"You know about Darla too?" Jake asked.
"I do," he said shamefully. "She included several audio recordings of conversations between herself and Darla regarding me. It would seem that Darla doesn't have the greatest respect for me either."
"Jesus, Winslow," Jake said, almost forgetting the fact that he didn't like this man. How much more could Mindy emasculate the poor slob?
"So you see why I was driven toward violence?" Winslow asked.
"I'm starting to see," Jake said. "How is she blackmailing you though? I would think these photographs would be the perfect proof of her infidelity and would guarantee you a good divorce settlement."
Winslow shook his head. "That may be the case in the short term," he said. "But it's the long term that Mindy was looking at here. She basically spelled it out for me. Go with standard California divorce law and give her half of what I own, half of all my assets, or enforce the prenup and she releases the pictures and the entire story of her infidelities. If she were to do that, I would become the biggest laughing stock in Hollywood. No one would ever take me seriously anymore. I would never direct another picture because no one would want to go see a picture directed by a man who was cuckolded and humiliated publicly."
"Wow," Jake said, knowing instinctively that Winslow was right. "I don't really know what to say."
"There's nothing to say," Winslow said, taking another big slug of his coffee. "Mindy opened her second envelope at this point in the discussion. It was a legal form stating that I waived all the rights I had under the prenuptial agreement. She asked me if I would sign it. I said I would. She then pulled out another legal document. This one was an agreement to set up a trust fund for Darla in the amount of eighteen million dollars."
"Damn," Jake said.
"Damn is right," Winslow said. "When I told her I would sign, she got on her cellular phone and, within three minutes, there was a notary in the house, stamp in hand, ready to witness my signing."
"And you signed?"
"I signed," Winslow said. "She took possession of the documents and then gave me all the negatives from the pictures."
"How do you know they're all the negatives?" Jake asked.
Winslow simply shrugged. "I don't," he said. "But what else could I do?"
"What else indeed?" Jake said.
Winslow stayed another hour, long enough to drink half the carafe of Jamaican Blue and sober up the tiniest bit. He then left, staggering a little on the porch but otherwise walking a straight line.
Jake closed the door behind him and then walked back to the kitchen. Elsa was still in there, playing a game of solitaire on the table.
"You heard the jist of what's going on?" Jake asked her.
She nodded. "It seems your friend Mindy is quite the manipulator."
"Yes," he said. "It seems so."
"Are you okay, Jake?" she asked, motherly concern on her face.
"I don't know yet," he said truthfully. "She used me like a condom, like a pawn in chess."
"Yes, she did," Elsa agreed.
"She's still the same as the first time I met her. Exactly the same."
"It would seem so."
Jake sighed. He walked over and gave Elsa a hug. "Thanks for taking care of me tonight," he said. "Thanks for taking care of me every night."
"It's what I do, Jake," she said. "It's what I do."
"Yeah," he said, standing up and heading for the swinging door that led back into the living room.
"What are you going to do about Mindy?" she asked.
"I don't know," Jake said. "If my guess is correct, I won't have to do anything about her. Now that she got what she needs from me, she has no further use for me."
"Let's hope so," Elsa said. "What time do you need to leave the house tomorrow?"
"Eight-thirty," Jake said.
"I'll get you up at seven-thirty," she said, "and I'll have breakfast on the table when you come down from your shower."
Jake smiled. "Thanks, Elsa. You're the best."
He went upstairs, took off his clothes, and went to bed. He didn't sleep at all that night. His thoughts were filled with Mindy Snow, with her raw sexuality, her stunning beauty, and her poisonous soul.
Jake, once again without a gramophone in his possession, went back to Texas to resume the tour. As he suspected he would, he was sporting a pretty respectable black eye the next day. Delores was forced to cover it with make-up before any public performance.
When Matt saw the shiner, he uttered his first unsolicited statement to Jake in more than two months. "What's the other guy look like?" he asked.
"I fell down while I was drunk," Jake told him.
"Uh huh," Matt said, obviously not believing him. "I hope the other guy fell down harder."
The only other person to make comment about his injury was Nerdly. "Was it Mindy's husband?" he asked.
Jake looked at him, shocked. "How did you know?" he asked.
Nerdly rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit for formulating a basic hypothesis, Jake," he said. "You didn't really think that no one knew about you and Mindy, did you?"
"Jesus," Jake said. "Who else knows?"
Nerdly shrugged. "Just the guys in the band and Pauline and Sharon — maybe a few of the roadies and the limo drivers too. Don't worry. No one is going to tell."
"That's good to know," Jake said. "Why didn't anyone tell me anything?"
"Why would they?" Nerdly asked. "Do you have something to hide?"
The black eye healed and the tour went on with much the same routine as before. The entertainment news was full of stories about the divorce of Scott Adams Winslow and Mindy Snow. There were stories about how the settlement she was to receive would be undisclosed. There were stories that included speculation about what had caused the divorce. None of these stories ever mentioned Jake Kingsley or Darla. It seemed that Mindy had kept up her end of the bargain. And, as Jake had figured, he did not hear from Mindy in any form of medium. It seemed she was done with him. Jake, hurt and angered about being used in such a manner, was pretty sure he was done with her. He did the best he could to get over it and move on with his life. It was something he was very good at.
April 1 — April Fools Day — found the band in Atlanta, Georgia, for the third of three sold-out shows. They played their hearts out up on the stage, wowing sixteen thousand fans and making them scream for more when the last note of the final encore was played. After the show, the band went backstage and to their dressing room, as they usually did. Before they had a chance to separate into their individual corners, however, Greg suddenly appeared, his face solemn and worried.
"What the fuck's the matter with you?" Matt asked him. "You look like someone just told you Heavenly Father was a dick-smoking coffee addict who bought Marlboros by the carton in a 7-11."
Greg didn't even bother to chide Matt for his blasphemy. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news," he said. "Mr. Crow called me about thirty minutes ago from Los Angeles."
Everyone seemed to sense that what he was about to say was genuine bad news. They all quieted and looked at him.
"What is it?" Jake asked.
Greg licked his lips a few times. "Well... there's really no way to say this gently, so I guess I'll just say it."
"Say what?" Matt demanded. "What the fuck's wrong?"
"Darren Appleman was found dead in his condo about two hours ago by the LAPD. They think it was a heroin overdose."
Everyone was silent for the better part of a minute as they let that sink in. Darren dead? Of a heroin overdose? That was absurd, wasn't it? Darren was off the horse, wasn't he?