Chapter 4: Practicing to Deceive

Oceano, California
May 16, 2004

It was Sunday evening and at Kingsley Manor that meant it was time for Mama and Papa Valdez to visit for dinner. This had been a tradition in the family ever since they first moved into their home near Avila Beach. Since it was Sean and Westin’s day off (as well as Yami’s), Jake was always the chef for Sunday dinners. On this particular Sunday he had smoked a couple of tri-tip roasts from the meat market, indirectly heating them until the centers were a perfect medium rare, the edges a little more well done. With the meat, he was serving red beans and rice with a spicy Cajun bite, grilled asparagus, and mushrooms sauteed in butter, fresh garlic, and red wine. Dinner was served at 6:04 PM—Jake’s version of ‘right on time,’ which would’ve made Elsa twitch and Westin sigh dramatically.

Yami and Kira joined them for the Sunday meal, as they usually did. The nanny was on days off as well but she knew she was welcome at the family table (and accounted for in meal prep) every day of the week. They sat together next to Cap in his high chair, with Celia on the other side. Papa, as the patriarch of this particular gathering, was given the head of the table and Mama, the matriarch, sat on his right. Jake, Laura, Caydee, and Kira sat on the other side of the table. They passed the food around family style, moving the platters and bowls counterclockwise, starting with Papa.

No grace was said. It was part of an armistice deal long since established between the secular Kingsleys and the practicing Catholic Valdez elders. Grace would be said by Papa during the Christmas and Easter meals in Casa Kingsley and at no other time. Instead, once everyone had a plateful in front of them, they just dug in.

Jake was feeling particularly mellow. He and Laura had enjoyed their own tradition for Sundays, a tradition that had been around much longer than Mama and Papa Sunday dinners. They had spent a good portion of the early and mid-afternoon stoned out on the deck, sipping wine, watching the pelicans and the seagulls out over the ocean (even Pa-Ho, the crow who had apparently adopted Caydee, stopped by to check them out), listening to the waves crashing against their cliff, and pondering the mysteries and beauty of life. They communed with the trees and the wide blue Pacific Ocean while Jake monitored the tri-tip and added wood chips from time to time. He and Laura had then let Celia watch the meat for the last two hours while they went to the bedroom, had a slow and sensuous episode of marital fucking, and then napped and took showers.

He was still feeling a little of the mellow lingering in his brain, making him feel relaxed and content. He was glad that Mama and Papa Sundays took place on the same day of the week as Any Given Sunday. He loved his in-laws dearly but sometimes they were a little hard to take.

“Everything is excellent, Jake,” Papa said after trying a bite of everything on the plate. “You truly are a master with the grill.”

“I’m glad you like it, Papa,” he replied, proud, as always, when someone appreciated his culinary skills.

“I agree, mijo,” Mama said. “Next time, though, you should use ají dulce, not just cayenne. That way, the beans have flavor, not just bite.”

“I’ll try that next time, Mama,” Jake said, and he really would. Why not? A little fusion of Caribbean and Cajun seasoning might be interesting.

Jake had opened a bottle of Napa Valley merlot and poured all of the adults a glass. They sipped as they ate and the conversation went around the table. Caydee told them of her visit with the Ramirez family and Mama raised her eyebrows a bit when told they were a Mexican family but kept her words to herself. Papa told them about how he had forgotten to go to the bank on Friday and now had no cash to spend until Monday when the banks opened up again.

“You don’t need to use cash for everything, Papa,” Laura told him (not for the first time). “Your debit cards work just like cash. You just swipe them in the card reader at the checkout stand.”

Papa was not hearing of this, however. He and Mama were both very stubborn on this point. Cash was the only real money in their opinion. Debit cards and checks were just pieces of plastic and paper with no value. Only cash had value. Every Friday, Papa went to the bank in person and utilized the actual human teller to withdraw enough cash to get him through the weekend. He would not even use the ATM machine, citing a lack of trust in computer banking technology. He was afraid that he would be charged more than he was withdrawing and that the bank’s records would support the bank. No amount of telling him that he no longer lived in the corruption of Venezuela could change his mind. And so, he and Mama were constantly slowing up supermarket and home improvement store checkout lines by pulling out a wad of cash and slapping down twenties and tens and ones, waiting for their change, and then meticulously (and slightly mistrustfully) counting said change to make sure it was the correct amount. This was understandable even if it was annoying. In Venezuela, cash in hand really was the only kind of money you could truly trust.

Papa gave his usual answer to such suggestions, shutting down even the thought that he might one day put his card into a soulless machine to withdraw his weekly bounty. He just knew that he would count the money after it was spit out and find the amount twenty or even forty dollars short of what he asked for. And, of course, when he complained to the bank their “records” would show he had been given the two hundred dollars he had asked for and not the one hundred and sixty dollars he’d received. Mama and Papa both believed this with all their hearts.

“The American system of finance is pretty non-corrupt,” Jake said. “At least at the customer service level. You can completely trust an ATM machine or a swipe machine at the grocery store.”

“You can never trust anything that is not in your hand, Jacobo,” Papa told him as if advising a twelve year old.

Jake and everyone else gave up. It was a losing battle. Instead, Jake and Celia and Laura began to pass looks back and forth, silent marital communication. They had something they needed to tell Mama and Papa and they were not sure how they were going to react to it. Not even Celia, who knew them best, who had been raised by them, was sure what the coming reaction was going to be. But they had to be told.

“So ... listen, Mama, Papa,” Celia said, opening the subject. “You two know, of course, about this whole plot of Jake and Lala getting divorced and me and Jake getting married, and now Jake and Lala working on returning things to the way they were before Cap.”

“It’s a badass plan,” Caydee said, chewing on a large piece of the rarest part of the tri-tip.

“Cadence,” Laura said, giving her a stern message of disapproval instead of a full-on ‘Cadence Elizabeth Kingsley’, “we do not say no-no words in front of Kira. You know that.”

“Sorry,” Caydee said, her attitude sincere. She did not like to be in trouble (though she often found ways to get there anyway). “I keep forgetting badass is a no-no word.”

“Don’t say it again to tell us you won’t say it,” Jake told her, feigning mild exasperation for the sake of parental authority but really hiding his own amusement.

“Sorry,” she said again.

“And don’t talk with your mouth full of food,” Laura added. “You know better than that too.”

Caydee clammed up, figuring it was the wisest thing to do under the circumstances.

“Anyway,” Celia said. “We’ve reached a new stage in that deception.”

“We know,” Mama said. “We saw your video clip on the news. We’ve seen it several times now. You told us you were going to fake such a thing.”

“And we did,” Jake said. “The problem is that ... uh ... it was pointed out to Lala and me that ... uh ... maybe our acting skills could use a little assistance.”

“Acting skills?” Papa said. “What acting? You appeared for ten seconds in a video clip. Lala took some food off your plate and ate it. I don’t see how acting is called for.”

“That’s because you’re not a professional actor, Papa,” Laura said. “We ... uh ... we know someone who is a professional actor and he advised us that we needed some help pulling this off. And ... well ... we agreed to let him help us. He’s going to rent a house here so he can visit often and coach us and help us plot out the deception. He’ll be moving into a big house on the ocean not far from where you two live.”

“Okayyy,” Papa said, using a Caydee-ism he had picked up. “Why are you telling us this? I do not see the relevance.”

The three married people looked at each other again and then sighed. It was Celia who finally spoke. “Uh ... well, the fact of the matter is, is that this professional actor we all know is ... uh ... Greg.”

Papa stopped moving his fork to his mouth. Mama looked up from her sip of wine. “Greg?” Papa asked softly. “You mean ... Greg? Your ex-husband? That Greg?”

“Yes, Papa,” Celia said.

It was almost like Papa underwent a rapid demonic possession. In an instant he went from calm, cool, collected, loveable Papa Valdez to a vengeful, angry Hispanic male from a culture that had quite possibly invented the profane outburst.

”¿¡Gregorio va a estar aquí, en Avila Beach!?” he nearly screamed. “Ese pinche cabrón con cara de ángel y alma de mierda—¡chinga tu madre! Si lo veo en la calle, le voy a romper su maldita cara con mis propias manos. No me importa si es famoso. ¡Lo agarro a madrazos aunque esté con guardaespaldas!”

Jake and Laura were quite taken aback by this eruption. They had never heard Papa say anything even remotely like a swear word. They had never seen him ever display emotion such as this. The man was pissed!

Caydee, on the other hand, was in complete awe over the rampage. Her mouth dropped open as she heard the outpouring of angry, yet absolutely poetic Spanish profanity. It was amazing! It was inspiring! She didn’t know or care what he was even angry about. This was like watching Eric Carle draw a caterpillar!

“Papa,” Celia said soothingly, “this is not helping.” She looked a little frightened herself. She had seen Papa explode like this before, but it was a rare sighting and one that only accompanied some serious shit going down.

“Mama,” Laura said, “Can you help us out here, por favor?” Surely Mama would know how to chill her husband out.

For a moment, Mama Valdez simply stared at her husband across the table. Then she set her fork down, took a long sip of her merlot, and stood up—slowly.

She squared her shoulders and said, in perfect composure:

“¿Ayudarte? ¡Claro que sí, mija!”

And then she exploded.

”¡Ese sinvergüenza cree que puede regresar como si nada hubiera pasado! ¡Como si no le hubiera roto el corazón a mi hija! ¡Como si no la hubiera hecho llorar frente al mundo entero con esa ... esa ... mujerzuela plástica que ni sabe hablar bien!”

Jake actually leaned back in his chair, stunned. Laura had gone still, looking like she had just stepped into an alternate universe. Even Kira, who could not understand a word of the tirade, dropped her fork.

”¡Y ustedes van a trabajar con él! ¡A sentarse con él! ¡A compartir pan con ese pedazo de basura con sonrisa de telenovela barata!”

“Mamá—” Celia said.

“¡No me mamá nada!” Mama snapped, before turning her eyes back to Jake. “And you, Jacobo, you let this happen? ¿De veras?”

Jake blinked. “I ... I ... well ... I mean ... uh...” He found himself actually babbling before her fury. Jake fucking Kingsley babbling before a five foot eight Venezuelan woman!

Caydee sat slack-jawed, eyes shining in admiration. “That’s it,” she whispered to no one in particular. “That’s the fuckin’ gold standard. That’s the mountaintop. That’s ... the best cussing I’ve ever heard in any language.”

Yami cleared her throat gently. “Maybe we should all ... eat before the rice gets cold?”

Papa was still pacing now, muttering ”Le voy a dar unos madrazos,” and Mama had resumed slicing her meat with emphasis.

Laura glanced at Celia and whispered, “Next time we announce something, we’re doing it after dessert.”

Celia simply sighed and passed the bread to her.

In the end, they were able to talk Mama and Papa down and return them to the land of civility. It took a few more minutes and a few more tirades (Caydee wished she could be taking notes) but finally they were able to come to a consensus. They would not physically attack Greg Oldfellow, that vile malnacido asqueroso, as long as they kept him out of their presence at all times. If he were to show up in the same place as Mama and Papa ... well ... no promises were being made.

Laura, Yami, and Caydee cleaned up the kitchen while Jake, Celia, Mama, Papa, Cap, and Kira drifted into the entertainment room to watch TV. Once the dishwashers rejoined the group, everyone splintered off into smaller clusters. Jake, Papa, Celia, and Laura gravitated to the pool table and lined up for a game of boys versus girls eight-ball.

The match was tighter than anyone expected. Papa, still the team’s weakest link, had been slowly improving—eight-ball was becoming a regular part of the Sunday tradition, after all. He and Jake held their own until they had just one stripe left while C and Teach had three solids still on the table. But then Celia got hot, ran the table clean to the eight (she missed that one), and Papa missed his shot on the fourteen. Laura, with a satisfied smile, dropped the eightball in the pocket indicated and declared victory.

Mama and Laura were talking with Yami and Kira while Cap played on the floor. He was so close to walking now but not quite there yet. He could cruise the furniture with the best of them and sometimes take two or three steps, but they were uncontrolled steps that generally ended with him falling down. He would always pick himself back up again though.

And, of course, Mama and Papa could not get enough of interacting with the kids. They loved children and it showed in how they loved to talk to Caydee, both in Spanish and English (Mama had been working on her language skills and was much improved in English), loved to cuddle with Cap, and even to play games with Kira. Yes, Cap was their blood grandson, but they did not show favor to him over Caydee or even Kira. They loved all three kids equally, often giving them hugs or tussling their hair.

Soon it was guitar-sing time. Papa Valdez was now in the habit of bringing his guitar on Sundays so he could participate in the Kingsley ritual. Jake grabbed his guitar and Caydee grabbed hers. Laura had her flute. Celia had her own guitar, her beloved twelve-string she had bought one fateful day in Portland, Oregon.