Chapter 22: Aunt Flo

Oceano, California

June 8, 2002

Today was a memorable day for Jake Kingsley, Laura Kingsley (who was, of course, keeping her married name even though she was now divorced) and Celia Valdez-Kingsley (as she was now legally known, and even the media were now referring to her as such, except in South America, where they continued to just call her “Celia”). There was some anxiety for them—particularly Jake—because tonight, in Boston, would be the first V-tach and Brainwash concert of the summer tour. All of the scheduled shows had already sold out and the money would soon be flowing into KVA’s coffers, but would the show stand up to the hype about it? Would there be negative reviews? Had they rehearsed enough? Was the set they had all come up with engaging? Jake had confidence in their musicians and their abilities, but there were always those nagging doubts.

The most memorable part of that day, however, was not the concert that would be taking place on the opposite coast but the drama that was taking place in San Luis Obispo city at the downtown justice center. Today was the day that Jenny Johansen would be transferred from her isolation cell in the SLO county jail to Central California Women’s Facility state prison in Chowchilla, California. A month before she had finally—after numerous delays by her attorney who kept objecting to parts of the pre-sentencing probation report—been sentenced. Judge Stamper gave her twenty-five years for the attempted murder of Laura Kingsley and the assault with a deadly weapon on Jacob Kingsley—the maximum he could give her under the law. The burglary charge, the violation of the restraining order, and the use of a firearm were all enhancements that helped add to some of those maximum years. Of course, she likely would not spend the entire twenty-five years behind bars. If she behaved herself in prison, she would receive good behavior credit of one day for each day she stayed out of trouble, theoretically halving her sentence. But that was still twelve and a half years before she could even be considered for parole. Jake was satisfied with that but still hoped she would not be so well-behaved. He wanted the crazy bitch locked up for as long as possible. If she was locked up, he would not have to worry about her. Once she was back on the streets again, that worry would have to be reassessed.

The spectacle of her transfer was being carried live on all three news stations, interrupting the daily soap operas. A news helicopter was circling around the justice center and had been ever since the white and green California Department of Corrections van and two sedans with the same color scheme had parked in the rear of the building at 1:15 PM. The six green uniformed correctional officers—four males and two females—had been inside the building for nearly an hour now yet still the helicopter circled, keeping its zoom camera on the access door into the facility, waiting to catch a brief glimpse of Johansen being led out and stuffed into the van.

Jake just shook his head in amazement as he watched the coverage. People were very interested in everything that had to do with the Kingsley clan these days. They were the subject of wild gossip, endless speculation, and increasingly intrusive journalism ever since the story of Jake and Celia getting married had broken. Anywhere any of them went there was always paparazzi and reporters stalking them, snapping pictures and fishing for statements. At least twice a week, reporters would show up at the gate of their home and actually buzz the intercom, demanding to come in and interview the new couple and the ex-wife. Elsa had been tasked with answering these enquiries and telling them quite firmly that they were trespassing on private property and would need to leave immediately. One of them—a reporter from the LA Times—had refused to leave until he spoke with Jake, Laura, or Celia and the San Luis Obispo sheriff’s department had been called and had to eject the trespasser on threat of arrest. Their access road was also staked out regularly so that anyone leaving the property could be followed. The used the same turnout that Jenny Johansen had used to follow Jake and Laura to the grocery store on that fateful day.

“This is insane,” said Laura, who was sitting next to Jake on the couch. “I don’t understand the fascination with this whole thing.”

“At least we’ll get to see the crazy bitch heading off to prison,” Jake said. That was the reason he was watching at all. He hoped seeing it would give him a little closure on the issue for now.

It was 2:35 PM before the action actually happened. The action was brief. The camera showed the rear door of the jail opening while a narrating voice from the helicopter told the watching audience what they could clearly see for themselves. The first two COs—both of them armed—walked out into the parking lot, looking around carefully. There were several SLO deputies guarding the entrance to it, keeping the photographers and reporters out. The COs took up position near the van. Another two COs exited the building next. One was unarmed. He was leading Johansen with him. She was dressed in black pants and a black short-sleeved shirt. CDC PRISONER was stenciled in bright white on the front and back of her shirt and down both legs of her pants. She had orange crocs on her feet. Her hands were cuffed to a body chain around her belly and both ankles were cuffed to a chain that limited the length of her stride. She shuffled forward, the unarmed guard guiding her by the elbow, the armed guard staying about six feet back. Three more COs exited behind them. All three of them were armed.

“As you can see,” said the voice of the helicopter reporter, “Johansen is dressed in black prison clothing, having just been changed into them from jail clothes for transport. The color of the clothing is an indication of her categorization by the Department of Corrections. General population prisoners are dressed in denim. Black is the color they dress protective custody inmates in. We are told that Johansen has received numerous death threats, including many from current CCWF inmates, which necessitates her designation to this status. This means she will be placed in an isolation cell for the duration of her sentence, only allowed out for one hour each day for exercise in a secure yard. All of her meals will be taken inside her cell.”

“I’m okay with that,” Jake said, staring at the woman’s image on the television. Apparently Jake was quite popular with CCWF inmates, both in Intemperance form and solo form. Many of them were upset that Johansen had tried to kill someone they masturbated to in their cells at night.

“Me too,” said Laura. “She deserves everything she is getting.”

The unarmed guard walked over to the van and opened the door. He had Johansen step inside and then he climbed in after her. The camera zoomed in even more, close enough to see through the windows on the side of the van. There was a cage bar between the back of the van, where Johansen and the guard were strapping in, and the driver’s seat. One of the armed guards climbed into the front and closed the door. The camera zoomed back out a bit, showing the whole parking area again. All of the other armed guards climbed into the sedans—two to each one—and shut their doors. Two minutes later, the entire caravan pulled out of the lot, one sedan in front, one in the rear, with the van in the middle. They turned onto the main road and began the three hour drive over the coastal mountains and into the Central Valley to Chowchilla, which was forty miles north of Fresno.

“Well,” said Jake, “I guess that part of our story is closed for a while.”

“I guess so,” Laura said, feeling quite relieved that the woman who wanted to kill her would be behind bars for at least twelve and a half years. Maybe more. Jake had already vowed to show up at every parole hearing to plead for the board to keep her in the slam for the safety of all of the Kingsleys. Caydee would be almost sixteen by the time the first hearing would be potentially scheduled. Celia’s bambino would hopefully be around eleven or so. Jake would use their existence shamelessly in his pleas.

The first reviews of the V-tach and Brainwash concerts in Boston came in two days later. The articles in the Boston Globe, the New York Times, and the Providence Journal, were all favorable, even though the Journal disliked Brainwash on an instinctive level. “Simplistic” the musical entertainment writer for the Journal reported, “without much in the way of flair or choreography, but if you’re looking to simply listen to some good music played by excellent musicians, then this is the show for you.”

“They could have pounded us a lot worse,” Jake said, after reading his copy of the Journal he had pulled up online.

“I’m amazed that they didn’t,” Celia said. “That rag has been hounding the three of us and Brainwash for weeks.”

“That must mean it really is a good show,” Laura was forced to conclude.

“I guess we’ll find out when they play the Forum at the end of August,” Jake said.

“I can’t wait,” Laura said. “And hopefully you’ll have a little bun in the oven by then, love.” Jake had been ejaculating into Celia’s womb at least once a day when she was not menstruating and Laura had kept her tongue away from the deposits. But still, her period kept coming every twenty-eight to thirty days, just as it always had in her pre-birth control days. The latest one had finished up just two days before. According to the ovulation chart she habitually consulted, her next fertile period would begin in another nine days. Not that that would alter their sex schedule in any way. All three of them enjoyed that schedule too much. And, as many couples had discovered over the years, the rhythm method of birth control was only about 75 percent reliable. Some eggs dropped early and some sperm hung around much longer than the average time before being absorbed by the woman’s body.

“Maybe Jake should stop coming inside of me until you catch?” Laura suggested. “Firing off twice a night might be lowering his sperm count, wouldn’t you think?”

“Let’s not get drastic here, Teach,” Celia said. “You’re already lending me your husband. I can’t ask you to forgo your nightly filling as well.”

“Actually, you can and you will,” Laura said. “I do want my hubby back as soon as feasible. If increasing his sperm count by not having him waste some of it in me makes that happen sooner, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I’ll still have the times when Aunt Flo visits you to get some of what I’m missing.”

“Well...” Celia started.

“Wait a minute,” Jake said. “Don’t I get a say in this thing?”

“No,” Laura told him. “We’re all making sacrifices here. You can limit firing your weapon to only once a night until you knock C up, can’t you?”

“Uh ... well ... I can,” he said slowly. “I don’t really want to though. I kind of like coming in your pussy.”

Laura shook her head. “Will you listen to this guy, love? He’s actually complaining because we’re suggesting that he gets to fuck two women once a night but only gets to come once.”

“Definitely a situation that most men would not complain about if they found themselves immersed in it,” Celia had to agree.

“I guess you do have a point there,” Jake admitted with a sigh of reluctant acquiescence.

And so, it was decided. Until Celia peed on a stick and it came back with a positive sign instead of a negative sign, Jake would only come once a night and that would be inside Celia’s vagina. He could fuck, lick, and suck Laura to his heart’s delight, but Celia was the only one who got the prize until Celia’s Aunt Flo came to visit (and hopefully, she would visit no more after that last departure, Laura and Celia both thought hopefully).

Jake, Nerdly, and Celia flew to Los Angeles the next day while Laura and Caydee stayed home. National Records had requested a meeting with the owners of KVA Records regarding the possibility of the upcoming Intemperance tour. Though none of the owners had even suggested yet that there would be a tour, or when it would happen if there was one, National really wanted in on this action. They would be in a position of strength when it came to negotiations because they held the rights to all of the previous Intemp tunes, but KVA also held a position of nearly equal strength because they had the option to not tour at all if the terms did not meet their expectations. Never Say Never was now on the second promoted tune—Matt’s No Need to Talk—and it was now the most requested tune on the hard rocks and alternative rocks. The one hundred thousand vinyl albums with Grace Best’s impressive cover artwork had all sold out long before and were now being offered up at online auctions for opening bid prices of five hundred dollars a copy and they were getting bids as high as a thousand. As for the CD’s, they had just passed quadruple Platinum the week before, four million copies sold, and they were still selling upwards of a hundred thousand copies a week. KVA and even Matt were making good money as things were. Unless National offered those favorable terms, Intemperance would not go out.

“When can we get you and the boys out on the road, Jake?” Crow asked them after the inevitable preliminaries—which had been awkward because they could not ask how Jake’s wife was doing because she was one of the negotiators there at the table, sitting next to him, and they did not want to ask about his daughter since she was now the product of a messy divorce (they just knew that, despite all the media statements Jake, Laura, and Celia had released, the divorce had to have been messy, hateful, and psychologically damaging to all involved).

“When we’re ready to go out there,” Jake said simply.

“Can you give us any idea of when that might be?” asked Doolittle, more than a little impatience in his tone.

“We have another project in the works,” Jake said.

“What other project?” Crow asked, exasperated. “Celia’s CD is selling like wildfire and so is Never Say Never. Are you working on a tour of your own, Celia? You know we would love to sponsor that as well.”

“I won’t be touring anytime soon,” Celia said.

“Why not?” Doolittle asked, seemingly hurt by this information.

“I just got married, remember? I want to spend time with my new husband.”

All three of the suits looked at her in disbelief, their eyes showing they were not buying that that could possibly be the real reason. They had to be holding out for more money. But then, no money had been offered yet by either party. There was the standard fifty-fifty split of profits that had been used on previous tours that was somewhat implied (though there were hopes by Crow and Doolittle that they could use their leverage with the rights to wheedle that down to sixty-forty), but there had been no talk of how to split up the financing of the tour—the venue rentals, the crew costs and accommodations, the travel expenses, etc. All three of the suits knew they were in a strong bargaining position for those issues.

“Can you at least tell us how long of a tour we’re talking about?” Doolittle asked.

“It would be a standard US and Canadian tour,” Jake said. “Five months or so, ninety shows in maybe sixty different cities.”

“You could fit a lot more shows into five months than that,” Crow said.

“We could,” Jake agreed, “but we don’t want to.”

“I understand you’ve got Brainwash out on a sixty date tour over the summer months. That’s a lot more dense of a tour than you are proposing for Intemperance.”

“That’s because summer is the only time that the boys and girls of Brainwash can tour,” Jake told them. “Besides, all of us in Intemp have already paid our dues with the grind—traveling in buses, doing ten shows in a row in ten different cities without a break, staying in cheap hotels night after night while the roadies sleep on the buses between cities. Fuck that shit. When we go out, we’ll be traveling private air like on the solo tours, sleeping in suites, and we’ll have lots of breaks scheduled in.”

“We will have to insist that KVA pay for a significant majority of those expenses,” Doolittle said firmly. “And we will also want more dates scheduled in. We understand you enjoy having your breaks, but none of us make any money when you’re not performing. In fact, we’re losing money since you insist upon housing the road crew in hotel rooms instead of keeping them on the buses.”

“Roadies are human too,” Jake said. “They deserve a fair wage and fair accommodations when feasible. And again, we’re not here to negotiate anything right now. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to start talking tour. And bear in mind, we always have the option of not going out at all. That wouldn’t make Matt very happy, but don’t think for a minute that KVA will not tell you to take a flying fuck if you start nickel and diming us too much or start trying to throw your weight around and dictate what we will or will not do. We’re not some young band out of Bumfuck, Indiana that you just signed to your label. This is not 1982. We are Intemperance reunited and we are currently selling an assload of CDs around the world. Demand for our concerts is very high and people will pay top dollar to get their greasy hands on tickets. If you want in on this action, you will shoulder your fair share of the burden. And it is me, Celia, Nerdly, and Pauline here, who decide what that fair share is. You don’t want to do your part, you don’t get shit.”

And with that warning to the suits, the meeting was over. There were a few more preliminaries they spoke of, but that statement by Jake made KVA’s position quite clear. The four of them left the National Records building and met together at a nearby Mexican food restaurant. Everyone but Jake ordered a margarita.

“Still not knocked up?” Pauline asked sympathetically after Celia ordered an alcoholic beverage.

“Not just yet,” she said with a sigh. “Not for lack of trying though.”

“I have read that rear entry intercourse is fourteen percent more likely to result in conception with all other things being equal,” Nerdly told them helpfully.

“We’ll keep that in mind, Nerdly,” Jake said, flashing a marital smile at Celia. They had been engaging in rear entry intercourse quite a bit lately, not because it was fourteen percent more likely to result in conception, but because Celia was now in the habit of licking and sucking Laura to orgasm while Jake fucked her for the grand finale of a session and this was the most convenient and non-acrobatic way of making all the parts fit together. Jake, after all, was over forty now and Celia was closing in fast. Laura was also much closer to forty than she was to thirty. Twisting up like pretzels was a thing of the past for the triple.

“So...” Pauline said after the marital smiles disappeared, “when do you really think you’ll be ready to hit the road. Matt is chomping at the bit despite the royalties pouring in from Never Say Never.”

“I want to start working up the set by the end of this month,” Jake said. “I’ll quietly get Matt and the rest of them over to the Campus on the weekend of the twenty-second so they can start settling in. All of the instruments are still on site. We’ll just have to move them over to the rehearsal building and put everything together.”

“How long will it take you to rehearse up the set?” she asked.

“At least two months,” Jake said. “The hope is that C will have a bun in the oven by the time we hit the road and that it will hatch after we get back.”

“Either way, I’m going out with him,” Celia said.

“What about Teach?” Pauline asked.

“She’ll be staying home with Caydee and Meghan,” he said. “Caydee will be starting preschool in September so she’ll need to be home. And, though we’ve been pretty open about how Laura is still living in the house with me and C, actually going out on tour with us would be taking the charade just a bit too far.”

“You three do have a little bit of common sense then?” Pauline asked. She was still astounded how blasé the three of them had been about the whole deal. It was she, after all, who had to field many of the calls from reporters asking for explanation of the dynamic.

“A little bit,” Jake said with a shrug.

“Do you think we made our point to the suits today?” asked Celia.

“We definitely fired a shot across their bow,” Jake said. “I can read those fucks like a cheap novel. Like a wise man named Alan once said: ‘Part of me knows what you’re thinking’. They really thought they had the upper hand on us because they own the rights to the previous Intemp pieces. They were thinking they could screw us out of five to ten percent of the profit split, that they could saddle us with all of the travel expenses and lodging expenses. What I did in there was let them know, in no uncertain terms, that we’re not going to go for that shit. We’ll forgo the entire tour rather than give in to them. I want them to understand that before we sit down with them for the real negotiations.”

“And when will that be?” Pauline asked.

“That will have to be no later than the first week of July. Me and the rest of the band can start doing the workups quietly at first, but it will only be a matter of time before National knows what we’re doing. I have no doubt that a few of the security guys are getting some envelopes passed to them when they provide information to National and Aristocrat. In this case, it’s no big deal. We’re going to have to bring them in eventually anyway so we can start designing the stage and the lighting and the video presentation and all that. By early July, if we can’t come to terms with them and have to shitcan the tour, we won’t have put all that much effort in so there will be very little wasted time.”

“If we can’t come to terms with them, we can still sign with Aristocrat or Columbia for the tour, can’t we?” asked Celia.

Jake and Pauline both shrugged doubtfully. “We can toss numbers around, but they would be unlikely to be good numbers,” Pauline said. “National could be a total dick in that circumstance and just refuse to allow Intemp to perform any material they hold the rights to, which would be everything but the tunes on Never Say Never and Jake’s and Matt’s solo material.”

“We can’t tour with just that one CD and me and Matt’s solo material that he has the rights to,” Jake said. “It wouldn’t fly.”

“So ... it’s National or nothing?” Celia asked.

“Pretty much,” Jake said. “Even if National agrees to play ball in the Aristocrat or the Columbia deal, I’m not going to vote to give them twenty percent of tour profits just because they hold the rights to our earlier shit. We would still be in the black if we did that, but not enough to make it worth our while to submit to the grind for five months. And I won’t vote to enrich those fucks for doing absolutely nothing and paying absolutely nothing.”

“Maybe we should have made that clear to them too,” Pauline suggested.

“Maybe, but we’ve already closed the meeting,” Jake said. “We can discuss it with them as the opening for the actual negotiations.”

“That actually might work better,” Pauline said thoughtfully.

“It actually might,” Celia agreed.

Celia’s Aunt Flo came to visit again on July 3^rd, 2002, arriving at the front door just an hour after she had taken her wakeup shower on Independence Day eve. This was a Wednesday and she announced this fact glumly when she entered the kitchen where Jake was making scrambled eggs and Laura was making toast for Caydee to butter.

“I’ve started,” she said with a frown, speaking the words that many men in the world dreaded to hear. No further explanation was needed. Jake and Laura—if not Caydee—both knew what she meant by this phrase. Her uterus was shedding yet another lining because a fertilized egg from her one ovary with an intact tunnel system had failed to implant in it and was being cast away via her pleasure palace, rendering it effectively dysfunctional for four or five days—neither Jake nor Laura (nor Celia for that matter) were into period sex in any way, shape, or form. It also meant she could not be pregnant, an even surer sign than a negative pee test on a stick (Celia had taken four of them in the last three days).

“I’m sorry, love,” Laura told her with sincerity. “It wasn’t for lack of trying.”

“No, it really wasn’t,” Celia said with a crooked smile. And this was true. She had been completely and thoroughly dicked every night of her twenty-eight day cycle, her insides blasted with Jake’s motile sperm offering and untouched by Laura’s tongue post-deposit.

“At least you get to have some good times now,” Celia said, quite obviously bummed by the period, but not the thought of watching and smelling Rev and Teach going at it while she played with her own clit and sucked on Teach’s nipples and tongue kissed her and sucked her neck and thighs and armpits (and occasionally taking a little suck of Jake’s member between thrusts).

“At least there is that,” Laura agreed, a part of her already looking forward to it and wondering if maybe they could tear one off after breakfast.

By this point, National (as well as Aristocrat) had heard the information that Intemperance was now in their rehearsal warehouse and utilizing it for what it was intended. Both were quite eager to open negotiations for the tour, Aristocrat with little hope, National with a considerable amount. Both knew they would have to tread carefully, though for different reasons. Aristocrat knew that National held the trump card with their rights to the previous Intemp tunes. National, thanks to the last meeting, knew that Jake and the rest of KVA would walk away from the deal before they gave up too much of their share of it.

The meeting with Aristocrat was scheduled for 10:30 AM on the morning of July 8^th, during the window in which Laura was still enjoying her Celia menstrual pleasures from her lovers at night. It was a short meeting. Aristocrat was assuming that National would demand at least twenty percent of the overall profit from a tour if they even allowed one at all. They cut things as far to the bone as they could, but the numbers were not the least bit advantageous to KVA so KVA thanked them for their time. After a power lunch at a Greek restaurant—staffed by genuine Greek owners and chefs and recommended by Andre Heliodorus—they went to the meeting at National Records. It was the usual team of Crow, Bailey, Doolittle, and Eric Frawley the lawyer. This meeting lasted considerably longer.

“Let’s settle first and foremost on the overall split of profits,” Pauline said once the preliminaries were complete. “We will accept nothing less than a straight fifty-fifty share. Half goes to National, half to KVA. Are we agreed on that?”

“Well...” Doolittle started, but Pauline interrupted him immediately.

“There will be no negotiation on this point,” she warned sternly. “Unless you are about to offer us a better deal than fifty-fifty, close your mouth right now. Any less and we walk.”

“But ... in light of the fact that we hold the rights to the vast majority of the Intemperance catalogue...”

“Not another word on this or this is going to be a short fucking meeting,” Jake said firmly. “Fifty-fifty here or we walk.”

“I think they’re bluffing,” Frawley said, though with more than a little doubt in his tone. “There is too much money to be made with this deal.”

“Try us,” Jake said.

They did not try them. They agreed to a fifty-fifty split of profits in only ninety seconds of negotiation.

The next subject was venue rental expenses. National offered to split this at fifty-fifty as well, trying to make it sound like they were being generous. KVA did not buy it. “You will pay one hundred percent of venue rental,” Pauline countered. “You have the contacts and the deals and the expertise to set all of that up. You have the ability to negotiate the best prices, but you’ll only do all of that with gusto if you are the one forking out the money that needs to be paid. This tour benefits you tremendously and venue rental fees have always been the major recording label’s primary burden to bear. We are not changing that.”

“But the times have changed,” Doolittle said.

“Not on this issue they haven’t,” Pauline told us. “Not with us.”

They went round and round on the issue of venue rental expenses for the better part of twenty minutes. Crow and Doolittle tried to make it seem like their stance that KVA pay at least part of venue rental was set in stone. It was not, as it turned out. It was set in wet concrete. They offered a 70-30 split of the fees, and then an 80-20, and then a 90-10. KVA held firm. They were not going to pay a penny of venue rental fees and would walk over this issue if National continued to insist upon it. They would not even agree to 99-1. And finally, National folded, confirming for KVA how desperately they really wanted this tour to come off.