Chapter 10A: Exposures

It was eleven o'clock the next morning when Mindy dropped Jake off in the usual place. As was the usual routine, they did not kiss or hug or show any sort of affection toward each other. They simply smiled, said their goodbyes, and parted company.

Jake was limping as he made his way back to his building. He was tired, having gotten less than two hours of broken sleep the night before. He and Mindy had spent the entire night naked in her bedroom, lustfully boffing each other's brains out. Her appetite for sex was incredible, something one had to experience to believe. She could scream out four, five, even six orgasms and still she wanted more. Jake's jaw was so stiff from eating her he could barely open it. He had fingernail scratches all over his back and buttocks. His lower back and groin muscles ached with a dull soreness that throbbed outward with each step he took. His penis was shriveled and raw, with abrasions in several places. It had done its duty well, performing all that was asked of it without faltering, ejaculating no less than six times in the past eighteen hours, but it was letting him know about it now.

In all, aches, pains, and abrasions aside, he had to note this down as a successful date. All he had been hoping for, after all, was to finally get his hand on Mindy's bare tit. At the same time, however, the sweet and wholesome image he had held of her had been altered a bit by the sixteen-hour sex marathon. But, all in all, it was not really a bad alteration. She was certainly better in bed — and on the floor, and in the shower, and in the tub, and over the sink — than he had been expecting when he'd started the relationship.

"Good morning, Mr. Kingsley," the doorman greeted as Jake came limping into the lobby. They no longer bothered enquiring where he'd been.

"Morning," Jake mumbled, going right past without slowing. As always, however, while he waited for the elevator to arrive he saw the doorman speaking into his phone, informing Manny that their wandering subject was home.

He rode up to his floor, limped down the hall, and then used his key to open the door to his condo. Manny was there to greet him, a worried expression on his face.

"Welcome home, sir," he said politely, sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose a little as he caught the unmistakable odor of Mindy's musk clinging to him. He had taken a shower before coming home but she had grabbed him as he'd come out of it, laying him down on the bathroom floor for one last ride.

Jake grunted an unintelligible response and closed the door behind him. As he stepped out of the entryway and into the living room he saw Shaver sitting on the couch, dressed in his usual tailored suit and sipping a Chivas on the rocks.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Jake asked Manny. "He's not welcome in this house. Is there anyone you won't let in?"

Manny chewed his lips nervously but before he could answer, Shaver did.

"Mr. Crow instructed him to let me in," he said. "There's something of importance I need to speak with you about, Jake."

"I have nothing to say to you, Shaver," Jake told him. "I thought we made that clear some time ago. You fucked us with your contract. You're raking in millions off of us while we're going deeper in the hole every day. I know we can't get rid of you, but we're done dealing with you."

"Jake..." Shaver said.

"If Crow or anyone else from National has anything to say to me, they can say it themselves. They already know that."

"This has to do with Mindy Snow," Shaver said.

Jake froze, feeling a burst of adrenaline go shooting through him at the mention of her name. What did they know? Obviously something. "What are you talking about?"

"Your girlfriend, Mindy Snow, the actress," Shaver said. "The story about you two is going to break in the next few days. Since I'm your agent, its me the reporters are going to be calling. Like it or not, Jake, you're going to have to deal with me on this."

Jake sighed, shaking his head. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and get four or five hours of sleep, but it looked like that wasn't in the cards just yet. "All right," he said. He looked at Manny. "Manny, fix me up a rum and coke, heavy on the rum, and bring me a pack of smokes and a lighter."

"Yes, sir," Manny said, almost skittering away.

Jake walked over to the easy chair and sat down. "All right, Shaver," he said. "Tell me what's going on."

"You were at Point Dume beach with Ms. Snow yesterday," Shaver said. "There was a photographer there as well. He used a high magnification telephoto lens and shot almost a dozen rolls of film of the two of you lying on the beach, holding hands, rubbing suntan oil on each other, and playing in the surf. The photographer has been identified as Paul Peterson, a well-known independent who specializes in celebrity shots."

"A paparazzi?" Jake asked.

"Correct. We have yet to hear who he will be selling the shots to, but the most likely is the American Watcher tabloid. They have the biggest budget for shots such as this and he has a long history with them."

This was all just a little too much for Jake to process at once. He decided to take things one at a time, starting with the most obvious question first. "How do you know about all this?" he asked.

"Steve Crow called me and told me," he said.

Jake resisted the urge to yell. "Okay," he said. "And how does Steve Crow know about all this?"

"I'm not really at liberty to say. The information is accurate, however. I have no doubt about..."

Jake leaned forward, his eyes burning into Shaver. "How does he know?" he said, a hint of menace in his voice.

"Jake..."

"How?" Jake barked.

Shaver took a deep breath. "A private investigator in the employ of National Records was there on the beach watching the two of you," he finally said.

Jake shook his head in disgust. "A private investigator was following me?" he asked. Had he really thought that Doolittle was really going to let him live his own life? Had he really?

"Jake, I had nothing to do with that," Shaver said. "Had I been asked, I would have advised against it."

"Sure you would've," Jake said. "How long has this asshole been following me?"

"Ever since you met with Mr. Doolittle about which songs you would be recording."

"So they've followed Mindy and I everywhere we've been since our second date?"

"They know everything, Jake," Shaver confirmed. "They know she picks you up three blocks from here and you usually drive to her house. They know you drove up to her house once, that you drove around the rural part of the county on another occasion and had dinner in a restaurant together, and they know you went to the beach and then spent the night at her house last night."

"Those fucks," Jake said, enraged.

"Here," Shaver said, whipping out his little silver case. "Let me set you up a couple of lines. That way you'll be able to..."

"I don't want any of your blow, Shaver," Jake told him.

He seemed hurt but he put his case away. "Look, Jake. All they're trying to do is protect you. They've invested a lot of money in you and they just want to know that you're not putting yourself in any danger — physical danger or professional danger. And you have to know that this relationship you're in with Mindy Snow certainly falls into the professional danger category."

"Professional danger?"

"The relationship is bad for both of you. Your images are incompatible. It would be bad for her for it to be known she was seeing a rock musician and it would be bad for you for it to be known you're seeing a... well... a character actor known for family values roles."

"I'm not going to stop seeing Mindy because National Records doesn't like what it does to my image," Jake said. "Nor does their concern for all of this give them the right to send detectives after me." He shook his head in anger. "That fucker followed us everywhere?"

"Everywhere," Shaver confirmed again. "But you're missing the point. What we need to do is start worrying about damage control."

Jake wasn't listening. "How in the hell did this snooping fuck even know..." He stopped mid-question as Manny came into the room, carrying Jake's drink, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a crystal ashtray.

"How did he know what?" Shaver asked, ignoring Manny as he set his bounty down before Jake — at least until he noticed Jake glaring at the manservant in a knowing way.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Manny asked, catching the glare as well.

"No," Jake said. "Nothing at all."

"Will there be anything else?"

"No," Jake told him. "Go find something to do."

"How about you, Mr. Shaver?" Manny asked. "Can I refresh your..."

"He won't be staying long," Jake interrupted. "Go find something to do."

"Of course, sir," Manny said. He bid a hasty retreat.

"What were you going to ask, Jake?" Shaver enquired once he was gone.

"Nothing," Jake said. "Don't worry about it."

Shaver nodded. "Okay then," he said. "Let's talk damage control. My suggestion is that when the press calls to ask about this we simply tell them that you and Ms. Snow are nothing more than friends. You met initially at her movie premier, correct?"

"Yes," Jake said.

"You decided to get together and go to the beach after that," Shaver said. "My understanding is that there are no... well... compromising pictures. About the worst they have are the shots of you holding hands and rubbing oil on each other. That's something that two people who are friends would conceivably do, right? Of course, we should touch bases with Ms. Snow's agent and let her know the pictures are coming out as well. That way, we can coordinate the story so it matches. I can't imagine Ms. Snow's people will have any problem with the denial."

"Right," Jake said. "Sounds good. Do it."

Shaver seemed surprised. He had obviously been expecting some sort of a fight over this. "Really?"

"Really," Jake said. "I'm sure you're an expert in this sort of thing. I don't give a shit if the whole world knows I'm dating Mindy, but I don't want to hurt her career. But don't contact her or her agent until I get a chance to talk to her."

"When will you do that?" Shaver asked.

"As soon as she gets home. That should be in about forty minutes or so."

"Uh... okay," Shaver said. "Can I wait with you until..."

"No," Jake said. "I don't want to look at your lying, cheating face any more than I have to. I'll call you at your office."

Shaver looked like he wanted to say something but decided not to. Instead, he simply said, "Okay, I'll do that."

"One other thing, before you go," Jake said.

"What's that?"

"How did that paparazzi prick know we were going to be at that beach?"

"We don't know," Shaver said. "You can be sure that nobody at National tipped him off. They were horrified when they heard about these photos. I suppose its possible that it was nothing more than bad luck. You know? That he just coincidentally happened to be there for reasons of his own and saw you with Mindy."

Jake shook his head. "No way. That's an isolated beach out in the middle of nowhere. The only way he could've just happened to be there at the same time we were was for someone to have told him we were going to be there. Now who might've done that?"

Shaver shrugged. "I see where you're coming from, but who would have the motivation to do that? It doesn't make sense."

"No," Jake said. "It doesn't. But someone called him up and tipped him off. Someone wanted pictures of us together."

But as hard as they stretched their imaginations, neither could think of a single person who had anything to gain by having the relationship go public.

Shaver left — or was rather ejected from the premises. Jake sat and finished his drink. It was the first alcohol he'd had in two days and it imparted his body with a slight buzz. He stood up, taking his empty glass, and walked into the kitchen, where Manny was chopping up onions.

"What you making, Manny?" Jake asked him.

"Chicken Bourgeois," he said, over-pronouncing the French. "It's a casserole with..."

"Cool," Jake said, setting his empty glass down next to the cutting board. "How about you fire me up with another drink?"

"Uh... sure," Manny said, a funny look on his face. Generally if Jake came in and found him busy with something he would make his own drink, or fetch his own cigarettes, or do whatever other minor task he wished done. "As you wish."

"And hang out in the living room when you're done," Jake told him. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yes, sir," Manny said, the funny look turning to a slightly troubled one.

Jake left him and went into the office. Here, in addition to a desk, a filing cabinet, a phone, and a water cooler, was a wall safe. He dialed the combination from memory — a number that Manny knew as well — and opened it. Inside was half an ounce of premium marijuana, a few pill bottles with things such as Valium and morphine and codeine in them (items that Jake never bothered with), and a gold plated case that contained several grams of cocaine and all of the paraphernalia for ingesting it. He took the case down and set it on the desk.

He sat down in the chair and opened the case up. He didn't use cocaine very much now that he was off tour. Realizing how dangerous the stuff was, how he had come to rely on it to get him awake in the mornings and to get him into the mood for the nightly festivities, he had made a conscious and successful effort to slow way down on the white powder. These days he used it maybe once a week, sometimes less, imbibing only when he was going out to a club or when he was having a party. But he needed some now to fortify himself for his coming discussion with Manny.

He dumped out two small lines on the mirror, crushed them up into a fine powder, and then snorted them with the gold plated straw that was part of the kit. He sniffed a few times and then closed up the kit and put it away. By the time he was done with this task he could feel the drug surging through his system. Though not quite as good as Shaver's Bolivian flake, it was still, as the saying went, some pretty good shit, lovingly produced in the illicit warehouses of Columbia, smuggled across the border in shipping containers, and delivered to Jake's safe completely uncut. His aches and pains faded away like an afterimage, his fatigue disappeared and was replaced by elation and energy, and his heart rate, which had been chugging along at a sedate seventy-two beats per minute, kicked up to a hundred and twenty. He felt good, like he could take on the world, which was the proper frame of mind for what needed to be done.

He found Manny sitting on the couch expectantly, as ordered. His fresh drink sat next to the ashtray. Jake sat down and lit a smoke, taking a few deep drags. He then turned to Manny and stared at him.

Manny grew nervous under his gaze, as was the intent. "What's the matter, sir?" he asked. "You seem... uh... upset."

Jake took a sip from his drink and another drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke directly in Manny's face and then set the smoke in the ashtray. "You tapped my phone for them, didn't you?" he asked.

Manny managed to look appalled by this accusation. "Excuse me, sir?" he asked. "Tapped your phone? I would never do anything like that."

"Then how did the snooping little fuck they hired to follow me around know when and where Mindy would be picking me up? How did he just happen to be there when I climbed in her car?"

"He probably staked you out," Manny said. "That's what people like that do."

Jake chuckled a little, though it was far from a friendly chuckle. "You just made your first mistake in the interrogation, Manny," he told him. "You should've asked what sneaking fuck I was talking about, shouldn't you have? After all, you weren't in here for any of the conversation about him. So how do you even know about him unless the people who pay you told you about him?"

Manny blanched as this was pointed out to him. He did recover quickly though. "Mr. Shaver told me about it," he said.

"Uh huh," Jake said. "I believe that about as much as I believe in Santa Clause. But that's not my concern at the moment. My concern is the tap that has been placed on my phone. I want you to show me where it is and then to show me the tape recorder or whatever you're using that is capturing everything I say."

"Jake," Manny said. "You're being paranoid. I would never tap your phone."

"Well somebody has," Jake said. "I might be able to believe that the private eye was staking out my building to follow us when we leave — just maybe — but I can't buy that he just happened to have been in position yesterday when Mindy picked me up at the warehouse. Sorry, that ain't gonna fly. Someone told him that we planned to meet there and the only way that information could have gotten to him was for someone to have been listening in on our phone conversations. Now I know you didn't do something so amateurish as picking up the extension and listening in that way. I was sort of expecting that and listening for the click and it never came. That means there's a tap somewhere."

Manny shook his head. "I suppose its possible," he said. "But I didn't do it. Maybe the private investigator tapped the phone himself."

"Oh I have no doubt that he is the one who installed it," Jake said. "But he had to have been let in here by you, and you are the one who is listening to the tapes and reporting to him."

"Jake," he said. "He doesn't need me to do that. Surely you know that taps can be very sophisticated. He could be receiving radio transmissions of your conversations."

"He could be, but he's not," Jake said. "It would be expensive to do that and he would have to monitor the transmission twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to be sure he caught everything. Wouldn't it be a lot easier for them to use the sneaking little mole they already have in the residence to monitor tapes for them? I mean, what would it take you? A couple of hours a day?"

"I'm not a spy, Jake. I don't know how many times I have to..."

Jake stood up suddenly and grabbed Manny by the front of his shirt. He pulled him bodily to his feet, spun him around, and then slammed him into the nearest wall hard enough to knock two pictures to the floor. Manny's expression registered shocked surprise and the first hints of fear.

"What are you doing?" Manny yelled. "You can't..."

Jake pulled him back and then slammed him into the wall again, harder this time. Another picture went down, the glass in the frame shattering on impact. "I can and I am," Jake yelled at him. "You're going to take me to that fucking tap right now or I'm going to beat the living shit out of you. You want a few scars on that pretty face of yours? I can give them to you."

"I'll call the cops!" Manny threatened, a little breathlessly since the wind had been driven from his lungs. "They'll arrest you!"

"Maybe," Jake said. "And then what? National will put one of their high priced lawyers on the case and get me off. After all, I'm someone who makes millions of dollars for them, ain't I? What do you do for them? You spy on me and stew fucking rabbits for me. You don't make them any money. Anyone could do what you're doing. You are a replaceable asset. And the way the high priced lawyer will get me off is by finding out every sordid thing you've ever done and bringing it out in open court. The media will be all over the case since I'm a celebrity. They'll expose you for the flaming faggot you are and any hope you ever had of being an actor will be destroyed. So go ahead and call the fucking cops. But first, you're going to tell me where that goddamned phone tap is!"