Chapter 23: New Arrivals

Atascadero, California

March 5, 2004

In a large apartment complex that housed lower income renters in the inland San Luis Obispo County city of Atascadero, twenty-four year old Yami Misra was awakened by the alarm on her cheap cellular phone. It was 6:30 AM, forty-five minutes before her usual wakeup time on workdays. There was a reason for her early rising on this Friday morning. She was a medical assistant for Dr. Gloria Niven, an OB/GYN specialist in San Luis Obispo city, near Baptist Hospital. Dr. Niven had a very special client coming in for an appointment this morning. This very special client was always seen a half hour to forty-five minutes prior to the official opening time of the office. Yami, who was the only medical assistant Dr. Niven trusted to keep her mouth shut about the special client, needed to be there to do her part. For this, Dr. Niven would be paying her two hours of double time. A whole twenty-five dollars an hour! For that kind of money, she would happily get up before the sun even made its appearance in the eastern sky.

She stretched a little and got out of bed. She was five foot six inches tall and weighed one hundred sixty-five pounds—a little heavier than the ideal for her height, but having a child would do that. She was not obese by any means, just a little on the chunky side for her height. She was wearing a pair of cotton pajamas with no bra and her large breasts (another gift that motherhood had given to her) bounced and jiggled a bit as she put her feet beneath her. Her black hair was long, falling to her mid-back, and somewhat ragged at the moment from her slumber. Her skin was the color of coffee with just a little bit of cream in it. Her ethnicity was Indian—dot not feather, as Matt would say—and she had been born in 1978 in the city of Ranchi in eastern India. Though Hindi was her native language she only spoke it these days when talking to her parents, who still lived in the house she had grown up in, and occasionally to her young daughter (though not as much as she probably should to effectively teach her the language). She was quite fluent in English, which she had learned in elementary and high school before coming to America for her college education at the age of eighteen. She did speak with an Indian accent, but it was a subtle one and she had no problems communicating in her new country.

In the corner of her bedroom was a crib. Curled up under the blankets and sleeping soundly in that crib was her three year old daughter, Kira Lynn Misra. Kira was half American, her skin tone significantly lighter than that of her mother but with the same black hair. The two ethnicities had mixed well together, as was often the case in such genetic pairings. Kira was an absolutely beautiful child. This was not just her mother’s opinion, but the opinion of all who met her.

She looked down on Kira with the deep love of a mother mixed with a considerable amount of fear for her future. Things had not worked out the way they had been supposed to when she had come to America from Ranchi back in 1997. She was making her way the best she could, but she was not sure how much longer she could carry on. She liked living in America, in the central coast region of California in particular, and desperately wanted her daughter to be raised here, to be given all the opportunities the land of plenty had to offer. Unfortunately, it was looking more and more like Kira’s fate would be to be raised in eastern India when her mother was eventually forced to return home in disgrace.

She put these thoughts out of her head and started her day. The end of her life in America was undoubtedly approaching, but it was not yet near enough to see. She stripped off her pajamas and her plain white panties and dropped them in her laundry hamper. She then walked through the side door and into the bathroom so she could start her early day.

She urinated in the toilet, wiped, and then flushed it all away and washed her hands. She brushed her pearly white teeth with Great Value brand toothpaste and then flossed with Great Value brand dental floss. She showered and washed her long, silky hair but did not bother shaving her legs despite the build-up of more than a week’s worth of stubble. No one was going to be seeing her bare legs except for Kira. She did shave her armpits, however. Someone might catch a flash of them through the sleeve of her scrub top.

Once she was dressed in a clean white bra, clean white panties, and her scrubs, she combed out her hair and then tied it into a bun for work. She put on her shoes and socks—both purchased from the Atascadero Wal Mart store, both nearing the end of their useful service life of four months and six months respectively—and then returned to the bedroom. She flipped on the light and gently woke Kira, who could not yet tell time but who immediately sensed she was being brought out of slumber earlier than usual.

“Mummy has to go to work early today,” she told her daughter. “Come on, beti. Go potty and we’ll get you dressed.”

Kira, her beloved beti, did not like this idea but she did not protest. She was a pleasant and well-behaved child by nature. She went potty and then got dressed in a pair of traditional American pants and a warm sweater. Yami then combed her daughter’s hair and tied it into a ponytail. The two of them left the bedroom and went into the living room and kitchen area of the apartment. The kitchen was a mess, as was the living room. Her roommate was a slob and never cleaned up after herself. The communal areas of the apartment would just get messier and messier until Yami sucked it up and cleaned them herself.

The two of them each ate a bowl of Great Value corn flakes in Great Value milk. She could tell that Lisa, the roommate in question, had been helping herself to both products again, despite multiple promises not to. Lisa was a former Cal Poly student who had flunked out during her sophomore year while trying for an English degree. She was now working as a swing shift waitress at a nearby Outback Steakhouse. Lisa was a fan of drinking heavily, partying until dawn, and bringing home questionable guys to have sex with her two or three times a week. Yami longed to rid herself of the unwanted pest but she simply could not afford to live alone, not with a daughter who required eight and a half hours of expensive day care Monday through Friday of every week.

Mother and daughter left the apartment at 7:30 AM. It was a ten minute drive to Loralei’s Child Care, a private daycare run by Loralei Williams, a fifty-five year old matronly woman who used her two mid-twenties daughters as employees. It was no Kinder Care but it was affordable and the owner and her daughters did not give her the creeps. Kira did not particularly love the place, but she expressed no doom and gloom or fear about it and unhesitantly went there each day.

“Mummy loves you,” Yami told Kira after telling Loralai (who was still dressed in her nightgown) that she understood she would be responsible for another three hours of paid time today for the early drop-off.

“I love you too, Mummy,” Kira replied with a yawn as she trudged slowly into the residential house/daycare center.

Yami made her way out the metal gate that was part of the chain link fence that surrounded the front yard. She got back into her car, yawned herself, and then fired up the engine on her battered 1995 Toyota Corolla. She made her way through the quiet residential streets to Highway 101 south. With the sun rising into the sky behind her, she drove to San Luis Obispo and arrived at the medical office building just off the campus of Baptist Hospital of San Luis Obispo and parked in the nearly empty parking lot at 8:15 AM.

Dr. Niven, dressed in her lab coat and sipping from a cup of Starbucks coffee, was in the reception area when she walked in. The rest of the office was deserted. Not only would Yami serve as the medical assistant for the appointment, she would also serve as the receptionist. The less people in on the very special client’s business, the less chance that the business in question would find its way out into the world.

“Good morning, Yami,” Niven greeted. “Thank you coming in early.”

“No problem, Doctor,” Yami told her. Niven had tried for the entire two years Yami had worked for her to get her call her Gloria, but Yami could not bring herself to do it. Dr. Niven was a doctor, and she had been raised to address such people by their professional title at all times.

“I got an Americano for you,” Niven said. “Black, no sweetener, just the way you like it.”

Yami was grateful. She usually drank the coffee from the dispenser but every once in a while her boss would treat her to Starbucks, which she could not afford to buy for herself. “Thank you, Dr. Niven,” she said brightly. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Niven said. “I’m going to go to my office and review Celia’s records. When she gets here, put her in Room 5 after you check her in and have her get into a gown. Be sure to give her a warm blanket and then let me know when she’s ready for the exam.”

“I will do so, Doctor,” Yami said.

Yami sat down at the registration desk and turned on the computer. When it was fully booted up and ready for action, she typed in her password and called up the registration program. No sooner had she done this than she saw the shadow of a vehicle on the window blinds. The faint sound of music playing reached her before being abruptly cut off. Thirty seconds later, the door to the office opened and in stepped Celia Valdez-Kingsley (she had told Yami at her last appointment that she would not be dropping the ‘Kingsley’ from her name even though she was divorcing Jake Kingsley). She was wearing a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and a fuzzy maroon sweater. Her long black hair was down and neatly brushed out, making it look like silk. Though Yami had never once in her life had bisexual thoughts, she could not help but think how beautiful and alluring their famous patient was. She was in amazing shape and there was no sign that she had carried and delivered a baby within the last year.

“Good morning, Ms. Valdez,” Yami greeted.

“Good morning, Yami,” Celia said with a smile. “Please, call me Celia.”

“Uh ... right, Celia,” Yami said. “I forgot.”

“Anyone who has to look at my hoo-hoo can certainly call me by first name,” Celia said lightly.

Yami blushed at her words but also giggled a little. She could not help it. “I was afraid there would be a bunch of reporters and people like that following you,” she said. Just two days before, when the fervor surrounding the Jake and Celia divorce had finally started to calm down, it had been suddenly renewed with a vengeance that surpassed even the previous interest. Someone in the district court system had leaked the proposed divorce settlement that had been filed with the judge—a document that was supposed to have been confidential and private. Though the perpetrator of the leak had yet to be identified (the judge had assured the public that they would find the person who had betrayed the trust of the public and punish him or her to the fullest extent of the law) the information had been published in virtually every newspaper, had been discussed on every talk show and entertainment report. What the report—if in fact it was true, which Pauline Kingsley, spokesperson for KVA Records and Jake Kingsley and Celia Valdez-Kingsley were adamantly denying—revealed was very interesting indeed. It seemed that there were no provisions in the suggested settlement for alimony payments or separation of marital assets, including KVA Records itself. There were child support payments listed because they were required by law, but the amount per month was absurdly low—only two hundred dollars. It was almost as if Jake and Celia were not really divorcing at all.

“There would have been,” Celia said, “but we pulled the old red herring maneuver on them and it worked.”

“The red herring maneuver?” She was fluent in English but unfamiliar with most American idioms.

“Yep,” she said. “We sent Laura out ten minutes before I left as a distraction. The pap all followed her into town, allowing me to just drive out unmolested and unfollowed. Laura will drive around for twenty minutes or so and then return home. We don’t pull it very often. That way, it will work when we really need it to.”

“Wow,” Yami said, shaking her head a little. “You have a very strange life.”

“It has its moments,” Celia said. “Anyway, thanks for showing up early for me.”

“It was no problem at all,” she said. “Why don’t we get you checked in?”

“Let’s do it,” Celia said unenthusiastically. She was here, after all, for her three year pap smear (which she had not actually had done for the better part of ten years now) and there was not much to be enthusiastic about.

Yami put Celia’s name, date of birth, and reason for visit into the registration computer. She verified her insurance information and demographics. She then moved her into the waiting queue for the clinical computer system. “Let’s get you on back,” she told the singer.

“Okay,” Celia said.

They entered the deserted office area and Yami led her to exam room number 5, which was already set up. On the way, she grabbed two blankets out of the warmer. She had Celia sit in one of the chairs for now. She fired up the clinical computer in the room and, while waiting for it to boot up, put a blood pressure cuff on Celia’s left arm, a pulse oximeter probe on her right index finger, and took her temperature with an ear thermometer.

“How is your little boy doing?” Yami asked as the cuff searched for a reading.

“Growing like a weed,” she said with a smile. “He’s eight months old now and crawling like you would not believe.”

“I remember when Kira first started crawling,” Yami said. “It was an entirely new step in keeping an eye on her when she started being mobile.”

“Yep,” Celia said. “It corresponds with the age when they want to put everything into their mouths too. The other day I caught him sucking on a hair pretty.”

“A hair pretty?” Yami asked. She was unfamiliar with that term.

“Sorry, a hair tie,” Celia said. “Caydee calls them hair pretties so the term kind of stuck in the household.”

“I see,” Yami said quietly. She knew that Caydee was the daughter—school aged now she believed—that Jake Kingsley and his first ex-wife Laura Kingsley had produced. Laura and Caydee still lived in the house with Jake and Celia and their son Capriccio. And the way she had just said Caydee’s name had been with clear affection and love in her tone, not resentment as one might expect under such bizarre circumstances. She wondered what was really going on in the Kingsley house up on that cliff over the ocean. Surely much more than met the eye. But it was none of her business and she would never, in a million years, ask any questions about the subject.

“How about your little girl?” Celia asked her. “How is she doing?”

“She is a handful,” Yami said. “She is talking quite well now—well, in English anyway—and I’m afraid she has picked up a few naughty words from my roommate. Once she learns them, it is very difficult to get her to stop blurting them out.”

“Mi madre used to tell me that I was hurting Mother Mary every time I used a bad word,” Celia said. “It didn’t work well as a deterrent. I hope it’s not really true or the poor Madre de Dios would be in agony by this point.”

Yami chuckled. She did not believe in a divine Mary of Nazareth who had become pregnant by God without sexual intercourse and given birth to a savior of mankind two thousand years or so ago, but Celia’s words were still humorous.

“Anyway,” Celia continued, “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Even when they do pick up such words, it’s reasonably easy to teach them not to use them in certain company like school or grandparents or devout Mormon relatives.”

“Wouldn’t you rather they not use those words at all?” Yami asked.

Celia shrugged. “If they use them properly and in the correct context, it does add charm to their personality.”

Yami was not quite ready to get on board with that. “I think I just need to get out of that apartment and live on my own somewhere,” she said. “If she doesn’t hear the words used, she won’t retain them.”

Now it was Celia who chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that,” she said. “What’s holding you up from moving out?”

“Money,” said Yami with a shrug. “Dr. Niven pays her MA’s competitively, but it’s still not all the much. I can’t afford to pay for daycare and live without a roommate. I just try to keep Kira separated from Lisa as much as I can.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Celia said. Yami took her attention off of the computer screen where she was documenting the vital signs and looked at her. She seemed sincere enough about being sorry to hear that—as sincere as a filthy rich woman could possibly be anyway—but there was a strange lilt to her voice as well, a lilt that carried a degree of keen interest. Why would Celia Valdez-Kingsley be interested in her situation in the least? Was it out of pity? Perhaps, but the tone did not suggest that.

Yami finished filing the vitals in the computer and then went over a few other details like preferred pharmacy (the grocery store pharmacy in San Luis Obispo), allergies to medications (none), and medications being currently taken (only her birth control pills). She then told the famous singer to get undressed from the waist down (except her socks if she preferred—almost every woman did prefer to keep them on) and to wait on the table for Dr. Niven.

“I’m on it,” Celia told her, still looking thoughtful.

Yami then left the room so Celia could disrobe. She closed the door behind her and walked to Dr. Niven’s office to let her know that Celia would be ready for the examination shortly.

“Thank you, Yami,” Dr. Niven told her MA with a smile. She really was fond of the young Indian girl who worked for her and really did feel for her lot in life. Yami had wanted to be a doctor, had geared her education and life toward that goal, and it had all fallen down thanks to some momentary infatuation with a white American boy with good looks but little in the way of brains or sense of responsibility.

“I’ll be in the break room drinking my coffee,” Yami told her. “Just give me a yell when you’re ready for me to come in.”

“Will do,” Niven said.

The doctor put her stethoscope around her neck, picked up her clipboard, and made the short walk to exam room number 5. Inside, Celia Valdez-Kingsley was on the table, blankets covering her from shoulders to feet. The expression on her face was awkward, as expressions tended to be in such circumstances.

“Good morning, Celia,” Niven greeted.

“Good morning, Dr. Niven,” Celia returned.

“From what the media has been saying about you of late, it seems your plan is working out for you.” Dr. Niven had been told about what was really going on in the Kingsley family back during Celia’s first obstetrical appointment at the beginning of her pregnancy. She did not exactly approve of the lifestyle they were leading, but she did have to acknowledge that it seemed a loving relationship with no issues of abuse or coercion involved. And, she did have to admit to herself at times, the thought of the three of them together was rather intriguing.

Celia gave a crooked smile. “It hasn’t all been fun and games,” she said, “as you’ve probably seen on TV, but we’re moving along. It drives the media crazy that we won’t tell them what is happening with us.”

“I’m not sure they would believe the story even if you told them,” Niven said.

“Jake actually suggested that once,” she said with a giggle. “Just blurt out the truth to them using a sarcastic tone of voice and see what happens.”

Niven found this amusing for some reason she could not put her finger on and she laughed out loud—a real laugh and not the polite fake laugh of a professional putting on an act for a patient.

She then got down to business. She went over Celia’s girly parts item by item, asking her about her periods, her breasts, how she was tolerating the birth control pills, her non-gynecological health and wellbeing. Celia answered everything with seeming honesty. In all respects she was a healthy, happy, forty-two year old married woman with two children under her care. She was well-adjusted despite living her life in the spotlight, and she wanted for nothing.

“Okay then,” Niven said, adding a brief note to her clipboard. “How about we get this procedure over and done so you can get out of here?”

“Of course, doctor,” Celia said, “but before we do ... well ... can I ask you something completely off the rails from my visit here?”

“Uh ... sure,” Niven said. “I’ll answer if I can.”

“It’s about Yami,” she said.

“Yami?” Niven said. “What about her?”

“Well ... uh ... Teach and I—that’s Laura—were talking the other night about her. We both like her a lot.”

“Yami is great,” Niven said slowly, with no idea why Celia was asking about her or why she and she and Laura Kingsley—who was also her patient—would be talking about her.

“She seems like she is very discreet,” Celia said. “Knows how to keep her mouth shut?”

“She absolutely is,” Niven said. “All of my staff understand patient confidentiality, but Yami is ironclad about it. There’s a reason why she is the one I use when you or Laura come in for examinations. Not that I think any of my other NA’s would blab anything, but because I absolutely know that Yami would never say anything under any circumstances.”

Celia smiled. “That’s what me and Teach figured,” she said.

“Why are you asking about this?” Niven asked, concerned. “Has there been a breach of confidentiality of some kind?”

“No, not as far as I know,” Celia said. “We’re interested in her for another reason.”

“What reason is that?”

“We might want to hire her away from you,” Celia said.

“Hire her away?” Niven asked, surprised. “What in the world for? Why would you need to hire a medical assistant?”

“We don’t want her as a medical assistant,” Celia said. “We’ll soon be in need of a trustworthy person to be a live-in nanny.”

In the early morning hours of March 8, just six hours after returning home from visiting the Kingsleys for Jake’s forty-fourth birthday, Sharon Archer—also known as Mrs. Nerdly—went into labor nearly a week before her due date of March 14^th. Nerdly drove her to nearby Baptist Hospital of San Luis Obispo, leaving Kelvin in the care of kindly Mrs. Byers, the sixty-two year old widow they had employed as a per diem nanny since moving to the central coast. Nerdly had arranged for her to sleep over every night for the past three weeks just in case Sharon went into early labor.

The couple arrived at the hospital at 4:20 AM and the new addition to the Nerdly family was delivered without complications at 7:48 AM. It was a seven pound, eleven ounce little girl who was perfect in every way. Nerdly cut the cord with trembling hands that needed to be guided into place by the doctor. She was then bestowed with the name her parents had decided on several months before but had yet to share with anyone. In keeping with the science theme they had started with Kelvin, they dubbed her Aurora Jill Archer, the first name honoring the natural light display put on by energetic particles ejected from the sun interacting with Earth’s upper atmosphere, the middle name honoring Sharon’s mother.

“So ... I guess you’re not going to be in the studio this morning,” Jake said to Nerdly on the phone when he was called at breakfast to be told the news.

“Well ... I hadn’t planned to,” Nerdly said, “but if you think you’ll need me, I’m sure Sharon will understand and agree that I should...”

“I was just kidding, Nerdly,” Jake said with a chuckle. “Try to let Sharon rest as much as you can. We’ll swing by on the way home to visit if you three are up for it.”

“Oh ... I see,” Nerdly said. “But if you do need me for anything...”

“We’ll carry on somehow, Nerdly. Congratulations.”

“We are working on the mixing though!” Nerdly insisted.

“I’ll keep things under control until you two are ready to return,” Jake promised.

“No major changes without consulting me?”

“I promise,” Jake promised. He then ended the conversation.

“She had the baby?” asked Laura with excitement after hearing Jake’s end of the conversation.

“She did,” Jake said. “A baby girl. Seven pounds, eleven ounces, healthy as can be.”

“What did they name her?” Celia demanded. “Did he tell you?”

“He told me,” Jake said. He then said no more.

The two women and Caydee looked at him in anticipation. “Well...” Celia finally said. “What was the name?”

“I forgot,” Jake said with a shrug of dismissal.

“What?” Laura demanded.

“What the fuck?” demanded Caydee. “You forgot?”

“You asshole!” Celia said. “You didn’t forget! Now tell us what the name is.”

He chuckled and told them. All three thought it was a particularly pretty name for a girl.

“Just like the southern lights we saw in New Zealand, Daddy!” Caydee said excitedly. “Remember that?”

“I remember that,” Jake said.

“It was really cool, wasn’t it?”

“It was all right,” Jake said, see-sawing his hand.

“You’re fuckin’ with me, aren’t you, Daddy?” Caydee asked.

“Sorry,” Jake said with a chuckle. “You’re getting harder and harder to fool.”

“I’m all grown up now,” she said with a wise-to-the-world tone. “Are we going to see Aurora today?”

“Well ... Mommy and I are going to stop by the hospital after the studio today,” he said. “We won’t have time to come home and pick you up first.”

“Awww!” she whined.

“I can take you to see her after you do your homework,” said Celia, who was Caydee and Cap’s primary caregiver on studio days. She no longer had to pick up the Scanlon children and watch them as they were done with the recording and the primary overdubs of the new Brainwash album. Jim Scanlon and Steph joined them each day to help with the mixing (and to occasionally record a small, last minute guitar track or two to overdub in) while Marcie cared for their children. Rick and Jeremy both popped in on occasion as well though neither of them had a flair for the mixing process and both found it indescribably boring.

“Yay!” Caydee cheered. “That’s badass! What about brother?”

“I’ll see if Sean and Westin can watch Cap while we’re gone,” Celia said. “They’re usually down for that. We won’t stay for long though.”

“What about the pap?” Caydee asked next. “Won’t they follow us?”

“Undoubtedly,” Celia said with a sigh. “We’ll just have to let them do it. Mommy won’t be here to run interference.”

“I hate the fuckin’ pap!” Caydee said with passion.

“Hey now, Caydee girl,” Jake said sternly. “Hate is a very strong word. We don’t use it lightly in this house.”

“Sorry,” Caydee said, blushing a little. She knew she had just said a bad word and was embarassed. “I don’t like the fuckin’ pap. How’s that?”

“Much better,” Jake told her, tussling her hair a bit.

Twenty minutes later, Jake and Laura were in the BMW heading for Atascadero. No pap followed them as they already knew where the couple was going and knew that they would have no opportunity to accost them at The Campus. Jake wondered if the word had been passed to them about the new Nerdly addition. Probably not, he figured. Nerdly and his family, of all the members of the Intemperance inner circle, were the ones most able to fly under the radar and live an almost normal life.

“When is C going to call the Indian girl?” Jake asked as they made their way up the 101.

“Her name is Yami,” Laura said, “not ‘the Indian girl.’”

“Sorry,” Jake said. He had met the girl a few times when he had accompanied Celia to her OB/GYN appointments when she had been pregnant with Cap. He knew what she looked like (cute, young, a bit overweight with large boobs) and he remembered her personality (shy, unassuming, always professional) but he could never, for the life of him, remember her name. He supposed if she agreed to come work for the Kingsleys (and passed the background check she would be subjected to) the name would start to stick. That was several steps ahead of where they currently were, however. As of now, though Dr. Niven was aware that they wanted to possibly hire her best medical assistant away from her, no one had told Yami herself.

“Anyway,” Laura said, “C will give her a call tonight after we get home from visiting the Nerdlys. Dr. Niven told her to expect her call but not what it was about.”

“And then what?” Jake asked. “If she’s interested, bring her in for an interview this weekend?”

“If she’s interested,” Laura said. “I wonder if she will be. C says that Niven told her that Yami is very conservative and shy. Our lifestyle might be a little too much on the wild side for her.”

“It will be an interesting conversation,” Jake said. “Much like it was when we offered Meghan the job.” Meghan, their previous nanny, who Caydee loved like an auntie, was currently married to Massa Woo and was in her first semester of nursing school at Cuesta College in San Luis Obispo.