Chapter 27: The Clock is Ticking

Barquisimeto, Venezuela

May 5, 2000

The Estadio Antonio Herrera Gutiérrez Stadium was located just west of Barquisimeto’s downtown area. The home field of the Cardenales de Lara professional baseball team, the venue held just over 23,000 for concerts. It was the site of the final two Celia Valdez South American tour dates on May 4^th and May 5^th. Celia herself had insisted on closing out with two shows in her hometown even though the venue was not nearly as profitable as the three shows she had done in Caracas the previous weekend—each of those had sold out a forty thousand seat venue.

In addition to insisting on the Barquisimeto shows in the first place, Celia had also insisted on a special VIP section capable of seating two hundred in front of the stage at each performance. There, members of her immediate and extended family, her childhood friends, her former music and voice instructors, members of her childhood church, and the wives, husbands, and children of all of the above were given free passes to watch their hometown hero play. To Celia, this was considerably more gratifying than having met Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela, and having him sit in the VIP section for the final Caracas show (though that had been kind of cool too—she found him a very personable man, and she was three inches taller than him, though he did stand on a platform when they were photographed together to negate this difference).

As she played out the final concert on this warm, muggy night, her parents and brother Eduardo were sitting front and center of the SVIP section that KVA and National were making no profit whatsoever from, close enough that she could see them as she played and sang and sweated. Surrounding them were a hundred and twenty cousins, aunts, uncles, old friends, former teachers, church acquaintances, and even the Padre and a few of the nuns from the church she used to attend. She knew every single person in that section and she was proud to play for them and see their appreciation of the musician that she had become.

She sang all of her songs in English, as that was how they had been composed, but she spoke to the crowd in Venezuelan Spanish, which had thrilled everyone throughout the entire South American Tour (with the exception of the Brazilian dates, where she spoke English to them because there were more English speakers than Spanish speakers in that country and Celia did not speak Portuguese). And she made a point to banter a lot in her native land, much more so than she had in the North American and European shows.

As she stepped out for the encore, her twelve-string guitar in hand (she had tearfully confessed to her father on her first day in Barquisimeto about what had happened to the twelve-string he had given her and he had assured her that he still loved her anyway), she was struck with a sense of awe and relief at the realization that she was now going to play the last three songs before an audience for God only knew how long. It was not a sad feeling at all. She was thoroughly and utterly burned out on performing by this point and ready to take a long break away from playing music. She would not be taking a break from touring, however, as she planned to meet Rev and Teach in Houston in just a few days and travel the country with them. That part she was quite looking forward to. She had crossed far over the line weeks before and needed to get back on the right side of it. And apart from missing the sex, she just missed them. Missed them and Caydee quite terribly.

The spotlight shined on her and Liz as they sang Why?, one of Celia’s most popular tunes, while Eric played the violin melody behind them. The crowd cheered loudly when they finished it up and she saw that her mother and brother were wiping away tears as they applauded her.

“Thank you,” she told them in Spanish as the rest of the band returned to their positions on the stage and her guitar tech switched out the twelve-string for her Brogan Les Paul knockoff. “This next song has been a little controversial at times because it questions some things about the faith that most of us were raised with. I think, however, that people misunderstand what I was doing with the tune. In the end, I think I answer the fundamental question correctly. It’s called Should We Believe? And the answer is: Yes, we really should.”

The applause rolled over her and, when it quieted a bit, Little Stevie began to play the distorted opening melody. She kicked in with a clean backing melody and Eric, Liz, and Miles began to provide the fills. She sang out the words and much of the audience sang along with her. Most of them were on their feet, swaying to the rhythm, smiling at the rendition.

After Believe, they rolled right into The End of the Journey, her mournful, sad song about her divorce from Greg Oldfellow. The tune had topped the charts in Venezuela for more than three months when it had first been released and was still frequently played on nearly every format of radio that played music in the country. The audience knew the song very well, even those who did not understand a word of English. And they thrilled at watching her perform it and sing it for them.

They wrapped up End with their usual finale of guitar solos, sax solos, and an extended outro, and then it was over. They were given a standing ovation and the applause was deafening. Celia thanked them all, told them she loved them, promised that she would be back soon. She and her band then formed up and took their bows, walking off the stage with final waves as the house lights came up.

The tour was really over now.

It was well after midnight when the limousine dropped her off at 4512 Avenida Vásquez, the simple, three-bedroom house that she had grown up in and where her parents, despite her best efforts to let her buy something nicer for them, still lived. Both were retired now, living off of their meager pensions and savings, still driving a twelve-year old car and doing their grocery shopping at the same neighborhood markets. They had told her on the first day of her visit that it was getting harder and harder to make ends meet thanks to runaway inflation that President Chavez kept promising to get under control. She had once again offered to help them out— “I am literally a multi-millionaire!” she had cried—but they refused, confident that God and President Chavez would see them through.

Mama and Papa were both still awake when she came in, though both were dressed in their night clothes. They both hugged her and kissed her cheeks before telling her how much they had enjoyed the performance of her and her band.

“You were magnificent up there, Celia,” Mama gushed. “Even if you were not my daughter I would still think that was the most amazing music concert I have ever seen!”

“I agree,” Papa said. “I am so glad we were able to see you onstage. You are truly a performer!”

“Thank you,” she told them, smiling. “I was very proud to play for you tonight. To play for all of Barquisimeto, but especially for you two and Eduardo. Did he like the show?”

“He loved it,” Mama assured him. “He said you’ve come a long way since the La Diferencia days.”

“It helps having complete creative control over my work,” she said. “And having Jake Kingsley be the producer of the music is a big plus as well.”

“He is truly talented at what he does,” Papa said. “His wife too. How is that little girl of theirs?”

“She’s two and a half years old now,” Celia said. “Growing like a weed. They joined me in Ecuador for a few days while we were there for the shows in Quito.”

“Really?” Mama said, raising her eyebrows a bit. “They flew all the way from Los Angeles to Ecuador just to visit you?”

Oops, she thought. Maybe I should not have told them that. Her parents, as far as she knew, did not even have a suspicion about the true relationship between their famous daughter and the Kingsleys. And she wanted to keep it that way. “Yes,” she said. “They were just about to start their own tour so they wanted to get away for a few days after all the grind of rehearsal. We also had some business we needed to discuss—you know, about the record company—so they decided to meet me in Quito and hang out with us.”

“I see,” Mama said with a nod.

“Makes sense,” said Papa with a nod of his own. “Would you like some wine? We opened a bottle earlier.”

“Uh ... maybe just a small glass,” she said. “I had a few drinks back in the clubhouse after we had dinner.” And a few tokes on the old pipe as well, she did not add. She did not usually smoke yerba, particularly not the South American varieties that had been available to them of late, but it had been the last after-show gathering of the band and she partook in the ritual on this occasion.

Papa poured her a glass of red wine and then poured for himself and Mama as well. They all sat down in the living room and sipped. The wine was not very good to her palate, which was accustomed to vintages that cost over a hundred dollars a bottle, but it was what her parents could afford.

“Your band and crew are leaving for home tomorrow?” Papa asked.

“The band is leaving on a chartered flight,” she said. “The crew needs to hang out a few more days, get everything packed up in the trucks again so it can be taken to Puerto Cabello and put on a ship for the trip home. Once that happens, we have another charter flight that will take them all back to Los Angeles.”

“How long will it take for the equipment to get home?” Mama asked.

“About a week and a half,” she said. “It has to go through the Panama Canal and then all the way up the west coast to Long Beach.”

“How much does something like that cost?” Papa asked.

Celia shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said. “National Records handles the shipping part and transport for the crew. KVA handles getting the musicians around from place to place, but I don’t even know how much that costs. Pauline and Jill the accountant are the ones who sign off on those expenses.”

“You trust all of the people involved with your record company?” Mama asked.

“I would trust them with my life,” she said quite honestly. “As for the people at National Records, however ... I don’t trust them any further than I can throw them. And that’s not very far. But again, Pauline, Jill, and Jake make sure they stay on the up and up and don’t play games with our money.”

“That is good,” Mama said. “Mr. Jake does seem an honorable man, despite his reputation. I’ve never met his sister or this accountant you speak of, but if you have trust in them they must be above board. You are a good judge of character, Celia.”

“I try to be,” she said.

“Any boyfriends on the horizon?” Papa asked. “We would love to have grandchildren some day and it does not seem that Eduardo will be giving us any.”

“Nothing at the moment, Papa,” she told him. “I’ve been out on tour for the past year. There’s not much time to start a romance with all of that.” Not even much time to maintain one, she thought, feeling another little pang of anticipation at her upcoming reunion with Rev and Teach.

“Well, keep searching,” Mama told her. “God will provide. You are quite the catch, you know.”

“That means I can afford to be picky,” she said.

“But not too picky,” Mama said seriously. “Remember, you are almost forty years old now, Mija. You are going to want to have a baby before too much longer.”

She sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “That is true.” And it was. It was something she had actually been thinking a lot about lately, usually when in her hotel bed all alone.

“A pity you wasted so much of your time with that no-good cheating actor,” Papa said.

“Yes, Papa,” she said with another sigh. “That really is a pity.” And that was true as well.

She stayed with her parents for the next three days. She spent a good portion of that time asleep in her old bedroom, catching up on some of what she had been deprived of out on the road. Her mother made dinner for them all every night and breakfast every morning. She would not allow Celia to pitch in for the groceries. On Sunday, Celia put on a dress she had bought just for the occasion and went to mass with her parents and brother just as she had done as a child.

“Do you wish to go early for confession?” her mother asked her.

“Uh ... no,” she said carefully, imagining how Padre Garcia would react if she actually confessed her sins to him. It’s like this, Padre, I’ve been engaging in homosexuality with Jake Kingsley’s wife and extramarital sex with Jake Kingsley himself for the past three years now, and usually I do both of those things at the same time. How many Hail Marys and Our Fathers to cover something like that? “I don’t really have anything I need to confess at the moment.”

“Really?” he mother asked, her eyes probing.

“I went to confession back in Caracas,” Celia lied. “I’m all good with Jesus currently. There’s really not that much time for sinning out on the road.”

“I see,” Mama said. She did not look like she was buying it, but was diplomatic enough not to say so.

On Tuesday morning, May 9, she woke up early and packed all of her things. She ate the breakfast that Mama provided and then hugged her and kissed her goodbye.

“Call us when you get home,” Mama told her, “so we know you arrived safely.”

“I will, Mama,” she promised, though she was not actually going home. She had not told her parents about her plans for the next few months.

Papa drove her to Jacinto Lara International Airport and waited with her at the gate area until it was time for her to board the Aeropostal Airlines A-320 for the hop to Simon Bolivar International outside Caracas. It was obvious that everyone in the waiting area recognized her, but no one approached to talk or ask her for an autograph. She was grateful for their discretion because she was sick to death of dealing with fans by this point.

She hugged and kissed Papa goodbye and then boarded the plane. An hour and twenty minutes later she was sitting in the Continental Airlines first-class lounge in the international terminal. She had time to drink two bloody Marys before boarding the Boeing 767-ER that would take her to Houston Intercontinental and her reunion with her two lovers and their daughter.

She could not wait to get there.

Her plane landed at 3:35 PM Houston time and taxied to the international terminal. By the time she got off the plane and cleared the customs checkpoint, it was past 4:00. She made her way out of the terminal building and out to the arrival door where she found a limousine driver standing next to his vehicle in the loading area holding a sign that read: Marie Vasquez. Of course, the limo driver had been briefed on who his passenger really was, but he played the game well.

“I have been instructed to deliver you to the Four Seasons Hotel, Ms. Vasquez. Is that where you wish to go?”

“That is where I wish to go,” she confirmed, handing him her battered travel bag so he could put it in the trunk.

Traffic was heavy and it took nearly forty-five minutes of crawling along before they pulled into the circular entryway at the front of the thirty-story building. She had her cell phone in her purse and, though she had not even turned it on the entire time she was in South America, she turned it on now and waited for it to go through the power-up process and find her a signal. The device was fully charged as she had had the foresight to plug it in the night before in her old bedroom. She saw that she had a few dozen voicemails and twice as many text messages, all of them old, none of them she cared to listen to or read right now. She opened up her text messaging program and found the entry labeled Teach.

Just got here, she texted. Up for visitor??

Her reply dinged over a few seconds later. I suppose. :) Room 3010.

On way, she texted back, smiling.

She tipped the limo driver forty dollars and then entered the lobby. She went to the front desk and presented herself to the young and attractive female clerk on duty. It was obvious that the clerk recognized her, but she played the game too.

“Hi,” Celia said, “I’m Marie Vasquez. My friend Lynn Dolan is expecting me. She told me there would be a keycard here for me.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Vasquez,” the clerk replied. “I have it for you right here.” She produced the card without asking for any form of identification.

“Thank you,” Celia said with a smile.

She walked to the elevator and pushed the button. No one else was waiting currently and one of the sets of doors opened right away. She stepped inside, put her keycard in the slot, and then pushed the number 30. All the way to the top. The car rose into the air, making the trip without stopping. After exiting, it was but a short walk down the hallway to Room 3010.

She used the keycard to let herself in, already smiling in anticipation. The suite was quite large and elaborate, with an impressive view of downtown Houston. Jake, Laura, and Caydee were all waiting in the sitting room for her. Caydee reached her first, running across the room yelling “See-ya! See-ya!”

She picked the little girl up and embraced her tightly, getting huggies and kissies from her. Jake and Laura then gave her huggies and kissies as well, their kissies, unlike Caydee’s, falling on the lips and involving some tongue play.

“It is soooo good to see you,” Teach told her, giving her yet another intimate hug, another kiss on the lips, another slip of the tongue into her mouth.

“The feeling is mutual,” she assured her. She looked around the room “Where is Meghan?”

“She and Massa went to spend the day at the Kemah Boardwalk,” Jake said. “She probably won’t be back until tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Celia asked. “Are those two like a thing now? I thought it was Massa and the dumb singer who were getting it on.”

“No one is quite sure what the dynamic of all this is,” Jake said. “Massa and Meghan hang out a lot on the off days and are obviously very fond of each other, but they don’t seem to be involved in that way. Massa and Tif seem to get together once a week or so for some alone time in one of their rooms, but there does not seem to be any sort of connection between them the rest of the time.”

“And Massa does make his share of requests as well,” Laura said, a clear tone of disapproval in her voice.

“Oh yeah?” Celia said. “That’s interesting.”

Jake simply shrugged. “To each their own,” he said, expressing his basic philosophy on off-duty bandmember dynamics. “As long as they show up for the performances and do their jobs.”

“And do they?” Celia asked.

“So far,” he said.

They chatted a little about the flight in, the final shows in Venezuela, her stay with her parents, and then they showed Celia to the master bedroom of the suite. She put her travel bag down on one of the sitting chairs and opened it up. She pulled out fresh underwear, a fresh pair of denim shorts, a fresh shirt, and her toiletry kit. “I really need to take a shower,” she said. “I’ve been sitting in airports and on planes all day long. I probably smell like a goat.”

“A very sexy goat,” Laura said, caressing the back of her neck. “I bet you need someone to help wash your back?”

“Or maybe she would like to take a nap after her shower,” Jake suggested. “And I can use a nap as well. Maybe you could take Caydee to the pool while we nap, hon.”

“Pool!” Caydee yelled, excited. “Mommy take Caydee to pool! Go swim!”

Laura glared at him. If looks could kill, he would certainly be on his way to the hospital soon. But looks could not kill, and she really could not say much. She had pulled the same trick on him back in Ecuador, after all. She sighed. “All right, Caydee girl. Let’s go to the pool for a bit and let Daddy and Celia have their little nap.”

“Fuckin’ A!” Caydee yelled happily. She tore out the room heading for Meghan’s so she could dig out her bathing suit and her swimmies.

In a way, Celia was kind of glad that Jake had played that card. She needed some attention and she needed it soon. And, while she greatly enjoyed the things she did with and to Laura, both alone with her and as part of the threesome combo, the fact of the matter was that Jake had something that girls did not. And she really needed to feel that something inside of her body.

“Sorry, Teach,” she said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “We’ll make it up to you after Caydee goes to bed, won’t we, Rev?”

“You know it,” Jake said.

This mollified her a bit. “I’ll hold you two to that,” she said.

Her two lovers gave her everything she wanted and more. It was just after 10:00 o’clock when they finally collapsed in a sweaty, smelly heap in the master bed of the suite, Jake in the middle with Laura cuddled up against him on his left, Celia cuddled up against him on his right. She was very tired and wanted very much to go to sleep, but she did have one last piece of business to attend to before that could happen.

She rolled over and stood on the floor. Laura was already asleep but Jake was still hanging in there, only barely though.

“Gotta pee?” he asked.

“Well ... yeah, actually,” she said, “but I also need to call my Mama. I told her I would let her know when I got home.”

“Ahhh,” Jake said, nodding. “Then she is unaware that you did not, in fact, go home.”

“She is unaware,” Celia confirmed. “And I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Understood,” he said with a yawn. “We’ll keep the bed warm for you.”

She smiled and walked into the bathroom naked. She closed the door of the throne room behind her and then sat down on the toilet. Even after all the three of them had done together she still could not bring herself to pee with the door open. She finished up her business and then flushed it away. She went back to the sink in the main bathroom area and washed her hands with soap and water. She thought about washing her face—it had been in some rather naughty places over the last hour and a half—but elected not to. She kind of liked the smell and the association that went with it.

Hanging in the corner of the room were two of the Four Seasons hotel robes. They were fluffy and white and had the emblem of the chain in gold on the breast. She took one down and put it on. It was very comfortable against her naked skin. She tied it around her waist and then walked back through the bedroom to the main double doors that led back into the sitting area. Jake was now asleep and did not stir. She unlocked the doors and slipped through and was confronted by Meghan, who was sitting on the couch watching television and sipping from a mixed drink. She was dressed in a long t-shirt, her pretty legs bare. Celia was a little bit startled by her presence.

“Hey, Celia!” Meghan greeted excitedly. “Good to see you!

“Uh ... good to see you too, Meghan,” Celia said. “Sorry I wasn’t up when you came in.”

“No big,” Meghan said, standing up. Celia could see by the jiggle of her breasts that she was not wearing a bra. She began walking over to Celia’s position, obviously to accept a hug which Celia was well-known to want to give when she had not seen someone for more than twenty-four hours.

“Uh ... I don’t think you want to hug me right now,” Celia said, blushing.

Meghan stopped, a confused expression on her face. “I don’t?”

“No,” Celia said, blushing even more, feeling acute embarrassment. “You see ... uh ... Rev and Teach and I were ... uh ... you know? And I haven’t showered yet. I just came out to make a phone call.”

Understanding dawned on the nanny’s face. “Ohhhh,” she said, now blushing herself. “I understand.”

“I promise to give you a big hug in the morning though,” Celia told her.

“You’d better,” Meghan said. “I’ll let you make your call.”

Meghan went back to sit down on the couch again. Celia walked over to the writing desk across the room, where a telephone was located. She got an outside line and then dialed up the international operator so she could charge her own credit card for the call. It took almost five minutes before the phone started ringing in a sleepy little neighborhood in Barquisimeto, Venezuela. It was late there, but not terribly late. Barquisimeto was only one time zone east of Houston.

Her mother answered and they spoke for ten minutes in Spanish to each other. She lied without guilt and told her mother she was safely back in Malibu, having just gotten home less than thirty minutes before. Yes, it was only 8:15 in Malibu, but she still felt like she was on Barquisimeto time (that was not technically a lie). Yes, she would be sure to call her at least once a week and let her know how she was doing (that was almost assuredly a lie). Yes, she would tell her right away if she met someone special. Yes, she understood that she was almost forty years old now and her biological clock was ticking. Finally, they told each other I love you and she was able to hang up the phone.

“Your mother?” asked Meghan from across the room.

“Si,” Celia said with a sigh. “You know how mothers can be.”

“Yes, I do,” Meghan said. “I’ve only called my mom once since we’ve been out on the road and I’ll do it as little as I can get away with until we get home.”

Celia laughed a little and stood up. She went to the bar and took down a bottle of Grey Goose and a glass. “I think I need a drink before I go back to bed,” she said.

“I understand,” Meghan told her.

Laura got up with Caydee at 7:00 AM on the morning after Celia’s arrival, allowing Jake and Celia to both sleep in until just past 9:00 AM. Jake let her shower first while he took care of his other morning essentials and then he got in and cleansed himself while she got dressed and did her hair for the day. It was another day off from performing—the first of three Houston shows was on May 12 at Compaq Center, formerly known as The Summit—so Jake, Laura, Caydee, and Celia planned to go on the tour of the Johnson Space Center today.

The two of them emerged from the bedroom together and found Laura and Caydee sitting on the couch and watching Sesame Street while Meghan, still in her long t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, was sitting at the table drinking coffee and eating a bagel with cream cheese on it.

“All right,” Celia told the nanny. “Now I can hug you.”

Meghan giggled a little and stood up, walking up to the singer with her arms open. The two of them embraced warmly. Jake and Laura looked at each other, puzzled, and then shared a collective shrug.

“Who wants to go down for breakfast?” Jake asked.

Everyone but Meghan was up for this plan. “I’m just going to finish this bagel and then go take a shower,” she said.

“You sure you don’t want to go to the space center with us?” Laura asked her.

“I’m sure,” she said. “It’s nice to have a little time to myself.”

“No plans with Massa today?” Laura enquired. Celia had already picked up that Teach approved of the relationship between Massa and Meghan, but not the relationship between Massa and Tif, or between Massa and the groupies.

“Nope,” she said simply. “We had fun yesterday at the amusement park, even if I did have to drag him kicking and screaming onto most of the rides. I’m looking forward to doing mostly nothing today.”

“Don’t you get bored?” Celia asked. “You know? Sitting in the hotel room all by yourself?”

Meghan shrugged. “I might go downstairs later,” she said, “hang out at the...” she looked at Caydee. “the uh ... the P-O-O-L. Maybe have some lunch in that little café next to it. Sometimes you meet interesting people in places like that.”

“Well, we hope you have fun,” Laura told her.

Meghan gave a strange little smile. “Me too,” she said.

Jake sensed there was a little more than met the eye with her statement and her little smile, but he did not dwell too much on it. What she did on her own time was none of his business as long as she kept her mouth shut about the things she knew.

They went downstairs and ate breakfast in the dining room. Jake saw quite a few heads turning as they saw Celia Valdez sitting with he and Laura and Caydee. They had already talked about this back when the decision had been made for C to join them on the tour. They were not going to try to hide the fact that she was with them as that would be close to impossible to accomplish. They would appear in public together, in restaurants together, in bars together, at local attractions like the space center together, just as if they had every right in the world to do so (which they did, of course). If anyone asked, Celia was a professional musician, one of the owners of KVA Records, and was there to help out with tour duties such as sound and lighting and modifications of the set. If anyone asked where she was staying while traveling with them, they would say she had her own room in the hotels just like everyone else. If any hotel employee broke the code and contradicted that story, they would deny it and call upon whatever hotel chain they were doing business with (more than three-quarters of their hotel bookings were with Hyatt or Marriott) to refute the accusation strenuously and investigate and fire whoever blabbed or risk a boycott.