Chapter 22: The New Life

Coos Bay, Oregon

December 29, 1997

Cadence Elizabeth Kingsley—who was four weeks and one day old on this day and was now routinely called Caydee by her parents and almost everyone else who knew her—lay contentedly in her father’s arms as he sat before a mixing board in the main room of Blake Studios Studio A. She was dressed in a warm, fuzzy green onesie and had a red pull-down cap covering the top of her head and her ears to combat the perpetual chill of the studio. Her gray-green eyes looked up at his face and she enjoyed the gentle, almost subconscious rocking he was imparting to her as he listened to the tracks playing through his headset. Jake had turned the external speaker on the board up a bit, allowing her to hear what was playing in the headsets. They had found that she tended not to cry or fuss much if there was music—any kind of music, even Matt’s heavy metal sound—playing.

Matt sat to Jake’s right, a pair of cans on his own head. Rory, one of the studio techs assigned to Project Tisdale, sat on Jake’s left, his hands hovering over the switches and dials. Inside one of the isolation rooms, on the other side of a thick pane of soundproof glass, Corban Slate, Matt’s rhythm guitarist, sat on a stool, his Brogan Troposphere electric guitar in his hands. He was strumming out an overdub of the chorus for Matt’s title cut, Faithless, a clean strumming designed to help enhance the string-strike sound of the measure. They had been working on this for most of the afternoon and, since the Nerdlys were in the other studio working on Celia’s overdubs today, they had actually been progressing fairly well. But there was still something not quite right about what they were hearing.

Jake took his left hand off Caydee for a moment and made a throat cutting gesture to Rory. Rory reached down and pushed the master stop button on the board, instantly halting all the prerecorded tracks of the piece, leaving only the sound of Corban’s guitar. Once Corban heard this, he stopped his playing as well. He looked at them through the glass, a questioning look on his face. What did I fuck up this time? that face enquired.

Jake pushed the intercom button before him and spoke into the microphone. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Corban,” he told him. “I’m just not liking the way this is playing out. Hang for a few while we talk it over.”

Corban nodded his understanding.

“What did he fuck up?” Matt asked. “It sounded okay to me.”

“No fuck up,” Jake said, making no effort to watch his language or police the language of others in front of his daughter. He and Laura had pretty much decided that Caydee might as well get used to the world she lived in and the family she was being brought up in from the outset. And the word “fuck” was an integral part of that world and that family.

“Then what’s the deal?” Matt asked.

“Like I said, I just don’t like the way it’s playing out. The notes are too subtle. The listener won’t even be able to hear a difference unless Corban goes a little stronger on them. But if he does that, it will become too obvious that there are two instruments playing in unison.”

“Then what’s the point of doing it at all?” Matt asked. Though he had come a long way since the last Intemperance album and his Next Phase fiasco, he was still a staunch conservative when it came to overdubs.

“The chorus melodies will sound a little flat if we don’t get those string strikes in there,” Jake explained. “The tune would work without them, but not as well as with them.”

“What’s the fuckin’ answer then?” Matt asked, a hint of impatience in his voice, but controlled impatience.

Jake looked over at Corban for a moment and then back at Matt. “I think the problem is that he is using the same instrument he used on the basic track. It doesn’t sound any different, so it just blends in over the top.”

“He needs to use a different guitar then?” Matt asked.

“That’s right,” Jake said. “Preferably an acoustic electric or even a miked standard acoustic. Remember when we did I Am Time? We wanted the string strikes to come through, so I did the basic melody with my Brogan and overdubbed the string strikes with my Fender. It came out sounding pretty fuckin’ sweet.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully. At the time, he had been vehemently opposed to that particular overdub, but these days he was on record as agreeing that it had worked well. “Yeah,” he said. “That did work there. You did the same thing on a few of your solo tunes too.”

“I did,” Jake agreed. “I used the technique on Can’t Keep Me Down, Breaking Down Fast, and Teach Me. I’ve used it on quite a few of Celia’s tunes too. It’s tried and true.”

“All right,” Matt said. “I guess we can try this shit.”

“Cool,” Jake said. “Does Corban have an acoustic?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I’ve never seen him with one. He sure as shit doesn’t have one here. He just has the Brogan and the Telecaster.”

“Hmm,” Jake said, giving an extra little motion to his rocking because Caydee was starting to fuss a little now that the music had stopped. He leaned forward and pushed the intercom button again. “Come on out for a few, Corban.”

Corban nodded and set down his guitar. He took off his cans and then walked to the door. A moment later he was in the room with them. “What’s up?” he asked.

As was his habit, Jake let Matt explain the issue at hand, thus preserving the illusion that Matt was actually in charge. It was an illusion that fooled no one—not even Matt—but that helped maintain the always fragile cease-fire.

“This overdub ain’t working with you playing the same guitar you used for the basic,” Matt said. “We think if you use an acoustic it’ll sound better.”

“Why would that make a difference?” Corban asked.

“An acoustic will produce a slightly different timbre than your Brogan played clean,” Jake said. “The subtle difference will make the string strikes stand out instead of being buried.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Corban said, “but I don’t have an acoustic.”

“You don’t have one at all?” Jake asked.

Corban shook his head. “Nope, not since I was in junior high and got my first electric.”

Jake nodded. That did explain a lot. Though Corban was quite excellent on the distorted electric, having him play clean notes on Faithless had been a struggle to some degree. Most guitar players and bassists—Matt was a notable exception—learned to play on an acoustic initially and would generally retain that skill to some degree, but lack of practice and focusing primarily on distorted chords did tend to sap that muscle memory over time and Corban had to relearn the technique once they entered the studio and Matt agreed to go with the clean notes on the piece. “I have one in the other studio,” he told Corban. “It’s my Ibanez acoustic electric and I’ve been using it for overdubs on a few of Celia’s tracks. Let me go grab it and we’ll see how you do with it.”

“All right,” Corban said doubtfully.

Jake took off his headphones and set them on the board. He then stood up and turned to Matt. “Here,” he said, holding out his daughter to the guitarist. “Hold Caydee for me while I go get it.”

Matt’s eyes widened and he actually recoiled a bit. “Hold it?” he asked.

“Hold her,” Jake corrected. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Matt shook his head. “I’m not into that kinda shit, dude,” he said.

“Holding a baby for two or three minutes is not some kind of shit,” Jake said. “Just take her. Hold her like I was. She’s not going to bite you. She doesn’t even have teeth.”

“What if she pisses or shits on me?” Matt asked.

“She has a diaper on,” Jake said patiently. “Trust me, Matt. You can do this.”

Reluctantly, Matt took the small bundle from Jake. He looked down at her for a moment and she looked up at him.

“Don’t hold her two feet away from you,” Jake said. “Put her against your chest and support her head with your arm.”

Gingerly, he did as requested. Caydee started to fuss a little.

“What’s wrong with her?” Matt demanded.

“She likes to be rocked,” Jake said. “Just sway back and forth a little. That soothes her.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Matt muttered, but he did as told. Caydee, who was used to a variety of people holding her quite frequently, immediately settled down.

“You see?” Jake said. “Just keep doing that. I’ll be right back.” With that, he turned and headed for the main studio door, letting the smirk he had been hiding come forth now that Matt could not see it.

Jake walked through the hall from one end of the building to another, passing the cafeteria and the main reception area on the way. He then punched in the code to enter the large door that guarded the entrance to Studio B. It opened and he walked into the main room. In here, Celia and the Nerdlys were sitting at the mixing board with Collette, the tech who had been assigned to Celia’s project. Inside one of the isolation rooms was Laura, who was apparently working on a retake of one of the saxophone tracks. Celia was the only one who looked up at his entrance.

“Hey, Jake,” she greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to grab my Ibanez,” he said. “We need it for one of the overdubs.”

“Oh, I see,” Celia said. “Where’s Caydee?”

Jake chuckled a little. “I have Matt holding her,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Matt? Holding Caydee? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“He’s not going to hurt her,” Jake said. “And the experience might even be good for him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I suppose,” she said doubtfully.

Jake opened the storage room and stepped inside. His candy-apple red Ibanez was hanging on a hook. He took it down and gave it strum. It was slightly out of tune since it had not been played since before the Christmas break. And it would also have to be sound checked. That was no big deal, however, since the Nerdlys were over here and would not be able to prolong the effort.

Jake saw that they were now between takes in the studio. He waved at Laura and blew her a kiss. She returned the gesture with a smile of affection. He then went back out the door and retraced his steps back to Studio A, where he found Matt still holding Caydee against his chest, rocking back and forth and looking down at her.

“How’s she doing?” Jake asked him.

“She’s just lying there looking at me,” he said. “If I stop this rocking shit, she starts getting mad and making noises and squirming.”

“Yep,” Jake said. “You just described Miss Cadence to a T.”

“Take her back now,” he said.

Jake chuckled again. “Sure,” he said. He handed the Ibanez to Corban and then took Caydee from Matt. Automatically he began rocking her. “It needs to be tuned a little,” Jake told the guitarist. “Go plug in and I’ll give you the reference.”

“Right,” said Corban, who was looking at the bulky Ibanez as if he had never seen such a thing. “This is a nice guitar.”

“It is,” Jake agreed. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Corban went back into the isolation booth and plugged in the guitar. Jake went over to a small electric piano that sat on a platform behind the mixing board. Matt had no piano or synthesizer in his music, of course, but they used the instrument daily as a reference for tuning the guitars. Jake powered it up and the tech flipped the switch that would allow its output to flow into the headphones. The tech gave a thumbs up to Jake. Jake then gave an enquiring look to Corban. Corban gave him a thumbs up. Jake nodded and began to rhythmically push the key two to the right of middle-C on the keyboard. This key produced the exact pitch that a properly tuned high E string on a guitar would make. Corban listened, made the adjustment on the tuning knob while striking the open string and then nodded. Jake then began to push the key that matched pitch with the B-string and then the G, the D, the A, and the low-E. The process went quickly and they were done in only two minutes.

“All right,” Jake said, walking back over to his seat and sitting down. “That went easily enough.”

“Let’s hope the rest of this shit does too,” Matt said.

And, of course, it did not. Corban made it through the sound check without issue, but when they asked him to start playing the melody they were actually interested in, his fretting and strumming were hesitant and coarse on the unfamiliar instrument. They kept having him do it over and over again on the theory that he would get better with repetition. He did get better, but not good enough for recording quality sound. And he flubbed a note or two almost every time. It seemed liked it was going to take a considerable amount of time before he was able to churn out three entire chorus repetitions perfectly.

“Maybe we just do without the fuckin’ string strikes,” Matt suggested forty-five minutes into the experiment.

“That’s one option,” Jake said slowly. “But maybe there’s another.”

“What other option?” Matt asked. “I could give it a shot but I’m not any better at playing acoustic than he is. Probably worse at it, truth be told.”

“I could do it,” Jake suggested.

“You?” Matt asked, surprised.

“Why not?” Jake asked. “I’ve been told I play a decent acoustic guitar a time or two. And that is my instrument. I’m familiar with it.”

“You want to play guitar on my CD?” Matt asked, just for clarity. “After all those fuckin’ rumors and reports about Intemperance getting back together because you and I are working together?”

Matt did have a point. The rumors were flying around the music and entertainment industry about an Intemperance reunion. They had never really had any hope of keeping the fact that they were working together secret. The entire town of Coos Bay knew that Jake Kingsley and Matt Tisdale were both in town at the same time. And the only reason they would both be in town at the same time was to use Blake Studios. Pauline and Matt had both vehemently denied that they were recording Intemperance material in the studio or that there were any plans for a reunion, but the media was not buying it. Eventually they had been forced to come clean and announce that Jake and Matt were, in fact, working on a project together, but that it was Matt’s latest solo effort and not an Intemperance CD. The media people dutifully reported this information, but it was clear they did not believe it. They continued to write stories and air gossip shows about a possible reunion of the infamous “death metal” group.

“It’s not like I’m really playing guitar for you,” Jake said, putting a little extra rock into his sway because Caydee was getting fussy again. “I’m just throwing down an overdub that no one will really even notice in the final product. And it’s not like I’m going to be taking credit for it on the CD insert. It’s just an efficient way to get something done.”

“None of that shit matters if the word gets out,” Matt said. “If someone hears that you played so much as a single note in this studio, that you even picked up a fuckin’ guitar at all, it’s just gonna add fuel to the fire and make those motherfuckers come sniffing around even harder.”

“That is true,” Jake said, nodding thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll just have to keep word from leaking out.” He turned to the technician. “Rory, if I step into that booth and strum out an overdub for Matt, are you going to tell anyone about it?”

“No way,” Rory said. “What happens in the studio stays in the studio.”

“I’m talking no one,” Jake said. “Not your girlfriend, not your preacher, not your mom.”

“Well,” Rory said, “I’m between girlfriends currently, I’m an atheist so I have no preacher, and my mom lives in Syracuse and I talk to her as little as I can get away with because she likes to lecture me about my choice of career. But, in answer to your question, no, I will tell no one. Not even Obie if you don’t want me to.”

“You can tell Obie,” Matt said. “He knows how to keep his fuckin’ mouth shut. For everyone else though, you take that shit to the fuckin’ grave.”

“To the grave,” Rory promised.

“All right then,” Matt said. “I guess we give this shit a shot.” He looked sharply at Caydee, who was now quite fussy and inconsolable in Jake’s arms and starting to make little hitching cries. “What the fuck’s the matter with that kid?”

“She’s hungry,” Jake said. By this point in the game, he knew the difference between the hungry cry and the soiled diaper cry and the I’m-just-going-to-prevent-Mom-and-Dad-from-sleeping cry.

“Fuckin’ feed her then,” Matt said.

Jake laughed. “I don’t have the right accessories for that,” he said. “Let me go run her back to Laura and then I’ll go in the booth.”

“Oh ... right,” Matt said, now looking at Caydee with a little envy. She got to suck on Jake’s old lady’s tits on a regular basis. “You go get the kid fed. I’ll pull Corban out of there and start setting up for you.”

“Right,” Jake said. He pulled off his headphones and left the studio again. He ducked into one of the smaller offices along the path. It had been assigned to the Kingsleys as a feeding and diaper changing station. Caydee’s big green diaper bag was sitting on the desk next to a changing pad. Jake laid the baby down on the pad and quickly unfastened her onesie. She squirmed and continued to cry as he did so, but he was now quite practiced at this maneuver. Holding her by the feet, he opened the sticky fasteners on the disposable diaper (“fuck the environment,” Jake was on record as saying when asked by one of the entertainment reporters if they were going to use reusable cloth diapers to help protect the environment) and opened it up. The diaper was wet but not soiled. He was glad. He wiped her down with a baby wipe (also disposable) from a large tub that sat next to the diaper bag. He pulled the wet diaper off, bundling it up with the baby wipe inside, and tossed it into the waste basket. He then pulled out another diaper and quickly installed it. Finally, he fastened the onesie back up and continued his trip to Studio B.

Laura was still in the isolation booth blowing her horn when he entered. He could not tell what tune they were working on because the output was only flowing through the headsets, but he knew from the morning briefing that they had been planning to do retakes for both The End of the Journey and When You’re Lonely today. Everyone was concentrating on their tasks and did not notice his entry until the sound of Caydee’s cries reached their ears. Celia turned and looked.

“Feeding time?” she asked. She was pretty well-versed in Caydee’s different cries as well.

“Yep,” Jake said. “Sorry. Gonna have to borrow those boobs for a little bit.”

“Understandable,” Celia said.

They finished up the take they were working on—this only took another thirty seconds before Nerdly heard something he did not like—and then Celia pushed the intercom button. “Come on out, Teach,” she said. “Someone needs a little snack.”

Laura nodded and took off her headset, setting it on the stool. She set her saxophone down on the floor and then came through the door and into the main room. She walked immediately over and took Cadence from Jake’s arms.

“Awww, is my little girl hungry again?” she asked in the high-pitched voice that women used when talking to babies. “Do you need some num-nums?”

“It would seem she does,” Jake said. “I just changed her on the way here, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said with a smile. She had bags under her eyes from sleep deprivation (so did Jake) but the smile lit up her face. She turned to Celia. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so hopefully.”

“Take your time,” Celia said. “I’ll have Eric come in and we’ll start working on those overdubs we have planned.”

“Sounds good,” Laura said. She turned back to Jake. “Can I bring her back to you after she’s fed?”

“If you can keep her with you that would work better,” Jake said. “I’m ... uh...” He lowered his voice to keep the tech from overhearing him. “I’m going in the booth to strum out a melody overdub for Matt.”

“Really?” she asked. “You and Matt, back together at last?”

“Very funny,” he said. “Are you cool keeping her for the rest of the day?”

“Sure,” Laura said. “C can hold her when I go back in the booth to finish up, can’t you C?”

“You know it,” Celia said with a smile of her own. She absolutely adored holding Caydee. “How did it go when Matt held her? Was it a life changing experience?”

“Matt held her?” Laura asked, amused at the thought. “How did that happen?”

“I had to come get my guitar out of the closet,” he said. “I really should have taken a picture of him and Caydee. It would’ve been good blackmail material.”

“You got that right,” Celia said.

“All right, all right, Little Miss Caydee,” Laura told the crying baby. “Let’s do this thing.”

“See you in a bit,” Celia said.

Laura gave Jake a kiss on the lips. It was not the normal peck of affection but a lingering, wet kiss that stopped just short of the tongue coming out.

“Mmmm,” Jake said, feeling a little thrill of lust sweeping through him. “What’s that for?”

“I think I’ll be up for a little fun and games tonight,” she said.

Jake nodded appreciably. They were still two weeks out from being able to resume traditional sexual relations, but there were other things they could do. “I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said.

“What about me?” Celia whispered quietly. “Got room for one more?”

Laura gave her a saucy smile. “I think we can accommodate you,” she whispered back. She looked at Jake. “Assuming that’s all right with you, sweetie?”

Jake gave his mock sigh of reluctant acceptance of an unpleasant task. “Yeah, I guess that will be okay,” he said with a mock roll of the eyes.

With that, Laura and Caydee headed for the empty office. Celia gave Jake a last smile and returned to the mixing board. Jake, feeling the pleasant glow of sexual anticipation, went back to Studio A. He did not feel as tired all of a sudden.

Since they were primarily working on retakes and overdubs by this point, it was not necessary for the entire band to go to the studio each day, just those who would be working on something. As such, only Celia, Jake, Laura, and Eric had gone in on this day. Tomorrow it would be Celia, Jake, Eric, and Liz, giving Laura and Caydee a day off. Coop, Charlie, and Little Stevie had all been sent back to their respective homes since all of the guitar, bass, and drum tracks had been laid down. There was usually no need for bass or drum overdubs and, while there were lots of guitar overdubs to be done, Jake and/or Celia were both quite capable of doing them themselves.

While Matt and his band (and Jim the paramedic) climbed into the Suburban for the trip back to their rented house (so far there had been no further visits from the cops, but that was always a possibility when dealing with Matt) the members of Celia’s entourage climbed into the 1995 Ford Econoline van KVA owned just for such trips. Jake was behind the wheel while Laura and Caydee sat in the middle row. Celia sat next to Jake and Eric and the Nerdlys took the back seats. The drive back to the cliffside house was a short one, only ten minutes, and the sun was just setting as they pulled into the driveway.

Liz had cooked dinner for them since she had the day off. She had roasted a couple of whole chickens in the oven and served them with mashed potatoes, gravy, and steamed cauliflower. Everyone tore into the meal except Cadence, who had her own meal of fresh breast milk while everyone else except Liz did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. After feeding her daughter, Laura then handed the baby off to Jake and poured herself a glass of chilled chardonnay. Dr. Michaels, Caydee’s pediatrician, had told Laura that one glass of wine or one mixed drink per night would not be harmful to Caydee’s growth and development (but he advised strongly against any marijuana use while breastfeeding) so Laura made a point to have her allotment and thoroughly enjoy it.

“I’m going to get her changed into her jammies and see if she’ll sleep for a bit,” Jake said.

“Sounds good,” Laura said, settling down on the couch with her wine. “Let me give her a kiss before you go.”

Jake brought her over and Laura gave her a kiss right between her nose and her eye. She told her that mommy loved her. Cadence was not quite capable of a genuine smile just yet, but she managed to convey her contentment nonetheless.

Jake carried her to the master suite of the house. The suite had a huge walk-in closet and they had set up a bedroom for her in there. A portable crib sat in the middle of the walk space and a mobile of stars, planets, and musical notes hung directly over the top of it. There was a small dresser with her clothing and her diaper supplies in and on it. Jake put her down on the mattress and stripped her out of her onesie. He changed her diaper—this one was soiled liberally but it was the relatively inoffensive breast milk poop—and then dressed her in white footie pajamas that had the motto TREBLE MAKER on it above a graphic of a treble clef and a wavy line of musical notes (these PJs had been a gift from Celia). Through this all, Caydee looked up at her father in contentment, not fussing or fighting or crying. For the most part, she really was a good baby, much easier to take care of than they had any right to expect.

“Good night, little Caydee,” Jake whispered affectionately as he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Sleep tight and sleep long.” He knew, of course, that she would sleep tight, but it would not be long. On a good night she would stay down for three hours maximum before waking them up for changing and feeding.

He made sure she was firmly on her back and then covered her with a blanket and tucked it around her. He gave her one last kiss and then turned off the closet light, plunging the room into darkness. He left the closet, leaving the door open, and then left the suite, leaving that door open as well. They had no baby monitor for her since such devices were absurdly easy to illicitly monitor from several hundred yards away. They most certainly did not want some reporter using a scanner to overhear conversations and goings-on in the Kingsley bedroom.

Jake made his way back to the family room. Celia and Laura were sitting next to each other on the couch, both enjoying their glass of wine while Jeopardy played on the television set. The Nerdlys were on the computer, fiddling with their website and talking amongst themselves. This was just as well. The Nerdlys were persona non grata when it came to watching Jeopardy with others because they knew all the answers and would shout them out before anyone else had a chance. Eric had already retreated to his room for the night. Liz was out in the hot tub, relaxing with a glass of wine of her own. Everyone knew she was missing Little Stevie.

Jake mixed up a rum and coke at the bar and then carried it over to the recliner next to the couch. Jeopardy had just gone to commercial and Celia had muted the sound.

“Did Caydee go down okay?” Laura asked.

“Yep,” Jake said, reclining the chair and putting his feet up. “Just like that.”

“And you changed her, right?” she asked.

“Yes, I changed her,” he said patiently. “I’m a veteran now, remember?”

Laura giggled. “We both are at this point in the game,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s already been four weeks now. We have her one-month appointment next week! Can you believe that?”

“The time is flying,” Jake agreed. “I still remember that first day home with her.”

Laura laughed warmly. “Wasn’t that insane?” she asked. “Thank God Elsa was there. You too, C.”

“I will remember that day for the rest of my life,” Celia said with a laugh of her own.

Nothing terribly dramatic had happened on that first day home for little Caydee (they had started calling her Caydee while still in the hospital with her) it had just been a bit on the surreal side. Less than twenty-four hours after she emerged into the world, Dr. Niven and Dr. Michaels had told them to take her home. Take her home! By themselves! With no instruction manual or training classes! And they had done so, both of them feeling decidedly strange that the medical community was just letting them take this little life home to take care of. And then they arrived there and carried little Caydee inside the house in the carrier part of her car seat. And they sat her on the coffee table in the dining room. And they just stared at her, wondering what they were supposed to do next.

She was sleeping at the time, her little eyes closed, her respiration regular, her little body bundled up in swaddling blankets and her little hat on her head.

“What do we do now?” Jake asked. “Should we put her in her crib?”

“Maybe you should feed her, Teach,” Celia suggested.

“But she’s asleep,” Laura replied. “Dr. Michaels said there is no need to wake her up to feed her. She’ll let me know when she’s hungry.”

“Maybe her diaper needs to be changed,” Jake suggested.