"What... uh... did he want?" Jake asked. "The usual stuff?"
"No," she said. "Not the usual stuff." She picked up a brown, legal-sized envelope that was sitting on the table before her. "He showed me these," she said, "and he wanted to know what my reaction to them was."
Jake licked his lips and took the envelope from her. He opened it. Inside were more than a dozen 4x6 glossy pictures that featured he and Miranda on the beach. Two of them were of them lying next to each other in the loungers, smiling. The rest were of the two of them cavorting in the water, including several shots where Jake's tongue was firmly in Miranda's mouth.
"Oh my God," Jake said, feeling adrenaline go shooting through his body. He was busted. Totally and completely busted. It was a new experience for him. He had never been caught cheating before — at least not in such a manner as this. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "This isn't what it looks like."
"It isn't?" she said, staring at him. "It looks like you've got your tongue in some other woman's mouth, that you're feeling her tits, that you're groping her under the water. Are you saying that's not what happened?"
Okay, his mind said, that was a pretty lame thing to say. "Look, hon," he said. "I was drunk on the beach and Matt dragged these two women over. We flirted a little bit and things went kind of far."
"Kind of far?" she asked. "The reporter told me that you and that bitch went back to your hotel room together and that she didn't come back out for three hours. Is that what you call a little far?"
Deeper and deeper, his mind informed him. "Okay," he said. "I guess it was a lot far. I screwed up, Rachel. I was drunk and I did something I shouldn't have done. I'm sorry."
She was shaking her head, her eyes continuing to glare at him. "Did you ever once think of me while you were doing that?" she asked.
"Hon, I had too much to drink that day. I hardly even remember what happened."
She sighed, leaning back in her chair for a moment. A few tears ran down her face. "So you didn't think of me," she said. "I don't know what would be worse, knowing that you didn't give me a thought while you were fucking some other woman or knowing that you did give me a thought and did it anyway. Why did you do it, Jake? Haven't I been keeping you satisfied?"
"Yes, Rachel," he said. "You keep me very satisfied. That girl didn't mean anything to me. I just... gave into temptation. I was wrong and I've been feeling guilty ever since."
She sat back up again. "And just like that, you think I should get over it?"
"Uh... no, I didn't say that. I'm just trying to explain what my state of mind was."
"I know what your state of mind was," she said. "You didn't give a shit about me. You didn't care enough to invite me along on your trip and once you were there you didn't give enough of a shit to give me the common courtesy of not fucking some slutty bitch!"
"Rachel, it's not like that!" he said.
"It is like that, Jake. Don't even try to deny it. You know, I might've been able to forgive this eventually if I was a real girlfriend, if I thought this relationship was something other than a convenience to you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Are you saying you don't know?" she asked. "You're a rich rock star who has money falling out of your ass and you just hire someone when you need a service performed. You need help managing your money and your finances so you hire an accountant. You need help around you new house so you hire Elsa to take care of it for you. You pay well and you treat your help nice and you expect you can get away with anything because of that."
"What do Elsa and Jill have to do with this?" Jake asked.
"You needed a girlfriend," she said. "You told me a hundred times you like being in a relationship with a woman, that you don't like a bunch of meaningless sluts you only see for an hour and whose names you don't even remember you fuck them."
"That's all true," Jake said. "That girl meant nothing to me."
"I'm sure she didn't," Rachel said. "But you're missing my point. You needed a girlfriend so you did the same thing you did when you needed and accountant or housekeeper. You hired me for the job."
"Hired you?" he asked. "That's insane!"
"Is it? You give me a credit card and tell me to go charge to my heart's content. You take me on trips and let me live in your house and eat your food. All I have to do in return is be nice to you and cuddle with you and fuck you and serve you drinks when you get home. I'm sure a lot of women would kill for the job but I'm not one of them. I loved you, Jake, and you've been treating me like one of your servants. You treat me well, there's no denying that, but you won't make love to me without a condom, you won't let me give up my apartment, you won't take me with you on your trip to Mexico, and you don't even care enough about me to resist other women when you're gone for a week."
She stood up and reached into her jeans pocket. She pulled out the credit card he'd given her and threw it on the table. "I quit, Jake. Consider this my resignation."
"Rachel..." he started, but was unable to think of anything else to say.
"I've already packed up my stuff and put it in my car. Everything I've bought using that card is still upstairs. Have a good life, Jake."
"Rachel..." he said again, but she was already walking out. With tears streaming down her face she went out the door and walked purposefully to the garage. Jake didn't go after her. A moment later her Cabriolet backed out and went down the driveway to the street, disappearing from sight.
Chapter 5a
Los Angeles, California
September 18, 1987
10:30 AM
Jake sat shirtless in one of the chairs adjacent to the wet bar out on his patio. Sitting on the bar next to him was an ashtray that contained half a dozen cigarette butts and half of a joint he'd lit earlier. There was also a potent rum and coke sitting there — his third of the day even though it was only 10:30 in the morning. Sitting next to the drink was a notebook and a pen he was using to transcribe lyrics from his head onto paper. In his lap was the battered Fender six-string he used to compose music with. He had been working on a new song for more than an hour now, not because he had a deadline to meet but simply because the art of composition was something he enjoyed doing, something that soothed his brain and his soul.
He lit a fresh cigarette, took a few drags off it, and then set it down in the ashtray. He swigged a little more of his latest drink and then picked up the guitar pick. He strummed out the rhythm he'd come up with and then sang the chorus of his song — the first part he'd composed.
She cut me loose, she's out the door
She made it very clear that she don't want me anymore
But I'll survive, I always do
It won't be long, baby, 'til I find somebody new
She cut me loose, she stopped the game
Haven't seen her since, does she curse my very name?
But life goes on, that's what they say
I'll just have another drink and those feelings go away
She cut me loose
He stopped playing and took another drag from his smoke. "It's good," he mumbled. "Maybe a little too good."
The lyrics he was composing were, of course, more than a little autobiographical. It had been just over two weeks since Rachel had thrown the credit card down on the table and walked out the door — had 'cut him loose', as it were. The lyrics were a direct reflection of his thoughts and feelings since then. He hadn't seen her since the break-up, nor had he heard from her. He thought it very likely that she was indeed cursing his very name.
The National Watcher article and photographs had come out four days after Rachel had left. Rachel's only comment to the reporter who'd done the story was "Jake and I are no longer seeing each other and that's all I have to say". Since then various other entertainment tabloids, magazines, and television shows had tried to interview her — no doubt hoping for a lurid story about how she was regularly beaten and raped — but her only quotes had been "no comment", no matter what they asked. So at least she wasn't being vindictive in the manner of Michelle Rourke (formerly Borrows).