"I'm on the up and up here," he assured her. "I have a fully equipped guest room, complete with a private bathroom. I'm only a few miles from Hollywood. My housekeeper is making me a steak dinner tonight. I'd be honored if you would join me for it."
She shook her head. "My A&R guy would flip out if I even suggested that," she said. "Can you imagine what the tabloids would say if they found out I was staying at Jake Kingsley's house?"
"Do you always wait for the approval of your A&R guy before you do anything?" Jake asked.
"Well..." she said thoughtfully. "He is looking out for my best interests."
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
"No, but it sounded good."
"Sometimes, Celia, you just have to do what you want to do. If you let your record company dictate where you go and what you do all the time you'll find yourself without much humanity after awhile. You're an American citizen and..."
"Actually," she cut in, "I'm not."
"Oh... yeah, of course," Jake said. "Well... anyway, you're a Venezuelan citizen living in American so you're entitled to basic rights. One of them is to sleep wherever you damn well please. What's the worst they can do to you? They'll be mad, they'll tell you what you did was wrong, they'll try to threaten you, but there's really nothing they can threaten you with. I went through this crap with them when I was dating Mindy Snow and all it did was to let them know that they can't push me around."
Celia was looking thoughtful as she listened to this speech. "You do make a good point there, Jake," she said.
"Defy authority, Celia," he said. "Sometimes it's the only way to get respect."
"You're right," she said, determination showing on her face now.
"So I'll see you for dinner tonight?"
"Damn right," she said. "Screw what those assholes think I should do."
"Now you're talking," he said.
"Uh... but how do I get to your house? I don't have a car either."
The plane touched down at LAX at 10:30 AM local time, although to Jake it felt like mid-afternoon. He and Celia had not talked to each other during the trip across the southwestern United States. It just wasn't a good idea for either of them to be seen getting too chummy with each other in public. Though Jake didn't really care what people thought about him there was no sense in starting any rumors. The way the entertainment media worked all it would take would be one stewardess telling her friend that Jake and Celia had been talking to each other on the flight and by the time it made it to print they would be screwing each other in the bathroom while Jake choked her out.
They did manage to maneuver next to each other in the jetway as they exited the aircraft into the terminal. Celia was not exactly steady on her feet. Jake wasn't surprised. Every time he'd turned around to glance at her or walked to the bathroom she'd had a drink in her hand.
"Safe on terra firma," she said, relief in her voice. "Right where I belong."
"Have you ever thought," Jake said, "that if you don't like flying that you maybe should have picked a different career?"
She chuckled. "If I would've known it involved flying so much I probably would have," she said.
"We still on?" he asked.
"We're still on. I'll check in, take a nap, and then call Tory and let him know what he can do with his hotel room."
"Very good," Jake said. "Call me when you're ready for the limo to pick you up."
"Got your number right here," she said, patting the pocket of her jeans.
They separated from each other and walked out into the crowded airport terminal. Paparazzi were already there. They had been staking out the airport for the past twenty-four hours hoping to catch shots of the various celebrities who would be flying in for the Grammy Awards. Both Jake and Celia had their pictures snapped multiple times. A note was made by multiple reporters that they had arrived on the same flight. But since it was assumed that the two bands hated each other ever since the fight at the Grammy Awards three years before, their simultaneous arrival was written off as nothing more than what it was: a coincidence.
Since Jake had nothing but his small carry-on bag to deal with he quickly made it through the gauntlet of fans, Intemperance haters, paparazzi, and entertainment reporters. A limousine belonging to Buxfield Limousine Service was waiting for him out in the pick-up section. Jake climbed and less than thirty minutes later he was home for the first time in months.
Elsa was pleased to see him. She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek and presented him with a fresh rum and coke she'd constructed at the bar.
"Thanks, Elsa," he told her. "How have things been going here?"
"It's rather boring without you here, Jake," she said. "There's no one to clean up after, no one to cook for, no laundry to do except mine. I feel almost guilty for taking your money while you're not in residence."
"Almost guilty?" he asked.
"Almost," she confirmed with a smile. "I've had my grandchildren over several times on the weekend. That helps a little. Thank you for giving me permission to do that."
"My house is your house, Elsa," he said. "You know that. How are they doing anyway? Still talking that American slang to you?"
Elsa frowned severely. Though her two grandkids were the loves of her life and the things she was most proud of, she was quite exasperated at times with their manner of speech. Both had grown up in Orange County and were being educated in public schools. Neither had any trace of the English accent their grandmother and their parents had and both had shrugged off the proper English they'd been taught in favor of the more colorful vernacular of modern urban teens. "I don't even know what they're saying half the time," she said. "Just last weekend Gerald informed me that there was going to be a 'serious booty-call out on that field come Thursday night'. What exactly does that mean, Jake?"
Jake smiled. "Does Gerald play soccer?"
"As a matter of fact he does," Elsa confirmed.
"I believe he was saying that his team was going to emerge overwhelmingly victorious at their next match-up."
Elsa's eyes widened. "That's what it means?" she asked. "Are you serious?"
"I believe I am," he said. "Of course booty-call does have a quite different meaning as well."
"And what might that be?" she asked.
"I really don't think you want to know that, Elsa."
She sighed. "I suspect you are correct in that," she said.
Jake looked around at his house. It was immaculate but he did not tell Elsa that it looked nice. She would have been insulted by the suggestion that there was ever a time when it didn't look nice. "I invited a friend over for dinner tonight," he said. "Is that okay?"
Elsa's brow furled. "For tonight?" she asked. "Jake, I only have one steak marinating."
"Don't you have another one you can throw some marinade down on?"
"Well... yes, but in order to properly absorb the flavor and to best utilize the tenderization properties it must marinate for twenty-four hours minimum."
"Throw some marinade on it now and I'll eat the under-soaked one," he suggested.
Elsa clearly did not like this plan but there was little else for her to do. "I'd better start working on it right now. I do wish you would give me advance notice of this sort of thing, Jake."
"Sorry, Elsa," he said. "It's kind of a spur of the moment thing."
"Is it a young lady?" she asked. "Will you be requiring a scent enhancement in the hot tub?"
"It is a young lady," he said, "but you can probably hold off on the scent thing. She's just a friend, and an engaged friend at that. I don't plan on any hanky-panky."
She gave him a dubious look.
"She'll be staying the night in the guest room as well," Jake said.
"In the guest room?" Elsa said, the dubiousness deepening into outright disbelief.
"In the guest room," he confirmed. "Really, Elsa. She's just a friend. And I know I don't have to tell you this but I should reiterate that if her presence here is known people really wouldn't understand. This is top secret stuff."