“That is seriously what I’m telling you,” Jake said. “We’re recording Celia Valdez’s new album at the same time as Matt’s. Coop and Charlie, I’m sure you are aware, are Celia’s rhythm section. Nerdly is the sound engineer for both projects. I am the producer for both projects. We went to great lengths, as a matter of fact, to keep Matt and Charlie and Coop from even encountering each other in the studio. The one time we failed at this, Coop and Matt had to be physically separated to keep them from punching each other after Matt accused Coop of being the biggest sellout since ‘that Judas motherfucker sold out JC to the fuckin’ Romans’. There is no Intemperance reunion, Josh. I do not know how to make that any plainer.”
“Like I said, Jake,” Flag said, “I understand the need to keep this thing quiet. We’re on board with that and will keep it quiet until you authorize release of the information.”
“There is no information to release,” Jake said. “We’re working on a Matt Tisdale solo album and a Celia Valdez solo album. When we have masters in hand, we will then submit copies to you and enter into negotiations for MD&P at that time. You know? The usual way we do business?”
“Okay,” Flag said with a sigh. “I’m picking up what you’re laying down. No admission of new Intemperance material at this time. Just give us the courtesy of first refusal once you have the master in hand. We are fully prepared to pay National whatever they ask for performance rights.”
“I’m hanging up now, Josh,” Jake said, exasperated. “We’ll call you when we have the Tisdale and Valdez masters ready for your perusal.”
Flag started to say something else, but Jake stayed true to his word. He hung up the phone, cutting the connection mid-spiel.
“What was that all about?” asked Laura, who was flipping through channels on the television while Cadence suckled her breast.
“It was Flag from Aristocrat,” he said. “He wants in on the Intemperance reunion.”
“Does he now?” she said with a little shake of the head. “Even though there is no such reunion?”
“It was like I was talking to one of those religious nuts,” Jake said. “He would not be convinced that the reunion doesn’t exist.”
“Hopefully he won’t be too disappointed to negotiate with you when you present the masters for Matt and Celia,” she said.
“Hopefully,” Jake said sourly. “Thanks for giving me one more thing to worry about.”
“Any time,” she said lightly. “Now go take your nap. If I can get little Miss Caydee down after she eats, I might just join you.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, interested.
“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “We know the equipment is functional again. We should probably put it to use.”
“I like the way you think,” he said. He turned toward the bedroom. He did not make it two steps before the phone began to ring again. “Fuck me,” he muttered, snatching it up. “Yes?” he said impatiently into the mouthpiece.
“Jake!” said another familiar, weasel-like voice. “Steve Crow over at National Records here. I heard you were back in town for a bit. How the hell you doing, brother?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jake said, shaking his head and preparing to go through another round of denials.
Dr. Michaels was quite pleased with Caydee’s growth and development since her two-day appointment back in early December. She was following her growth and weight chart in the eightieth percentile, having put on nearly three pounds from her birth weight of seven pounds eight ounces and growing an inch and half in length from her birth length of nineteen and a half inches. She still was not able to hold her head up independently, but this was a two-to-three-month milestone and not unexpected. She had no vaccinations due on this visit. At her two-month appointment she would get the first batch.
“She has more air miles in her first month of life than I’ve accumulated all year,” the doctor told them when he heard about their travels.
“At least she won’t be afraid to fly later in life,” Laura observed.
Michaels sent them forth with his blessing and told them to make another appointment for approximately one month from now. They stopped at the desk and did so before leaving. From there, they went up one floor and down another hall, arriving at Dr. Niven’s office just in time for Laura’s one-month postpartum check. There, they reluctantly admitted to fudging on the six-week moratorium regarding vaginal sexual activity.
“Only four weeks?” Niven said, a strong air of disapproval in her tone. “Was there any pain? Any bleeding?”
“No,” Laura said. “It was actually quite ... uh ... you know ... enjoyable, to tell the truth.”
“Well ... I suppose that’s okay then,” the doc said reluctantly. “Are you starting your birth control pills again? Remember what I told you about the effectiveness of lactation as a birth control measure?”
“I remember,” Laura said. “And I released the hold on them the day after the first time we ... you know ... did it. I’m a week in now.”
“Keep in mind that you will not be safe from pregnancy for another three weeks or so,” Niven told her. “If you insist on engaging in sexual activity, I suggest you utilize condoms until that time.”
“Uh ... right, of course,” Jake said, having no intention of actually doing that. He had not put a condom on his schlong in nearly six years now and he had no intention of slapping one on now. If the universe wanted them to have another baby that badly, so be it.
Niven did not do an internal exam on this visit, but she did look at Laura’s breasts, feeling them carefully and looking for signs of mastitis or other lactation issues. She expressed a little milk from each nipple to see how the flow was going and then wiped it up with a small towel. She pronounced Laura’s mammary glands a healthy set and then she and Laura spent about ten minutes discussing things like vaginal discharge and hormones and postpartum depression. These were not particularly fascinating subjects of conversation for Jake. He liked it better when the attractive female doctor was squeezing his wife’s boobs—even if she was doing it with latex gloves on.
Finally, Laura was pronounced fit and fine and they were allowed to leave. Unlike Caydee, Laura would not need another checkup next month. She was good for another six. After that, she would only need the yearly visits unless she became pregnant again or had some gynecological issue that needed to be addressed.
From the medical office building, they drove back home. Elsa had made a mid-afternoon meal for them. While they ate, she doted over “Miss Cadence” (as she called her), spending most of her time holding her and talking to her.
“Do you still plan to meet with that nurse’s sister regarding the nanny position?” Elsa asked them.
“We do,” Laura replied. “We don’t know if we’ll like her or not, but she has a great reference.”
“Will the position be live-in?” Elsa asked.
“Yes,” Jake said, “but don’t worry. We’ll give her one of the guest bedrooms to stay in. We would never ask you to have the nanny live in your quarters.”
“I would think that would go without saying,” Elsa said huffily, “but that was not my concern.”
“Oh?” Jake asked.
“Yes,” she said simply. “My concern is for your privacy. I trust you would have any nanny hired sign and thoroughly understand a strict nondisclosure agreement?”
“Well ... of course,” Jake said, wondering where she was going with this. “I mean, I even had you sign one of those.”
“And I have abided by it to the letter,” she said. “But my point is that things have become a bit more ... shall we say ... controversial in your lives since I was hired. The potential gossip that such an employee would be privy to has become much juicier.”