she's a hot piece of ass and she wanted me and I didn't have the willpower to resist her. I'm sorry it worked out bad for you. That's that, my man. If you're expecting any tearful groveling from me, you ain't gonna get it."
Winslow looked at him with anger for a moment and then dropped his eyes again. He took another sip of coffee. "Touché," he said. "I guess I deserved that."
"I guess you did," Jake agreed. "So tell me, since we're all warm and fuzzy and pouring out our hearts to each other here; how did you find out?"
"You mean you don't know?" Winslow asked.
"I've been out on the road for the past month," Jake said. "I don't know shit. I haven't even talked to Mindy since the night you two came to our opening gig."
Winslow looked surprised. "Are you saying that you're not a part of all this?"
"A part of all what?" Jake asked. "I'm not a part of anything as far as I know."
Winslow's mouth was now open wide enough to insert a tennis ball.
"Give it up, Winslow," Jake said. "Tell me what's going on here."
"She was using you," Winslow said. "She was using you to blackmail me."
This struck a nerve with Jake. As one who had been used by Mindy before, he had always, in the back of his mind, wondered just what her deal was during this affair. "What do you mean?" Jake said. "Start talking and tell me what's going on here."
Winslow actually smiled a little. "Well now," he said. "It seems she struck a little blow on you as well."
"Tell me," Jake said, refusing to be baited.
"She came to me early last week and said we needed to talk," Winslow told him. "She had two envelopes with her. She put them down on the table but didn't open them at first, she just kept them in front of her. She told me she wanted a divorce." He flushed a little. "She told me lots of other things — mean, hateful things about my skills in bed and the size of my... you know... but I see now those were just lies designed to hurt me."
"Of course," Jake said. "Go on."
"I'm worth almost three hundred million dollars," Winslow said. "When Mindy and I got married, we, of course, signed a prenuptial agreement that limited the amount of money and assets I would have to give her in the event of a divorce. Mindy is not poor, you understand. She is worth a good sixty million dollars on her own. So when she signed the agreement it was pretty much forgotten. It was just a standard part of a Hollywood marriage, right?"
"I suppose," Jake said.
"Well, when she told me she wanted to divorce me, she also told me that I would forget that the prenup existed and abide by standard California state divorce laws in the dissolution of our marriage. I, of course, told her that she was out of her mind. She... well... she then opened the first envelope."
"What was in it?" Jake asked, although he was already starting to suspect.
"Pictures," Winslow said. "More than a hundred pictures of you and Mindy engaging in various acts of sexuality. That's when she told me that she'd been fucking you for months, that you were the best lover she'd ever had, that she took it up the... you know... for you. She had pictures to back all of this up."
"Pictures," Jake said, feeling a little ill. He had certainly never agreed to be in any of these pictures. "Where... where were they taken? When? By who?"
"Apparently she's been fucking some paparazzi photographer by the name of Paul Peterson for the past ten years."
"Paul Peterson," Jake hissed, feeling a surge of hatred go blasting into him. Peterson was the man who had shot him and Mindy on the beach and naked on the boat during their first affair. He was also the man who had shot Jake with the redheaded groupie in Cabo — the shots that had ended his relationship with Rachel.
"Yes," Winslow nodded. "I can see you didn't know about it either. According to Mindy, she and Peterson have been on again off again lovers ever since her days on The Slow Lane. She used him to take those shots of you and her that led to her career making the jump from child actress doing cutesy roles to full-fledged adult actress willing to play a slut and show her tits on the silver screen. He took some very clear, very high resolution shots of the two of you during your latest escapades. She had him sequestered in the closet of her mountain house when you fucked her there. She had him in the closet of our very bedroom when you fucked her on our bed. And... she had him..." He took a deep breath. "She had him in Darla's closet when you... when you and Darla and Mindy got together."