Chapter 9A: Rebellious Souls

July 8, 1983
Los Angeles, California

"Jake, where are you going?" Manny asked as Jake picked up his key ring and headed for the front door. It was 9:25 AM and Manny had just finished cleaning up the mess made from the light breakfast he'd served.

"Out," Jake said simply.

"But you didn't call a limo," Manny said.

"Just taking a little walk, Manny," Jake told him. "Don't worry about it."

"But, Jake, you can't just..."

"Don't worry about making lunch," Jake said as he opened the door. "I'll be eating elsewhere."

He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. He half-expected Manny to come chasing after him, but he didn't. Thank God for small favors.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and encountered the day-shift doorman as he walked through the doors.

"Are you going somewhere, Mr. Kingsley?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes," Jake said, walking right by him.

"But I wasn't notified," the doorman told him. "There's no limousine out front for you."

"I'll be walking to my destination today."

"Walking?" the doorman said, appalled. "You can't do that!"

Jake turned and looked at him. "I can do whatever I want. I'm an American citizen, remember?"

"Well... yes, but..."

"See you later," Jake said, turning and heading out the door.

"But, Mr. Kingsley," the doorman called after him. The door slid shut, cutting off what came next.

Jake was dressed in a pair of tan shorts and a collared white shirt. He had a baseball cap on his head, sunglasses on his face, and a pair of old tennis shoes on his feet. He began to walk west. As he did so, the doorman — who was being paid one hundred dollars a week to keep an eye on Jake and Bill — got on the phone to Manny, his contact in the chain of command. "Jake just left on foot," he said. "Where is he going?"

"I don't know," Manny replied. "He just walked out of here and didn't tell me anything. I didn't even know he was planning to go out."

"He's up to something," the doorman opined.

"Yes," Manny agreed. "I'd better call Mr. Acardio."

Jake, meanwhile had gone two blocks west. He turned right at the next intersection and there, parked in front of a fire hydrant, was a candy apple red 1983 Porsche 911 convertible. Sitting in the front seat, dressed in white shorts and a sleeveless red blouse, her brunette hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, was Mindy Snow. The dark sunglasses she wore hid her eyes but she sported a huge smile as she saw him approaching. She opened her door and got out, holding out her arms to him for a hug.

"You made it," she said as they embraced.

"Mission successful," he reported, feeling himself flush as he felt her alluring body push against his.

She pulled back and looked him up and down for a minute. "Its good to see you," she said. "I'm glad we were able to get together."

"Me too," he said. And it was very true. They had talked to each other two more times on the telephone since that first conversation and he was finding himself increasingly infatuated with her. For the first time in months he had stopped thinking about Angie whenever he looked at a telephone and had started thinking about her. Today was the first time they had actually been able to arrange to get together. Since neither her agent nor Jake's employers would care too much for them being seen together, they had been forced to resort to secret agent maneuvers in order to have an actual date.

"We'd better get going," Mindy said, looking around. "I think people are starting to take notice of us."

Jake looked around and saw she was right. Several people walking down the sidewalks or sitting on the benches were looking directly at them, whispering to each other, pointing fingers. It would only be a matter of seconds before someone came closer to see if their suspicions — that they were really looking at Jake Kingsley and Mindy Snow — were correct. "Yeah," he said. "Let's hit it."

"Why don't you drive?" Mindy suggested.

Jake shook his head. "It's your car," he said. "And you know the way."

She stepped a little closer to him, so her shoulder was pushed against his. "I'm an old fashioned girl, Jake," she said. "I believe the man should drive. I can tell you the way."

He smiled. "You talked me into it," he said.

He opened the passenger door for her, allowing her to sit, and then walked around to the driver's side and climbed in. He had to adjust the seat back since Mindy was considerably shorter. He then pushed in the clutch, fired up the engine, and listened with satisfaction to its finally engineered purr. He put it in first gear and pulled away from the curb, accelerating rapidly down the one-way street.

"Sweet," he said as he shifted gears. "This a beautiful car."

"It doesn't exactly fit my image," she said, "but I love it so. Get on 110 east and take that to I-5 north. From there, we'll go through the valley and catch Highway 14 out into the boonies."

"I'm on it," he said, changing lanes and getting ready to hit the onramp.

"You're a great driver," she told him as he rocketed onto the freeway and merged into the semi-thick mid-morning traffic.

"I don't get to do it very often these days," he said. "And I've never driven a Porsche before. It's very nice."

"Nothing handles better," she said. "Wait until we get to the windy roads up by my place. You'll really love it then."

"I can't wait," he said.

They drove in companionable silence for a while, just enjoying the smoggy air in their faces, the warmth of the summer morning sun on their backs. Jake took them through the interchange for Interstate 5 and into the San Fernando Valley, putting them in the fast lane and keeping their speed pegged at 75 miles per hour.

"So how are things going with you and your label?" Mindy asked as the traffic began to thin out a little. "Any signs of them giving in yet?"

"Not yet," he replied. "Acardio has called me up a few times, threatening me with everything he can think of to threaten me with. He seems particularly fond of telling me I'll be working as a portable lavatory maintenance technician at various construction sites throughout the greater Los Angeles area."

She laughed. "You have quite a way with words, Jake."

Jake shrugged. "It's a gift, I guess. Anyway, he's been calling up the other band members too, trying to do the old divide and conquer routine. We're all standing firm though."

"Are you?"

"Oh yes," he said. "The guys were willing to put up with the allowances and the assigned housing and the babysitters as long as they got to keep living the lifestyle, but when they wanted us to do those crappy songs, that crossed the line. There's no chink in our armor on this issue."

"You guys take your music very seriously, don't you?"

He nodded. "More seriously than anything else in life," he said.

He took the Highway 14 exit and within minutes the bustling, overcrowded Los Angeles metropolitan area seemed to disappear around them as they headed northwest, into a canyon surrounded on both sides by rugged mountains. After about twenty miles Mindy directed him to turn right on a small, badly maintained, two-lane road. Here, as promised, Jake got to experience the handling of the Porsche as they twisted and turned upwards, into the mountains. His ears began to get stuffy and then popped as the altitude abruptly changed from near sea level to more than three thousand feet. The foliage turned from scrubrush and oaks to pine trees and redwoods. The smell changed from burned hydrocarbons to fresh, mountain-scented air.

"Isn't it beautiful up here?" Mindy asked him as he whisked around a fifteen mile per hour turn at thirty-five.

"It's gorgeous," he said. "You can almost forget that you're only a few miles from nasty old LA."

"It's a long drive into Hollywood but I'm glad to take it," she said. "I can feel my problems slipping away every time I drive home. It's like I leave them down below, you know what I mean?"

"I think I do," he said, smiling as they climbed higher and higher.

They turned off on another two-lane road, drove about two miles, and then pulled into an unmarked single-lane road cut through the thick pine trees. About a quarter mile down this road was a wrought iron gate. Mindy leaned forward and pushed a button on a remote control clipped to the driver's side sun visor. The gate swung slowly open. Jake drove through and it closed behind them.

He drove up to the top of a steep hill and the road made a sharp left. As he negotiated the turn, a large clearing opened up before them. In the midst of this clearing Mindy's house stood. It was a huge tri-level of classic Spanish architecture surrounded by a lush green lawn. Off to the side stood a smaller guest home and what appeared to be a stable.

"Here it is," Mindy said. "Home sweet home."

"Wow," Jake said, taking it in. "That's a nice pad."

"I had it custom built," she said. "I'm more proud of the land though. I own six hundred acres here. My property goes right to the edge of the Angeles National Forest."

"Not bad for a twenty year old," he said.

She shrugged. "It's my summer home," she said. "I keep a place on Molokai for the winter."

He parked the Porsche in a detached six-car garage. Parked in there with it was a Mercedes convertible, a Range Rover, and two horse trailers. They exited the vehicle and stepped out a door on the side of the garage. They walked up a cement path and entered the main house through a side door, which led into the kitchen.

A Hispanic woman of about thirty greeted them. She was dressed in blue jeans and a long T-shirt. She smiled when she saw Mindy enter.

"Carmella, this is Jake Kingsley," Mindy said to her. "The one I told you about."

"Welcome, Mr. Kingsley," Carmella said with a heavy Spanish accent. "I understand you are famous musician. Do you know Carlos?"

"Carlos?" Jake asked.

"Carlos Santana," she said. "He plays the guitar."

"No," Jake said. "I admire his music very much — I've even seen him in concert before — but I've never met him."

"Carlos is great musician," she said.

"I agree," Jake said truthfully.

"Did you enjoy the trip up the hill?"

"Uh... very much," Jake said.

Carmella turned to Mindy. "I have your picnic basket all packed, ma'am," she said. "And I gave it to Eduardo to mount to the saddle."

"Thank you, Carmella," Mindy said. "We'll be heading out soon. Why don't you go help Eduardo get the horses ready and then both of you can have some free time until we get back."

"Thank you, ma'am," Carmella said. She smiled at Jake one last time and then disappeared through the door.

"Your maid?" Jake asked when she was gone.

"Yes, and my cook. Her husband, Eduardo, takes care of the landscaping and the horses. They live in the guest quarters out back."

"Is there any chance they might... you know... tell your agent that we're together?"

She found this amusing. "No," she said. "I hired them myself and they are completely loyal to me. They'd better be for as much as I'm paying them."

"Wow, that's a concept," Jake said. "Servants that are actually loyal to you."

She gave him a tour of her house. It was even more impressive from the inside. She had an actual ballroom on the ground floor, a complete entertainment room, a library, a game room, and four large bedrooms, including a master bedroom of more than a thousand square feet that featured a large balcony that looked out over the mountains.

"I like it," Jake said when the tour was complete.

She shrugged modestly. "It's a far cry from the tract house I grew up in," she said. "Shall we go have our picnic now?"

"You bet."

"How are you at horseback riding?"

"I rode one once when I was a kid," he said.

She laughed. "I guess you'll need a few lessons then, won't you?"

Her stable was very modern, with climate control and automatic feeding and watering mechanisms. It contained eight horses. Two of them had been taken out of their stalls by Eduardo — a mid-thirties Hispanic man in a straw hat. His face was weathered but friendly. His grasp of the English language was almost non-existent. He simply smiled and nodded. If one wished to communicate with him, one had to go through Carmella.

"This is Annabelle," Mindy said, patting the nearer of the two horses. "You'll ride her. She's sweet and gentle."

"Okay," Jake said doubtfully. She was also huge, her massive shoulders nearly at the height of Jake's head.

"And this," Mindy said, walking to the other horse, "is Zarita. She's my pride and joy, aren't you, Zarita?" She patted her butt affectionately and then made a quick check of the picnic basket attached to her saddle.

Mindy thanked the two servants and dismissed them. She then led the two horses outside. "Climb aboard," she told Jake, smiling.

He managed to get into the saddle without too much difficulty. Mindy then climbed aboard her own mare and gave Jake a brief rundown on the command and control systems for operating these particular vehicles. They then started off on their ride, going at an easy walk out behind the back of the house to the large part of the clearing. Here, Mindy had him practice stopping and starting, turning and trotting until she deemed him skilled enough to take to the trail.

"Just follow me," she said, aiming Zarita towards an opening in the foliage at the back end of the clearing. Jake brought Annabelle around and got her moving. They entered a wooded trail that climbed gently before them.

"You don't really have to guide her anymore in this part," Mindy said. "The horses will follow the trail on their own."

And follow they did. They took their passengers through the thick woods, climbing higher and higher into the mountains. To Jake it was quite the novel experience. He was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by pine trees and the scent of fresh, smog-free air. Squirrels and chipmunks were everywhere. Birds called out from the trees. The occasional deer crossed their path, usually does and fawns but the occasional buck as well. He was in nature, in a square mile of land that did not contain another eight thousand people, as every square mile of the LA urban area did. And no one knew where he was. He had no babysitter with him. There was no phone to ring with an enquiring voice, asking him what he was doing or telling him to go somewhere or threatening him if he didn't record a bunch of crappy music that some sell-out hacker had written. There were no autograph seekers or religious fanatics. The only sounds were the sounds made by the animals.

"I see why you like to come out here, Mindy," he told her. "It's so... so peaceful."

"Yeah," she said dreamily. "It's a little slice of solitude. I paid a lot of money for it, but it's worth it."

They continued on, not talking much, just enjoying the outdoors. Jake found his eyes flitting back and forth from the beauty of the surroundings to the beauty of the girl sitting atop the horse beside him. She almost seemed to glow with an innocent splendor he had encountered in no one he'd met since he started performing live as a musician. She seemed like she had no idea how pretty she was. Her tanned legs were smooth, perfectly formed, with just enough muscling to give them shape. Her breasts jiggled softly beneath her shirt, not too large, not too small, rounded in a way that made men ache to look at them. And her face... it was simply exquisite, a terminally cute, terminally innocent face that conveyed gentle naiveté, wholesomeness, and stubborn purity all at the same time. This was Mindy Snow he was with. He could not get over this. He was riding into the mountains with Mindy Snow.

After about an hour of following various trails, branching left and right, going up hills and down until Jake — a city boy — was thoroughly and completely disoriented, they came to a small clearing about thirty yards across. Here a mountain stream babbled and roiled its way down the side of the mountain.

"We're here," Mindy announced. "My top secret I-want-to-be-alone-place."

"I like it," Jake said, looking around, thinking that this place was about as isolated as it was possible to get within the territorial boundaries of Los Angeles County.

"Of course it's not really mine," she said. "We left my property about a half hour ago. This is National Forest property here."

"As long as they don't mind you using it."

"They haven't complained yet," she said. "In fact, I've never seen another person here in all the times I've been here."

She dismounted and stretched her back a little. Jake climbed down as well — finding it considerably harder than climbing up had been — and felt a definite soreness in his butt and legs. He stretched himself this way and that a few times, trying to work out the stiffness.

"It'll take your bottom a little while to get used to it," Mindy told him as she unstrapped the picnic basket. "Can you get the blanket from the back of your saddle?"

He figured out how to release the straps that held it in place and unfolded it. It was a large, soft cotton blanket, red and white checkered. At Mindy's direction he spread it out on the bank of the stream. While the horses wandered over and began to drink, Mindy opened the picnic basket and pulled out fried chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob, and ice cold sodas. She filled two plates and they began to eat. The food was nothing short of spectacular.

"This is great," Jake said between chomps and chews. "Did your maid make this?"

"Yes," Mindy said. "She's real good at the kinds of food I like — fried chicken, chicken fried steak, gumbo, meatloaf. That's one of the reasons I hired her. Part of my interview process was having the candidates cook for me." She giggled. "I had to do a lot of extra hours with my trainer during that week to keep the pounds off, but it was worth it."

"Wow," Jake said. "You actually interviewed and hired your own servants. I can't get over that."

"I can't get over the fact that your servant was assigned by the record company and that he spies on you. Why don't you fire him if he's not loyal to you?"

He explained to her about their contract and their housing assignment clause and the assigned house staff clause.

"That's horrible," she said, genuinely shocked. "Are all musicians treated this way?"

"Well, I haven't talked to all musicians, obviously. And I doubt that once you reach a certain level that they can treat you that way, but I think that most musicians under their first contract experience pretty much what we're going through. We're so eager to get signed in the beginning we'll agree to damn near anything. And the record companies take horrific advantage of that."

"And you don't have a union or any sort of professional organization to help you?"

"Not that anyone has ever told me about," he said.

"You need one. We have the Screen Actors Guild. They make sure that even extras are paid fairly and treated fairly. And for those of us that do this for a living, we're very well protected and set up. They have health insurance and retirement plans for us. Most important, there's a whole list of exclusions that the movie producers are not allowed to try to put in our contracts."

"What a concept," Jake said sourly.

"Writers have a guild too," she said. "So do cartoonists and stuntmen and theater actors and television actors and even people who make commercials. Why don't musicians have one?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Well somebody should get one going, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'd vote for it."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, finishing up the last of their food. Jake wiped his face with his napkin and took a drink of his soda. "Does it bother you?" he asked her.

"Does what bother me?"

"That I'm not really rich and powerful? That its all just an illusion?"

She laughed. "You may not be rich, Jake, but I think you're very powerful."

"Oh?"

"Your songs are incredible. They're very moving. You're voice is hypnotic and very... you know..." She blushed furiously. "... sexy. And your lyrics are deep and meaningful. Your song Descent Into Nothing sounded like you wrote it about me, about what it was like to grow up in an adult world like a television studio, about how I felt like I'd been pushed too hard and too fast, that I... I don't know... learned things young that I wasn't meant to know about yet. You captured all of that in three verses and a bridge and then put it all to music. Don't tell me that's not powerful."

Jake was amazed. Mindy knew exactly what the song was about. Exactly. She was one of the few people he had talked to who had actually absorbed the message he had imparted into that song. "Thank you," he stammered.

"Like I said, I'm a fan of yours, Jake. And just because I'm famous myself doesn't mean I'm not in complete awe that I'm actually sitting here with you, talking to you, that the Jake Kingsley actually rode one of my horses out here. I keep wanting to pinch myself to see if I'm just dreaming all of this. I don't care that you don't really have any money. Why should I care about that? I have my own money. Lots of it."

"You're very mature for a twenty year old," he said, looking into her brown eyes again, feeling his infatuation for her deepening into something a little stronger.

She gave him her shy smile. "I went through the descent into nothing," she told him. "Just like you did."

"Yes," he said, "but somehow you came out just as cute and cuddly on the other side, didn't you?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "you can look at me and say whether or not I'm cute, so I'll have to take your judgment on that one. But you can't say I'm cuddly until you've actually cuddled me."

"No," he said, "I don't suppose I can. Maybe we should make the experiment?"