"Celia Valdez actually wrote this song," Jake said.
"Doesn't she write all of the songs?" Rachel asked. "I heard she was the talent behind the band."
"She is," Jake said, "but they don't write most of their music. It's assigned to them by Aristocrat Records. All of the songs you hear on the radio are written by record company songwriters who specialize in catchy pop music."
"They seem to do a good job, don't they?"
Jake bit back the reply that rose to his lips: To the musically unsophisticated, I'm sure it seems that way. Instead, he said, "Yeah, they're not bad. They certainly sell a lot of singles, but this song here, this Carabobo thing, this is real music. Listen to that guitar work. Listen to the mixing. The vocals are first rate with much more depth then on the pop songs and the lyrics are actually meaningful instead of a sappy, feel-good catch phrases repeated over and over."
Most of this seemed to pass over Rachel's head. "I just like a good song," she said, perhaps a little defensively.
"Me too," Jake said, listening to the ending of Carabobo. It was a strumming slow down of the guitar work and the drums while Celia repeated the final lyrics several times: "So we can be free, so we can be freeeeeeeeee."
"Do you think I can borrow this tape?" Jake asked her when the next song — one of the pop staples from the album — started.
"Uhh... well, sure," she said.
"Do you have the other La Diferencia tapes too?"
She gave him a strange look. "Sure," she said. "They're back there in that case in the back seat."
Jake reached behind him and grabbed the cassette case she had. He opened it and dug around, noting that her musical tastes were indeed a bit simplistic — she seemed to favor country and pop — and that she didn't have a single Intemperance tape in her collection. He found the other two La Diferencia tapes and quickly opened them up and gutted them of their inserts. He opened them up and read over the tracks, seeing that two songs on the first album and one on the second had been penned by Celia Valdez. He wanted to listen to those tunes and see if they were as good as Carabobo had been. Could it be that he'd perhaps underestimated Ms. Valdez's talents a little?
"So... you seem real interested in Celia Valdez," Rachel said.
"I wouldn't exactly say interested," he said. "I'm just surprised that she actually seems to have some musical depth. I didn't even know she composed."
"Have you ever... you know... gone out with her?"
He laughed. "No," he said. "I've never gone out with her. The only time I've ever met her is at the Grammy award party and the awards themselves back in 1985. She's our closest competition in terms of album sales and I'm just curious about what makes her tick. You can tell a lot about a person by what kind of songs they write. My guess is that if Aristocrat ever gave her full artistic license instead of feeding her a bunch of crap songs she'd wipe us right off the chart."
This seemed to make Rachel feel a little better. "She is really good," she said. "I've loved La Diferencia ever since their first album." She blushed a little. "I used to have the biggest crush on Eduardo Valdez. Those Latin features, that accent, and that little goatee he used to have." She shivered. "Mmm, what a hunk."
"If not a particularly great guitar player," Jake said.
"You don't think he's good?" she asked.
"Well, he knows where to put his hands on the instrument," Jake said. "I'll give him that."
"Everybody can't be as good as you and Matt, Jake," she said.
"You do have a point there," he said. "Listen, maybe you'd like to meet them?"
"Meet who?" she asked. "La Diferencia? Can you arrange that?"
"They'll be at the Grammy awards and the pre-Grammy party next month. And it just so happens that I don't have a date for either occasion."
Her mouth dropped open and she looked at him, stunned. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
"If you think I'm asking you to the Grammies, then yes, that's what I'm asking."
"Oh... wow, Jake," she said. "Are you serious? You mean go to the Grammies with you and be on TV and everything?"
"I am serious," he said. "And before you answer, you need to think about this a little bit. If you go, you are going to be on TV and the whole world is going to know you're dating me. Your picture is going to show up on tabloids and in the entertainment magazines. Reporters are going to be digging into your life, trying to find out everything there is to know about you so they can print it. If there's anything unflattering about your life, they'll probably find it and print that too. There will be paparazzi hanging out in front of your restaurant and snapping pictures of you. You will no longer be anonymous."
"Wow," she said again, overwhelmed.
"I won't be mad if you say no," he told her. "I'll understand completely. Being famous is not all it's cracked up to be."
"No no," she said, shaking her head strenuously. "I want to go. I'd love to go. Oh my God! What would I wear though? I mean, I know how to dress up and everything but I don't have anything for the Grammies." She screamed a little. "Oh my god! The Grammies."
"As I said," Jake told her, "think it over a little bit. I don't need an answer right away. And don't worry about what to wear. If you go, the various dressmakers of Hollywood will be falling all over themselves to be the one to outfit you for both the party and the ceremony. They'll give you whatever dress you want just so it can be seen on TV."
"They'll give me the dress?" she asked, astounded. "You mean for free?"
"If you were a celebrity of some sort they'd actually pay you to wear it," he assured her. "Don't worry about wardrobe."
"Yes, Jake," she said. "I'd love to go." She shook her head. "Oh my God. I can't believe this. Wait until Maureen hears about this. She is gonna be soooo jealous!"
She chattered on and on for the rest of the drive, asking him a thousand questions, making a thousand spontaneous statements, her mood going from elation to nervousness and then back to elation again. When they pulled up in front of Jake's building he invited her up for lunch. She accepted.
"I need a beer," Jake said as soon as they entered the condo. "Do you want anything?"
"Just a diet soda if you have one," she said. "You're really serious about this Grammy thing, right? You're not just fucking with me?"
"I'm not just fucking with you," he assured her, taking a bottle of beer and a can of Diet Coke out of the bar refrigerator. "How does turkey sandwiches sound for lunch? I just happen to have all the ingredients in the kitchen."
"It sounds good," she said absently. "Can I call Mom? I really need to tell her about this."
He handed her the can of soda. "Call away," he told her. "I'll be in the kitchen. Turn on the TV or the music if you want."
He went into the kitchen, leaving her to make her phone call. He cracked his beer open and had a large drink and then began to remove the roast turkey he'd cooked two nights ago from the refrigerator. He prepared immaculate sandwiches on sourdough rolls, garnished them with chips from the pantry, and then carried the whole works into the dining room. By this point Rachel was off the phone and Jake was on his second beer.
"Mom is so excited about this," Rachel said. "Can she be with me through the dress fitting thing? I'd love to have her there."
"I don't see why not," Jake said.
They ate their lunch and then retired to the couch in the entertainment room to watch a movie on the VCR. It wasn't long before they were in each other's arms, engaged in a heated make-out session.
This time when Jake put his hand beneath her shirt, she didn't stop him. Encouraged, he slowly unbuttoned her four hundred dollar blouse and popped the snap on her matching front-loader bra. The perky breasts that he'd admired for so long beneath her Brannigan's T-shirts at the restaurant were now visible to him in all their majestic glory. They really were worth the wait, he concluded as he gazed upon them for the first time. Nice, well-rounded C-cups capped with pink nipples that were sticking out excitedly. He cupped one and then the other with his hands, caressing them, feeling them, and then he slowly lowered his head and took the left nipple into his mouth.