"Of course," she said. "Just who is this woman anyway?"
"Celia Valdez," Jake said.
"Celia Valdez?" she asked. "Didn't you have an altercation with her once?"
"It's all in the past," he said. "You go take care of that steak. I'm gonna go upstairs and catch a few hours."
"Very well," Elsa said. "And don't forget to put your laundry in the hamper."
"I won't Elsa," he promised.
"And empty those pockets! You know how I hate finding your cigarette lighters and prophylactic wrappers in the washing machine!"
"Yes, Elsa," he said, heading for the stairs.
It was good to be home.
Chapter 6B
Jake slept until just after four o'clock. He awoke feeling refreshed and vibrant for the first time in weeks. He shaved, showered, dressed in fresh clothes, and then went downstairs and fixed a stiff rum and coke that he took out onto the patio to enjoy with a cigarette.
He began to wonder if Celia had changed her mind about staying at his house. She had been more than a little tipsy when she'd accepted his invitation and now that she'd had time to sober up he thought it likely that the pressure her A&R team would be putting on her might derail the rebellious intentions he'd planted in her brain. He wasn't quite sure why he was looking forward to Celia's visit. He had no romantic aspirations toward her, nor did he have any serious thoughts about a meaningless sexual encounter with her. She was engaged to another man and she did not seem the least bit interested in him either sexually or romantically. Still, he enjoyed being around her. They seemed to share an ease of conversation that he'd never experienced with a woman unrelated to him before. She was, as he'd told Elsa, a friend. The brief conversations they'd shared in the past were something he remembered with fondness. There was a depth to her that he wanted to explore and expand upon. He would be disappointed if she didn't show tonight.
The phone rang just after 4:30. Elsa brought it to him, explaining formally that a "Ms. Valdez" was requesting to speak with him.
"Thanks, Elsa," he said, taking it. He put it to his ear and said, "Celia?"
"The one and only," she replied. "Are you ready to send some of your people to come get me?"
"I am," he said. He had called Buxfield Limousines before lying down and asked them to keep a car available for this mission. He had also let them know of the top-secret nature of this pick-up. "Did you call your people and let them know you were going AWOL?"
"I did," she said. "It would be safe to say that I've ignited quite the shitstorm. In the past two hours I've been threatened, begged to, threatened again, and then ordered to stay in my rented room like the good little spic I've always been."
"They called you a spic?" Jake asked.
"That was one of the kinder things I was called. I could really use a drink, Jake. How soon can that limo get here?"
"Where are you at?"
She gave him the name of her hotel.
"I'll have someone there in thirty minutes," he said. "Stay in your room until the driver calls for you to come down."
"I'll be eagerly awaiting," she said.
"And feel free to start drinking in the limo," he said. "You'll have to have a few to catch up with me."
"Sounds like a plan," she said.
At six o'clock Jake went to the small storage compartment next to the house and removed a bag of charcoal briquettes and a bottle of lighter fluid. He carried them over to his barbeque island and dumped a good portion of the briquettes inside. He drenched them in lighter fluid and then had a cigarette while he waited for it to soak in. When he was done smoking he struck a match and lit up the charcoal. Within a minute it was blazing brightly, sending black smoke up into the air.
"Mmm," a voice said from behind him. "I really love the smell of a barbeque being lit. It reminds me of camping trips with my parents back in Venezuela."
Jake turned and beheld Celia. She was dressed in a tighter pair of jeans then she'd worn on the airplane and a form-fitting burgundy sweater that outlined her breasts quite nicely. Her hair was flowing loosely over her shoulders. She had a drink in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other.
"You've arrived," Jake said. "And you're looking quite lovely as well. Did Elsa get you that drink?"
"She did," Celia confirmed. "She's a very nice lady. She introduced herself to me, gave me a tour of your house, and then made me this drink. Are you sure she's not going to tell anyone that I was here?"
"Absolutely positive," Jake said. "Elsa has no connection whatsoever to any media conglomerates or record company executives. I pay her very good money and, in return, she gives me complete loyalty."
"That's a concept," she said, walking a little closer. "My housekeeper is some record company puta who reports everything I say and do to my A&R guy."
"Does puta mean what I think it means?" he asked.
"It means 'whore'," she said. "But even that translation doesn't do it justice. It's the vilest manifestation of 'whore' currently available in Espanola. It means 'gutter whore', the worst of the worst of that particular breed."
"I see," Jake said. "I'll add that term to my lexicon of Spanish terms, filing it right next to cabron, which is my current favorite."
"We spics do know how to insult," she said, taking a drink of her booze.
"And I totally respect that," Jake said. "Did Elsa tell you about her grandchildren? She usually can't shut up about that."
"She mentioned that her granddaughter is a La Diferencia fan."
"A very big La Dif fan if I understood correctly," Jake said. "Do you think you could write a little note to her and autograph it? Elsa would never ask in a million years — it wouldn't be proper decorum, as she says — but I have no problem asking."
"Sure," Celia said, "I'd love to, but won't she wonder how Elsa got it? Remember, no one is supposed to know I'm here."
"I'll have Elsa tell her I got it at the Grammy Awards. Just remember to postdate it."
"Deal."
The briquettes were now blazing away quite nicely and seemed in little danger of burning out. Jake put the lighter fluid away and then brushed the black charcoal dust off his hands. "Shall we go inside?" he asked. "It'll take about forty minutes for them to burn down."
"Sure," she said, following him to the back door. "Do you do all the barbequing?"
"I do. Elsa owns the kitchen and everything in it but the barbeque is my domain."
They went inside and sat down at the bar in the entertainment room. Jake washed his hands in the sink and then mixed himself a fresh drink.
"This is such a nice house, Jake," Celia said. "Seeing it has made me realize what a crappy contract we're under. You own your own house and I'm assigned to mine. You're probably collecting millions in royalties and endorsement fees and I'm more than eighty thousand dollars in debt to Aristocrat Records. How did you do it?"
"How did I do what?"
"Get National to renegotiate your contract?"
This was a very touchy subject. The new contract had a strict non-disclosure clause in it, violation of which could force reversion to the old contract. "Who says they renegotiated anything?" Jake asked.
"Oh come on," she said, her green eyes sparkling. "Everyone in the business knows they did. The very fact that you were able to buy this house is as good as proof you aren't operating under a first-time contract anymore."
"You do have a good point there," he admitted.
"Of course I do. So tell me a story. How did you get the most tight-assed cabrons in the free world to share some of that profit with you? Do you know mobsters?"
"Assuming your supposition was even true," Jake said, "I doubt it would have been brought about by anything as dramatic as mobsters."
"Oh?"
"That's right," he said. "It would probably be more along the lines of a good lawyer threatening to challenge the very legality of first-time contracts under a legal theory known as 'unenforceable provisions'."