Chapter 8: Talk Talk

Riverside County, California

April 24, 1995

It was ten o’clock on a Monday morning and two cars were traveling westbound on Interstate 10 as it climbed out of the Coachella Valley toward the top of the San Gorgonio pass. The car in front was a 1994 Toyota Camry, gold in color, and driven by pilot Susan Granderson. Following behind it was a 1995 Mercedes Benz E-320, silver in color, driven by Celia Valdez with Laura Kingsley in the front passenger seat. The three ladies had just spent the weekend all alone at Greg and Celia’s Palm Springs home. All three had had a good time. Celia and Suzie played several rounds of golf at the exclusive country club upon which the house sat while Laura, who did not golf and did not want to learn how, took turns riding in the carts with them. They went out on shopping trips and to lunch and dinner. They drank a great deal of alcohol while doing all of these things. And, while there was a considerable amount of sexual tension between all three of them, no girl-time (as defined by Neesh soon-to-be Paladay) had occurred.

In the town of Beaumont, at the top of the pass, Interstate 10 intersected State Route 79, which ran south. Suzie took the offramp for 79, which was the fastest way for her to get back to her home in San Diego. Celia kept going west on I-10, which was the fastest way to get her and Laura back to Los Angeles. Suzie waved at the Mercedes enthusiastically as it overtook her. Celia nudged Laura, who had been dozing listlessly in her seat, and the two of them waved back at her with just as much enthusiasm.

Once Suzie’s car was gone from sight, Laura yawned and sat up a little straighter. She had a moderate hangover going on. Her head ached dully, though not as badly as it had before a couple of Tylenol tablets had been washed down just before leaving the house. Her stomach rumbled disconcertingly, and a distinct sensation of nausea ebbed and flowed throughout her like a tide. Her mouth was dry despite the half a liter of water she’d put down since awakening, and a persistent feeling of fatigue tugged at her.

“How are you doing?” asked Celia, who was in pretty much the same boat.

“I feel like I’m paying the price for the fun we had this weekend,” she said simply.

“That’s the truth,” Celia said with a crooked smile. “It was a weekend to remember though, wasn’t it?”

“It was a blast,” Laura agreed. “I really like Suzie. She knows how to party.”

“She does,” Celia said. “When you can get her to let her hair down anyway.”

Laura giggled. “It was down all right. I still can’t believe that story she told us about the aircraft mechanic, that female airman, and the chicken over there in Kuwait.”

“Madres de Dios!” Celia laughed. “Isn’t that loco? It’s amazing some of the things people do.”

“I wouldn’t have even thought it possible,” Laura said, still giggling at the story. “I mean, wouldn’t there be feathers everywhere?”

“You would think, wouldn’t you?” Celia said.

They drove on, Celia keeping the cruise control at seventy-five miles per hour. She slid over to the fast lane to pass a line of semis hauling trailers. Both women were wearing shorts and every one of the truckers looked down in appreciation at their bare legs as they went by. One of them even gave a blast of air horn and a thumbs up.

“Horny bastards,” Celia said with a shake of her head as she switched back to the right lane.

“Well, you can’t really blame them,” Laura said. “They appreciate a nice set of legs—especially yours.”

“Don’t sell yours short, Teach,” Celia told her. “You’ve got a premium set of wheels too.”

“You really think so?” Laura asked, looking down at her thighs. “I always thought they were kind of skinny ... and a little pale too.”

“They’re hot legs,” Celia assured her. “Suzie was certainly drooling over them—especially when you wore that night shirt of yours before bed.”

“That’s just what I sleep in,” Laura said. “I wasn’t trying to turn her on.”

“I know,” Celia said. “And that’s what made it so hot. If you would have let her put a single finger on one of your legs, I don’t think you would have been able to pry it back off.”

Laura smiled at the thought. “I’m not sure I would have wanted to pry it back off,” she said.

“Yeah,” Celia said wistfully. “I really get the feeling that Suzie knows what to do when she acquires her target. Thank you for being my chaperone on the trip. I escaped with my purity reasonably intact.”

“No need to thank me,” Laura said. “I had a lot of fun.” She looked at her friend meaningfully. “Do you really think you might have ... you know ... done something with her if I hadn’t been there?”

Celia gave a crooked smile. “I like to think I wouldn’t have,” she said. “I made a decision back when she was our tour pilot that I wasn’t going to travel down that road and I haven’t changed my mind about that, but...” She trailed off.

“But what?” Laura asked.

A sigh. “Sometimes need and temptation and ... well ... opportunity conspire to drag someone down that road despite her vows to the contrary.”

“Yeah?” Laura asked casually, as if she had no idea what Celia was talking about.

“Yeah,” Celia said, nodding. “Especially when there is alcohol involved. You see, I really have a strong curiosity about the whole girl-girl thing—thank you very much Laura Kingsley for putting the idea in my head one day.”

“Sorry,” Laura said.

“You should be,” Celia chuckled, then turned serious again. “Anyway, I’ve got the curiosity and I’ve got the attraction to Suzie and it’s quite clear that Suzie would be thrilled to lead me down that road for a little exploration of the territory. I was afraid that if you weren’t there with us, there might be a night when she and I had a few too many drinks, and then maybe she gets a little aggressive with me—not like assaulting me or anything, because I don’t think Suzie would do anything like that—but, you know ... just try really hard to tempt me. And ... maybe ... if I was tempted enough...”

“You might just go along with it,” Laura said. It was not a question.

“You understand,” Celia said.

“Yes,” Laura told her, feeling the familiar mix of guilt and sexual excitement surging through her as she thought of Neesh closing herself into the spare bedroom with her. “I get how things can get out of control like that.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” she said, elaborating no further on that.

Celia did not ask her to. She had some feelings of guilt and sexual excitement of her own to contend with. “Anyway ... since you were there, we all had a good time and the flirtation stayed in the realm of verbal, where it belongs.”

“But you still want to try it with another woman?” Laura asked.

Celia nodded. “It’s on my list of things to do before I die,” she said. “Right up there with running with the bulls and scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef.”

“Have you thought about talking to Greg about this?” Laura asked. “Maybe he might be up for ... you know ... letting it happen. I hear that guys are really into that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Celia said with a chuckle. “I’ve heard that as well. But I wouldn’t even know how to begin a conversation like that with Greg. And even if I did, I doubt he would tell me to go forth and get it on. If he agreed to it, he would want to be involved. He would want to watch at the very least, be a participant ideally. And he would want to pick the girl and it sure as hell wouldn’t be Suzie.”

“Would that be so bad?” Laura asked her.

“What?”

“You’d get to try it,” Laura said. “I’m sure he’d pick a cute girl for you.”

She was shaking her head. “No way in hell am I going to have Greg watching me get it on with a woman,” she told her. “And as for him getting to slip his chorizo into her too... joder esa mierda. That is not going to happen.”

“I guess that leaves you with a roadblock, doesn’t it?”

Another sigh. “I guess it does.” She looked over at the redhead. “What about you? Would you let Jake watch you and another girl go at it?”

“I don’t know,” Laura said honestly. “It would be weird ... very awkward, but ... well ... I suppose if it was the right girl...”

“What exactly is the right girl?” Celia wanted to know.

“It would have to be someone that neither one of us really knows that well ... someone we have no attachment to.”

“A one-night stand?”

“I suppose,” she said. “Someone like the groupies that I used to hook up with out on tour. Someone we wouldn’t see again once it was over and done. If we found someone like that and the circumstances were right ... well ... maybe something could happen.”

“Would you let Jake do her too?”

“I don’t know about that,” Laura said. “I think I probably wouldn’t want him to do anything with the other woman. But having him watch...” She smiled sexily. “I think that would kind of turn me on.”

“Wow,” Celia whispered. “You’re a naughty little girl, Laura Kingsley.”

“I guess my mother was right,” she said. “Jake has corrupted me.” Besides, she thought, that way I get to have some girl-time without sneaking around—and Jake gets to have a little fun too.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure the Mormon church would disapprove of this conversation—the Catholic church as well.”

“Undoubtedly,” Laura agreed. “One thing I do know though, this weekend has made me incredibly ... you know...”

“Horny?” Celia suggested.

“Yes, horny,” Laura said, saying it as if it were a naughty word. “I hope that Jake is home when I get there. I am going to absolutely ravish him.”

“Hmmph,” Celia grunted. “At least you have Jake to ravish. Greg is in Chicago for the foreseeable future. All I have to relieve my stress is my BOB.”

“Bob?” Laura asked. “Who is that?”

“What is that,” Celia corrected. “BOB is my battery-operated boyfriend. And he’s going to get a workout today.”

“You mean a vibrator?” Laura asked, her eyes wide.

“Of course,” Celia said. “Don’t you have one?”

Laura shook her head. “I’ve never even seen one before,” she said. “I thought they were just ... you know ... novelty things. You actually use one?”

“Regularly,” Celia said. “Especially when Greg is away. I can’t believe you’ve never tried one.”

“I just use my fingers when I have to ... uh ... take care of myself.”

“That’s good in a pinch,” Celia said, “but the vibrator brings it up to the next level. You really need to get yourself one, Teach.”

Laura felt herself blushing now. “I could never go into one of those shops and buy something like that,” she said. “I would die of embarrassment.”

“I didn’t go into a shop to buy any of mine,” Celia said. “You just have—”

“Any of yours?” Laura interrupted, scandalized. “You have more than one?”

“I have three of them,” she said. “Two are dildoes and one is a butterfly.”

“A butterfly?”

“Yeah,” Celia said with a smile. “You put it on your clit and it stimulates it. That’s the one I use the most.”

“Wow,” Laura whispered, feeling her blush increasing exponentially as she thought about this.

“Anyway,” Celia said. “You can order them by mail from this company in Ohio. They deliver it by UPS in a plain brown package. Very discrete. No pictures of you going into a sex shop in the American Watcher. I can give you their catalog if you want. I’m sure I have one in the bedroom.”

“I don’t know,” Laura said. “What would Jake think if he found out I bought one of those?”

Celia shook her head and laughed. “You’re okay with Jake watching a woman eat your pussy out but you think he’d be upset if he knew you had a vibrator?”

“Uh ... well ... I don’t know,” she said.

“Trust me on this, he won’t be upset if you buy some toys. He’ll probably want to play with them too.”

“Jake play with them?” she asked, shocked. “You mean he’d put them in his ... in his...”

“No, no!” Celia laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant he’d like to watch you play with them, and maybe help you play with them. Greg and I have done that. It’s really kind of sexy.”

“Hmmm,” Laura said. “I’ll have to think about this.”

And she did. Though their talk on the rest of the drive turned to other things—their rehearsal sessions, the Oklahoma City bombing, the ongoing OJ Simpson trial—once they arrived at Jake and Laura’s house to drop her off, she did ask Celia to bring her that catalog the next time they rehearsed.

The next time they rehearsed was the very next day. Jake woke up a little stiff and sore. Laura had been very enthusiastic about sex after returning home from her trip to Palm Springs. She had dragged him immediately up to the bedroom as soon as she walked in the door and then, just before bedtime, they had another, lengthier and more physically demanding session before going to sleep.

Jake had long since noticed that Laura’s sexual appetite increased considerably whenever she went out with Neesh. He did not disapprove of the situation although, in truth, it never occurred to him that anything had actually taken place between his wife and G’s fiancé. He just figured that Laura had a little bisexuality in her, that her experimentation with the bartender and the groupies while out on tour had awakened something inside of her, and that Neesh’s exotic beauty stirred those feelings up. Neesh was certainly not a bisexual, he figured. In truth, the fact that Laura was turned on by women was kind of hot. And now the same had happened to her after spending a couple days on a girl’s weekend with Celia and Celia’s pilot friend, who was, according to Greg, a card-carrying butch lesbian. Interesting. He would have liked to have been a fly on the wall in that Palm Springs domicile this weekend. Again, he was sure nothing could have possibly happened. Celia certainly had no bisexual leanings and Laura would never do anything with the pilot without Jake’s preapproval (would she?). Still, he bet there had been some interesting conversations.

They showered separately, Laura going first, and then made their way downstairs to the informal dining room, where Elsa laid out some breakfast burritos made out of chorizo, eggs, fried potatoes and cheese. They each ate two of the burritos and washed them down with fresh-squeezed orange juice. They then climbed into Jake’s new car—it was a 1995 BMW 730iL with the sports package—and drove to Santa Clarita.

The Nerdlys were already there when Jake and Laura walked in. They were both sitting at the soundboard, discussing audio levels and secondary output sources. Sharon was breastfeeding Kelvin as they did this. The four-and-a-half-month-old sucked contentedly away at her swollen left boob, making happy grunting noises.

While Laura went over to fuss over Kelvin, Jake went to the storage rack and pulled down his Fender Grand Concert. He sat down at the electric piano and turned it on. When it was ready, he played the E key to the left of Middle C, listened to the tone as it resonated, and then struck his low E string a few times. He adjusted the tuning knob a bit and then struck the string again. While it was still resonating, he played the E key on the piano again. The tones matched exactly. He nodded and then began to tune the rest of his strings one by one by fretting the previous string and matching the tunings. This was a morning ritual, although sometimes he used a tuning fork instead.

Celia came in a few minutes later, dressed in white shorts and a maroon top, her hair down around her shoulders. She carried a manila envelope in her hands. After greeting everyone and goggling over Kelvin for a few minutes, she nodded her head at Laura and the two of them disappeared over into the corner for a whispered conversation. There were a few giggles, Laura blushed at something Celia said, and then the envelope changed hands. Laura carried it over to her purse and folded it inside.

“What was that all about?” Jake asked her as she headed back across the room.

Her blush increased. “I’ll show you later,” she replied.

Since they were still in the early stages of composition, they had not yet arranged for a rhythm section or a violinist or a piano player to accompany them. Soon that would have to change. Coop and Charlie had already both agreed to reprise their respective roles as drummer and bassist for the workups and the recordings. The mothers, on the other hand, had both let it be known that—while they were honored to have contributed to the first two albums—they were not up for another round and that Jake and Celia would have to find someone else for the third albums. Celia had spoken to both Natalie and Liz—the violinist and pianist she had toured with—about possibly taking on those roles. Liz was up for it and enthusiastic to get to work. She had been doing nothing but occasional sessions at Aristocrat’s studio since coming off tour. Natalie, on the other hand, had yet to commit. She had nothing going as far as work went at the moment, but she was living in Dallas with Mark, the former copilot who had recently filed for divorce from his wife of ten years, been promoted to pilot-in-command, and was on assignment there currently. She was reluctant to change her relationship with him from live-in to long distance.

“Is she going to make up her mind soon?” Jake asked Celia now as she worked on tuning her own guitar.

“She told me she would let me know by this weekend,” Celia replied.

“She’d better,” Jake said. “If she turns us down, we’re going to have to bust ass to audition and sign a new violinist.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?” asked Sharon, who was now trying to burp Kelvin but was causing a bit of a distraction because her boob was still out. “Now that you both are on the top of the charts?”

“No, it shouldn’t be hard to find a violinist,” Jake said, forcing his eyes away from the sight, “but I’d really prefer to work with someone that we’re familiar with.”

“Love makes people do odd things,” Celia said with a sigh. “Hopefully, she’ll see that her career would benefit greatly by playing for us.”

“Hopefully,” Jake said. He took one more quick peek at Sharon’s exposed breast and then settled his guitar in his lap. “Shall we do the sound check?”

Even though they were doing nothing but introducing tunes and working on the basic melodies, the Nerdlys still insisted on a complete sound check of all instruments. This took the better part of twenty minutes to accomplish. Once complete, they settled in to get to work. It was Celia’s day, so they worked on her tune Look at Me Now, which was slated to be one of the hard rockers on the next release. Jake liked the tune a lot. Though they were only playing it acoustically at this point, the melody was solid and would translate well to a distorted power riff. And the lyrics were a hard-hitting condemnation and mocking of those record executives, agents, and others who had declared Celia a has-been whose career was over back before the release of The Struggle.

They had the verses and the choruses down pat by this point but were still trying to work on an acceptable transition to and from the bridge section. Celia was in favor of putting a distorted guitar solo just in front of the bridge while Jake thought it would be better to put the bridge first and then lead it into the solo. Ultimately, since it was Celia’s song, she would have the final say, but the team had been playing together long enough now that she listened carefully to and considered all input from Jake, the Nerdlys, and even Laura, who was starting to offer more such contributions by the day.

They played around with Look (as they called it) for the better part of an hour before mutually deciding they had done all they could do for this session. Maybe, suggested Jake, they could start working up the melody into a distorted riff on the next session.

“Before we’ve settled where and how to play the bridge?” Laura asked.

“Sure,” Jake said. “Sometimes working up the riff inspires the way the bridge should go. And it always inspires the solo.”

“Maybe you and Teach could do a dueling solos exchange for this one,” Celia suggested.

“You mean like Mary and I did on Done With You?” Laura asked.

“Exactly!” Celia said. “Only a little tougher, a little more ... hard rockish.”

“It could work,” Jake said, pondering this. He smiled at his wife. “Think you can keep up with me?”

Laura seemed doubtful about this. “I’ve never done any ... you know ... heavy metal sax before. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It wouldn’t be heavy metal,” Nerdly told her. “Just the hard rock backbeat tempo. And I’m sure you can do it, Laura. You’re a master of your instrument.”

“The tone of the song is one of anger,” Celia said. “You just have to project that emotion into your phrasing. Tell me you’ll at least try it.”

“Okay,” Laura said, chewing her lip a little. “I’ll try it.”

“I knew I could count on you, Teach,” Celia told her, smiling. She then turned her attention back to everyone else. “All right then. Now that that’s settled, how about I play you all a new tune I’ve been working on?”

“Let’s hear it,” Jake said.

“Yeah,” said Sharon, who was rocking Kelvin at the soundboard now.

“Bring it on,” said Laura, who was sitting on the drum platform.

Celia brought her guitar up and strummed it a few times with her fingers fretting a G major chord. “It’s called It Never Happened,” she told them. “It’s kind of a ... you know ... a tragic love song.”

Jake raised his eyebrows a tad as he heard the title. It Never Happened? Had she really written a song called It Never Happened? And if she had, surely it wouldn’t be about ... about what they had agreed had never happened, would it?

She strummed her guitar a few more times and then start playing a melody. It was a sweet melody, a three-chord progression, but kind of sad as well. It was the sort of melody that was immediately appealing to the listener.

She began to sing. As she worked her way through the first verse, Jake’s suspicion that she was singing about their night spent in Portland started to increase. She sang about a winter night, about circumstances that drove two people into each other’s arms, about a burning inside, and about things that were not supposed to be. And then she came to the chorus:

As if it never happened.”

Jake felt himself flushing as she sang these words, felt guilt worming its way into his soul. He looked over at Laura, expecting to see her glaring at him in an accusatory manner. She was not, she was simply watching Celia play and sing, tapping her feet to the rhythm, nodding her head a little in appreciation of the music.

How can she not know what Celia is singing about? he wondered desperately. I can’t believe she is actually singing about ... about what we can’t talk about!

He looked over at the Nerdlys. Maybe Laura wasn’t picking up on what Celia was laying down—by some fucking miracle—but surely the Nerdlys would know what she was singing about. It was as plain as the nose on Jake’s face. But they did not seem to be doing anything but enjoying the show either. Nerdly was scratching something on a piece of paper—probably the notes of the primary melody. Sharon was still rocking Kelvin, now to the rhythm of the tune, while smiling at Celia.

Celia played out the second verse. It had to do with forbidden love, paths that intertwined but were not leading to the same place, powder kegs waiting for that one spark to set them exploding, that one spark that finally did land in the right place. And then she sang out the chorus again, her beautiful contralto voice relaying to everyone in the room that she and Jake had been overcome by passion one night in Portland and had fallen naked into bed. And everyone continued not to comprehend what she was telling them.

Her guitar jangled to a halt and her singing voice fell quiet.

“That’s about all I’ve worked up on it for now,” she told everyone. “There’s a bridge section that I’ve penned out, but I’m not quite sure how to fit it in just yet.”

Jake could only imagine what sort of sordid confession would be contained in the bridge. Maybe the naming of names? The description of sexual acts? Jesus fucking Christ!

“I like it,” Laura said brightly. “It seems like a sad song, a story of forbidden romance that’s doomed to failure.”

“That’s exactly the tone I was trying to set,” Celia said.

“There is definitely an emotional tug in the lyrics,” Sharon said. “I think it’s a keeper.”

“I enjoyed the composition as well,” said Nerdly. “How about you, Jake? What do you think of it?”

Jake swallowed slowly and looked from face to face. All were looking at him expectantly, even Celia. “Uh ... I like the melody,” he finally said. “It has good flow and rhythm to it.”

“What about the lyrics?” asked Laura. “Couldn’t you just feel the sadness and regret?”

“Uh ... yeah,” he said softly, casting his eyes to the floor. “Good lyrics too. A theme we can all relate to, right?”

“Yeah,” Laura said with a nod and an eye cast of her own. “I suppose we all can.”

They played around with the song a little longer, this time with Jake and then Laura playing out the melody on their instruments, trying to find what worked the best when they actually started playing it with a rhythm section and accompanying instruments. Celia sang out her lyrics over and over, verses and chorus. Jake kept expecting someone to suddenly realize what she was actually singing about, but no one did. He kept his face straight and did his job. Eventually, after what seemed forever, they moved on to another tune, this one an upbeat one called Nothing Matters but Love.

They broke for lunch just after 1:00 o’clock when the catering company delivered sandwiches and salads for them. Laura sat over by the Nerdlys so she could hold and cuddle little Kelvin and get her baby fix. Jake found himself sitting next to Celia on the edge of the drum platform.

“You seemed a little put off by my new tune,” Celia observed, her voice calm, cool, collected. “Did you really like it?”

“Yes, of course,” Jake said. “It’s a good tune.”

She took a sip of her Diet Pepsi. “It seemed like it made you uncomfortable though,” she said softly.

He looked at her, seeing her brown eyes looking directly at him, her face expressionless. “Maybe a little,” he offered.

“How come?”

He took a deep breath. “Sometimes there are lyrics that can strike a little close to home, you know?”

“Isn’t that what good lyrics are supposed to do?” she asked. “Bring emotions that are buried to the surface?”

“Maybe some emotions should stay buried,” he suggested. “Down below, where they can’t bite you, where other people can’t be hurt by them.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think certain emotions, certain events in our lives, need to have a relief valve to bring things to the surface. For me, my songs are that relief valve. For you as well, I think.”

“True,” he offered. “But what about those other people? The innocents? What if they get caught in the flash?”

She shrugged and gave him a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, standing up. “It’s just a song. It doesn’t actually relate to any real events. Not that anyone would ever know about anyway.”

“Do you really think so?”

She nodded. “I really do,” she said. “Maybe you should try to write about that sort of thing as well. I think you’d be really good at it.”

And before he could reply, she strode off, heading over to the Nerdlys to get a baby fix of her own.

Three hours later, two time zones to the east in the Chicago suburb of Joliet, the sun had gone down, and Greg Oldfellow was standing in the living room of an average, everyday suburban tract house. It was a postwar two-story on a quiet residential street on Joliet’s west side that was owned and occupied by an actual Chicago Police Department patrol sergeant. The displaced Sergeant Mackle, his wife, and their three children were now being paid quite handsomely by the movie studio for the one-month rental of their domicile so it could be used for filming the domestic scenes of Us and Them in a realistic setting. In addition to the rent, the Mackles were being housed in first-class accommodations in the same five-star hotel where the studio staff and the actors were staying. Mrs. Mackle, who worked as a commercial real estate agent, and the Mackle children, all of whom were enrolled in public schools of the Joliet School District, were all being taken to and from their daily obligations by a studio-funded limousine service. And as if that were not enough, the good sergeant himself was being used as one of the project’s technical advisers and his time off from work for this duty was being compensated as well.