Chapter 24: What Happens in Vegas...

San Diego, California

April 10, 2000

Meghan Zachary had been on many adventures since signing on as the Kingsley’s nanny. She had been treated to first class and private air travel, had stayed in luxury suites in New York City, Miami, Frankfurt, and Berlin. She was very excited to now be on her four-and-a-half-month adventure accompanying her employers out on a musical tour of the United States and Canada. Her excitement was reinforced by their first stop after leaving Los Angeles: San Diego.

Despite having been born and raised on the Central Coast, she had never been to San Diego before. She found it to be a beautiful city, very unlike Los Angeles—which she really did not care much for—with perfect weather, clean air, reasonable traffic, yet all the amenities one expected in a major city. From the airport, a huge stretch limousine took her and the entire band (plus that fussy road manager, who she instinctively disliked though she could not quite put her finger on why) to the Marriott Marquis Hotel which overlooked the marina in the harbor. The twin towers of the luxury hotel stretched twenty-five stories into the sky. They did not even have to check-in. The fussy road manager did that for them. Bellhops handled taking up their luggage, including all of Caydee’s gear. She, Jake, Laura, and Caydee rode the elevator up to the top floor of the south tower and settled into the two-bedroom suite that overlooked the harbor and the boats in the marina far below.

Jake and Laura had arranged to have the four of them stay in two-bedroom suites for pretty much every stop on the tour. Caydee would sleep in Meghan’s room (Caydee thought that was fuckin’ A cool, having a sleepover with May-kin every night) in her portable crib while Jake and Laura (and eventually Celia) would sleep in the master room of the suites.

Their first day in the city was an off-day, with no show planned. Jake and Laura decided to take Caydee to the famous San Diego Zoo and asked if anyone wanted to join them. Meghan and Steph both tagged along and they all had a lot of fun. It really was an impressive zoo, with large enclosures for all the animals. It was Caydee’s first visit to any zoo anywhere and Meghan figured she would spend her life unimpressed with any other zoo she might stroll through after this one. Though Jake was noticeably recognized by multiple people as they made their way from exhibit to exhibit, animal to animal—Meghan could see the pointing fingers and the whispered words—no one actually approached him to ask for an autograph or tell him he fuckin’ rocked or to inform him that hell was reserving a special seat just for him. Perhaps it was out of respect for the fact that he was with his family or perhaps it was out of fear, as Jake was wearing a tank-top that showed off his well-muscled arms and had not shaved today, so he was showing some scruff that maybe made him look a little dangerous (and sexy as hell, she could not help but think).

By the time they got back to the hotel it was 6:55 PM. Sunset was at 7:15 so they all went out on the balcony and watched it. They could not actually see the open ocean from where they were so the life-giving ball of fire disappeared behind the hills of Point Loma at 7:10, but the way the twilight lit up the harbor and the boats in the marina and the Coronado Bridge was a sight to behold.

“All right,” Jake said. “How about we shower up and go get some dinner?”

“Caydee shower with Mommy?” Caydee asked hopefully. “Like a big girl?”

“That would be an efficient way to get it done,” Jake pointed out.

“All right then,” Laura said. “Let’s go take our shower, big girl.”

“Yay!” Caydee said happily.

The three Kingsleys went into the master bedroom together, closing the door behind them. Meghan went to her own, smaller bedroom and opened her travel bag. She gathered fresh everything out of it—a pair of white shorts, a sleeveless pullover, a clean bra, clean panties, and clean ankle socks—and then went to the secondary bathroom off the main sitting room of the suite. It was not as big a bathroom as Jake and Laura’s, but it did have a large jacuzzi tub and a separate shower. She closed and locked the door and then stripped down and took her shower, washing all the day’s sweat, dust, and sunscreen from her body, being careful not to get her hair wet.

The four of them made it down to the main dining room at 7:45 and were seated immediately. Again, many of the other diners were pointing fingers at their table and whispering among themselves, but none approached them. Meghan ordered fish tacos—one of her favorite foods but neither Elsa nor Jake made them for her at home—and a glass of white wine. Jake ordered a ribeye steak with a fully loaded baked potato and a bottle of red wine for he and Laura to share. Laura went with the prime rib and garlic mashed potatoes. Caydee got a cheeseburger and fries from the kids menu (the same thing she had had for her late lunch at the zoo) and a glass of apple juice (she was pretty good at drinking from a glass now, only spilling it about one out of every five times).

Caydee and Laura shared a piece of cheesecake for dessert while Jake had some kind of cookie and ice cream concoction. Meghan passed on dessert. She did not go out and perform two hours of aerobic exercise every night like Jake and Laura and she knew that any desserts she imbibed in would go straight to her butt and thighs.

Jake signed for the meal, no doubt adding a generous tip as was his nature when they were not accosted by the staff, and they all went upstairs to the suite again. Part of Caydee’s travel baggage included a cheap Fender acoustic guitar and about two dozen of Caydee’s favorite books. Jake got the little girl changed into her jammies and then played the guitar and sang with her for about twenty minutes. He then kissed her goodnight, as did Meghan. Laura then took her into Meghan’s room and read to her Where the Wild Things Are—a true classic that Meghan’s mother used to read to her when she was Caydee’s age.

While Laura was reading Caydee to sleep, Jake sat on the couch next to where Meghan sat in one of the chairs flipping through channels on the TV. “Hey, Meg,” he said to her, “I’m going to go down a few floors to that lounge they have and score a drink or two.”

The lounge he was referring to was reserved only for those guests who stayed in the suites or paid several hundred dollars in addition to their hotel rooms for the privilege of being admitted. “Oh ... okay,” she said with a shrug, wondering why he was telling her this. Did he want her to tell Laura he was going? That made no sense. All he had to do was poke his head in her room and tell her himself.

“I’d like you to come with me,” Jake said, confusing her even more.

“Me?” she asked. “But what about Laura?”

“She’ll stay here and be with Caydee,” Jake said. “And it’s not just you. I’m going to have Massa and Tif meet us there as well.”

“Oh ... okay,” she said, feeling a little relief. For a moment there it seemed like Jake was ... was maybe coming on to her. A part of her felt a little thrill at the thought, but most of her knew how insanely complicated things would become if that had been true.

“You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” Jake told her, “but there’s a few things I want to discuss with you and Massa and Tif, you know, because this is the first time all of you have been involved with a music tour.”

“What kind of things?” she asked.

“We’ll talk about that in the lounge,” he told her. “Let me give them a call.”

He made the phone calls and, just as Laura emerged from putting Caydee down, she and Jake grabbed their key cards to head for the door.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Jake told his wife, giving her a kiss on the lips.

“Sounds good,” Laura told him.

They rode the elevator down two floors and then followed the signs on the wall to the M-Club Lounge. Jake opened the glass doors and they found themselves in a large corner room with huge windows that looked out over the downtown high-rises and city streets. There was a large bar facing the eastern window. Two snazzily dressed bartenders were on duty. Scattered around the floor facing the southern window were cocktail tables and lounge chairs. Soft music played from overhead speakers at a low volume that was not conversation discouraging. There were only about a dozen or so guests in the lounge currently, most of them older than her and Jake and most more nicely dressed.

A podium with a man in a suit standing behind it guarded access. He politely asked to see their room cards. They handed them over and he ran them through his scanner, one after the other. He then nodded and welcomed them to the M-Club Lounge, telling them they were free to seat themselves anywhere that was open.

“Thank you,” Jake said with a nod. He then led her to a corner of the room where a table that could seat four was empty and isolated from any nearby patrons. They grabbed a seat and within ten seconds a cocktail waitress wearing slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a thin little tie was there, asking them if they would like to order a drink.

“I’ll have a vodka and tonic,” Meghan told her.

“What kind of vodka would you like?” the waitress asked.

“Uh ... I don’t know,” she said. No one had ever asked her that before. If she had a vodka and tonic at home she just used the vodka that was in the bar. Something with a Russian name.

“Give her the Grey Goose,” Jake said. “Life is too short for crappy vodka.”

“Goose and tonic it is,” the waitress said. “Would you like a lemon or lime slice with it?”

“Lime,” Meghan said, thinking about how this was a classy place. At home she just squirted some of that squeeze lime juice in.

“Very good,” the waitress said, not writing any of this down. She turned to Jake. “And you, sir?”

“Twelve-year-old Macallan on the rocks,” he said. “A double, please.”

“Very good,” she said with a nod. “Is there a room card I can scan for the tab? Or perhaps a credit card?”

Jake handed her his room card—the one that identified him as Glenn Sutter, but would put a little asterisk on any computer screen upon which it was scanned by indicating that name was fictional to protect a guest’s privacy. Any employee seeing that asterisk would know not to make mention of who the guest was and to call him or her by an honorific and last name. Jake would be Mr. Sutter. Laura would be Ms. Dolan. Meghan would be Ms. Zachary because her card was in her own name (though anything charged to it would go to Glenn Sutter’s account). “Put everything on here,” he told her. “We have two more guests who will be arriving shortly. I’ll get their drinks as well.”

“As you wish, sir,” she told him politely.

Massa and Tif arrived a minute later, having traveled up from the sixteenth floor where the standard King-bed suites were located. As part of the band, they rated private rooms of better than average luxury, as did Gavin the tour manager. The road crew, who were staying in the hotel for the off-day as well, were housed two to a room in the standard rooms on the lower floors, which was still, Jake had told Meghan at one point, exponentially better than National would have treated them if they had been in charge. To National, mere roadies did not rate hotel rooms at all. They slept on the buses and ate at fast food places they happened across along the way. The only time they had actual rooms were during tour breaks when they would be housed two to a room in some fleabag motel because it was cheaper to do that than to fly them all home and then back again. This was a big reason why experienced roadies loved working for a KVA associated tour.

Meghan’s libido did a little flutter when she saw Massa step into the room. He was dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt, an outfit in which he could easily be mistaken for one of the wait staff. She had not talked to or even seen the violinist since they had arrived at the hotel from the airport, but she knew she was a bit smitten with him. He was just so shy and so cute! She had high hopes that maybe a little something might develop between the two of them as they traveled together. She was, after all, well over that line that Laura had told her about one day on a flight to Frankfurt.

Next to Massa was Tif, Jake’s backup singer. Meghan frowned as she took her in. No one was going to mistake her for a member of the wait staff. She was wearing a pair of tight short shorts that displayed her camel-toe and a sleeveless, midriff-baring pullover shirt that was so short the bottoms of her breasts could be seen. It was obvious that she had no bra on. Pretty much every male head turned to look at her as she left the podium and headed toward their table.

What a slut! Meghan thought righteously. Does she have no shame at all? Apparently not.

Jake stood when they approached, accepted a hug from Tif and a handshake from Massa. He then invited them to sit. They did so, taking the chairs across from her and Jake, Massa directly across from her.

“Thanks for coming,” Jake told them. “This won’t take very long. I just wanted to have a few words with everyone who is new to being on a music tour.”

“This is like, totally rad so far,” Tif said with a big smile. “I spent, like, all day at the beach. They have a totally better sand scene here than in LA, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I’m glad you’re having fun, Tif,” Jake told her. “And I’m glad you got your sand scene in today. We won’t be somewhere with decent beaches again until Corpus Christi in mid-May.”

“I can live with that,” Meghan said sincerely, her memory once again bringing up a little beach trip she once took to Mexico. She then turned to the violinist. “What did you do today, Massa?”

“Me?” he asked, and then shrugged. “Nothing much. I went down to the pool for a little bit and did some reading and then I went back to my room and watched TV.”

“You are a party animal, Massa,” Jake told him. “How was the action down at the pool?”

“The action?” he asked, confused.

“You know?” Jake said. “Women in bikinis? Drinks at the bar? Any good appetizers being served?”

“Oh ... well ... I didn’t really notice, to tell the truth,” he said quietly. “I just sat in a lounger and read my book mostly.”

“I see,” Jake said.

Wow, Meghan thought, letting a smile come to her face. So friggin’ cute!

The cocktail waitress came back over. She set down Jake and Meghan’s drinks on little napkins with the name of the club and the hotel embossed on them. She then took Massa and Tif’s orders. Massa ordered an IPA from the tap (he had told Meghan on the plane ride that he had developed a taste for good beer thanks to the Friday afternoon post-rehearsal sessions). Tif ordered a sex on the beach. Meghan was a bit chagrined when the waitress carded them both to verify they were over twenty-one years of age and could legally drink alcohol in California. Bitch didn’t card me, she thought sourly. Wasn’t the rule that they had to card anyone who looked younger than thirty-five? Does she think I’m older than thirty-friggin-five?

They made a little small talk while they waited for the drinks to arrive. Jake and Meghan did most of the talking, with Tif occasionally throwing in some asinine, brainless observation of her own (oh my God, she is so dumb! Meghan thought in wonderous awe) while Massa remained pretty much silent, his eyes tracking the conversation around the table but his mouth contributing nothing.

Finally, the drinks arrived and Jake got down to the business at hand.

“It’s like this, guys,” he told them. “We have a saying in our business and I want you all to be aware of it and to be sure to embrace it in totality as we travel around. Now, Meghan already knows about this to some degree because she has been our nanny for more than two years now and she knows the score.”

“The score for what?” Tif asked, confused.

“The score for what I’m talking about,” Jake said.

“Ohhhh ... I ... uh ... I see,” Tif said slowly, though it was quite clear that she did not.

“Anyway,” Jake said. “I was talking about a saying we have. That saying is: What happens on the road stays on the road.”

Massa nodded his head. Meghan did the same. Tif, however, had a puzzled look. “Is that kind of like ... uh ... what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

“Right,” Jake said. “The concept is the same.”

“I never quite got what they meant by that,” Tif said. “I mean, I’ve been to Vegas a few times and I was afraid to do anything. I wanted to get a tat in this totally cool ink place there, but I didn’t know how to leave it in Vegas when I left. That’s like ... you know ... impossible, right?”

Jake blew a little air out between his pursed lips. “Uh ... the saying is not exactly literal, Tif,” he told her.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means you can get a tattoo in Vegas, or out here on the road if you want. You don’t have to leave it on the road because that is, as you pointed out, impossible. What the saying means is that what you experience out on the road, what you witness out on the road—particularly with your bandmates—what you suspect is going on out on the road, you do not share any of that information with anyone else, not even your bandmates if you can help it, but certainly not with anyone who is not part of our inner circle. Not your boyfriends, your girlfriends, your mother, your priest, your rabbi, and certainly not with anyone you randomly meet in your travels.”

Tif thought this through for a few moments and then nodded. “Ohhh,” she said finally. “That’s what that means.”

“Right,” Jake said encouragingly. “Things happen in Vegas that don’t happen anywhere else. People hook up with strangers, they go to strip clubs, they hire hookers, they try out the whole bisexual thing, they have threesomes and foursomes, that kind of shit. The same things happen out on the road. There are groupies out here and people—some of them your bandmates who are happily married—may just hook up with some of these groupies. That needs to stay on the road. Are you following me?”

“Groupies?” Massa asked, his eyes widening a bit. “You mean ... uh ... like women who will ... uh...” He could not seem to finish the statement.

“Women who will do anything in their power to hook up with a member of the band or even the road crew,” Jake said. “They will be at every stop we make and they will be in your face at the show, in the hotel bars, and out on the streets of every city, offering you their bodies.”

“Really?” Massa asked, his eyebrows going up a bit in a way that Meghan did not really care for. “And ... uh ... when you say member of the band ... uh...”

“I mean every member of the band,” Jake said. “They would prefer to get it on with me, but, since I don’t do that sort of thing these days, anyone else in the band, male or female, would be a conquest for them.”

“Male or female?” Tif asked, seemingly intrigued. “Really?”

“Really,” Jake said. “Now, like I said, myself and Laura do not indulge in this pastime. Doug does not indulge either—the groupies are the reason he had it put in his contract that he gets to leave the venue immediately after each show—but I’ve been out on the road with Lucky and James before. They indulge with the groupies. And their wives, children, mothers, and fathers would not really like to hear about what they’re getting up to out here on the road. Does that make sense?”

“What happens on the road stays on the road,” Massa said, nodding. “I understand.”

Meghan was a little scandalized by this conversation, and a little upset over Massa’s interest in it. She knew many things about her employers—the fact that they were regularly getting it on with Celia Valdez at the top of that list—but she had never even considered the concept of groupies before. Or that James and Lucky might want to get it on with said groupies. How sordid!

“How about you, Tif?” Jake asked. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “I tell no one about these groupies while we’re out on the road.”

“Not just the groupies,” Jake said. “You tell no one about anything potentially unflattering. And not just while we’re out on the road. You tell no one for the rest of your life about what happens on the road. Not even on your deathbed.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s a long time.”

“Yes, it is,” Jake said. “A few moments ago, I specifically mentioned people that you might meet in your travels while we’re out here. In the world that Laura and I live in, there is a thing called a troll.”

“A troll?” Tif asked. “Those things that live under bridges and go after Billy-goats?” She gave him a sly look, a look that said, you’re not fooling me. “Trolls aren’t real. At least not anymore.”

“Again, not literal trolls,” Jake said. “A troll is an entertainment reporter for one of the tabloids or the gossip media shows that will come and hang out in places that bandmembers and crew are likely to frequent. Their absolute favorite haunts are the bars in the hotels we stay in. They have their sources and they know which hotel we’re all in at every stop along the way. They will pretend to be ordinary, friendly people and their play is to act like they just happened across you by coincidence. They will strike up conversation with you and drink with you and flirt with you and even go to bed with you in the hope that you will develop enough trust in them to blurt out something about what happens on the road. Do not fall for this trap. We know that Njord, the copilot on Celia’s flight crew, was the source of the gossip that led to that whole scandal about Celia and the lesbian pilot and Laura and the lesbian groupies. We strongly suspect that that gossip was unintentionally fed to a troll by Njord at some point along the way. Njord did not adhere to the prime directive and his speculation about what was happening on the road did not stay on the road.”

“Those stories weren’t even true,” Tif said, shaking her head at the injustice. “Teach and Celia both said so. I saw it on TV.”

“The stories don’t have to be true,” Jake said. “Njord blabbed his speculations about what was going on to a troll, she printed them in her sleazy rag, and, once it’s out there, there is not much we can do about it beyond denial. In order to successfully win a slander or libel case, the accuser must prove that the allegations being made are not true and that the publisher or speaker of the allegations knew they were not true and was deliberately trying to besmirch the accused’s reputation. That is almost impossible to do.”

Especially when the allegations actually are true, Meghan could not help but thinking. After all, she was pretty much family to Jake and Laura and there was not much they got up to or had been up to that she was not aware of.

“In any case,” Jake went on, “that little scandal has come and gone and is mostly forgotten at this point in time—although they do still roll it out every now and again. What I want to impress upon you all is that me, Laura, Meghan, Caydee, and everyone in the band, including the two of you, Massa and Tif, do not want our business, real or imagined, out there in the world for everyone to read or hear about.”

“So, we stay away from these trolls then,” Massa said. “I understand. But how do we identify them?”

“You can never be sure if someone you meet in the hotel bar or while you’re out exploring a city is a troll or just a friendly person,” Jake said. “After you’ve been in the business for a while like Laura and I, you can start to pick up likely trolls when you meet them, but you can never be sure.”

“We avoid all contact with anyone we don’t know then?” Massa asked.

“No,” Jake said. “That is not what I’m suggesting at all. Talk to whoever you want. Take them to your room and get it on with them if you want. Just don’t tell them anything about what happens on the road or what you suspect might be happening on the road. Don’t think that any gossip you might share while you’re drunk or sexually aroused or both will not go anywhere. Just don’t tell. Come up with whatever deflection scheme you wish, but reveal nothing private or personal about anyone, including yourselves.”

“I ... uh ... guess that makes sense,” Massa said.

“What’s a defection scheme?” Tif asked, puzzled.

“Deflection scheme,” Jake corrected. “And it means the method that you use to deflect any such enquiries a potential troll—which would be anyone that you do not know who strikes up a conversation with you—away from what happens on the road.”

Tif did not really look enlightened by this explanation. “Uh ... well ... I...”

“Look, it’s simple, Tif,” Jake told her. “Let me walk you through a scenario here. Massa, you can play along as well. Meghan is already well-versed in this particular scenario, so I’m not worried about her. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Tif said nervously, as if she were about to walk into an audition or a job interview.

“I’m ready,” Massa said.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Jake told them. “On May 9^th, when we arrive in Dallas for the three shows there, Celia Valdez is going to join us on the tour.”

Massa and Tif both looked surprised by this information. Meghan was not. She had already been told about it shortly after the Kingsley family returned from Ecuador after visiting their lover there.

“Is she going to like join the show?” Tif asked, excited at the thought. “That’ll be so totally cool!”

“She is not going to join the show,” Jake said. “She is just going to travel with us as we go from place to place.”

“How come?” asked Massa.

“Because she is a very close friend of me and Laura and she just wants to hang out with us,” Jake said simply.

“She’s going to do that for the entire tour?” Massa asked.

“In all likelihood,” Jake said. “We really enjoy each other’s company, you see. Celia will be staying in the suites that I share with Laura, Caydee, and Meghan at each of our stops.”

“Where is she going to sleep?” asked Tif. “Are those suites that big?”

“Let’s just assume for the sake of the scenario that she will be sleeping on the fold-out couch beds or a roll-a-way,” Jake told her. “There is no need to speculate any further than that.”

“Okay!” Tif chirped brightly. “I’m not all that good at speculating anyway.”

“Now then,” Jake said, “the fact that Celia is staying with us in our suite is information that the two of you will possess. You may even, in your own minds, start to suspect that something might be going on between me, Laura, and Celia.”

“Like what?” Tif asked.

“Like we’re involved in a sexual relationship with each other,” Jake said carefully. “You know how people like to gossip, right? And you know how the human mind always goes to places like that.”

“Oh yeah,” Tif said, nodding. “That totally makes sense.”

Massa did not say anything, but he was looking at Jake thoughtfully. Meghan thought that maybe he was starting to pick up what Jake was laying down.

“So ... anyway,” Jake went on, “it will not escape public notice that Celia is hanging out with us. She is simply too well-known to fly under the radar like that. And you, Tif, and you, Massa, will know that Celia is staying in our suite and you may even have this weird idea that maybe there is something other than friendship going on between the three of us. Are you following me so far?”

“I am,” Massa said, looking at Jake with something like awe now.

“Totally,” Tif said. “Isn’t it messed-up how people like to go there?”

“Totally,” Jake agreed. “In any case, potential trolls will likely be aware that Celia is traveling with us when they set up shop in the bar, or sidle up to you at the hotel pool, or happen across you while you’re out shopping in Dallas or Austin or Corpus Christi. They will gradually steer the conversation around to the point where they can casually ask you just what the deal is with Jake Kingsley and Laura Kingsley and Celia Valdez. At the same time, a perfectly ordinary person who is not a troll will also likely be aware that Celia is traveling with us and may innocently ask the same question. In either case, you do not give them any information. You can confirm that, yes, Celia is traveling with the group, but you say that it’s because she is one of the owners of KVA Records and is involved in producing the shows. And you assure them that Celia has her own hotel suites at every stop along the way and that Jake, Laura, and Celia are nothing but friends and colleagues.”

“We lie then?” Massa asked.

“Yes,” Jake said plainly. “You lie. And you tell the same story to every person who asks you about it, and you stick to that story even if they haul your ass before a congressional investigation committee and you are sworn to tell the truth. Do either of you have a problem with that?”

“They would make us testify before congress about something like this?” Tif asked, seemingly outraged at the overreach and oppression of the legislative branch of the US government.