The Citation landed at Logan International Airport on October 12th after flying there from Montpellier. Their first of three shows would be tomorrow night. After that, there would be a one-day break and then a show in Providence (the Brainwash crew had been given tickets for that one), a show in Albany, and then it was onto New York City for a two-day break followed by three consecutive shows at Madison Square Garden. Celia was very much looking forward to New York City. Jake and Laura were meeting her there for a little reunion. It was about time. While the rest of the band (except Little Stevie and Liz, who had each other) made frequent use of the request system to satisfy their sexual urges, Celia had remained faithful, as promised. But she had grown tired of paddling her pink canoe back in Chicago. Not that that stopped her from doing it almost nightly.
A limousine took her and the band from Logan to the Hilton Harbor Hotel on the waterfront. They checked into their rooms shortly after three o’clock. Celia tossed her travel case at the foot of the bed. She never bothered to unpack anything, even if they were staying for four days as they were here in Boston, because it was too much of a pain in the ass to repack. Her plan was to lay down and take a nap—you were always tired on the road—and then get up around six or so and have room service bring up something for dinner. She would have them include a nice bottle of wine with it and then she would change into her sweatpants and sit on the couch watching mindless television. It was a good plan.
She took off her shoes and socks and then her jeans and laid them down on top of the suitcase. She reached into her shirt and unsnapped her bra and then did that maneuver that women do to pull the bra off without removing the shirt. She dropped the bra on top of the pants. Now, she just needed to pee and it was naptime.
She walked to the bathroom, lifted up the lid on the toilet, and then pushed her white panties down and sat on the toilet. As she started to pee, she looked down and saw that the crotch of her panties were stained with streaks of blood.
“Madre de Dios,” she muttered, frustrated. “Not again.”
It was not a huge amount of blood, just spotting really, but it was unmistakable. This was the second time this had happened in the last month or so. It was not her period. She was still taking her birth control pills out on the road—she always had, just to stay in the rhythm—so her period was very predictable. It generally started the day after she started taking the white pills in the monthly case instead of the pink ones. But she had finished the white pills and gone back to the next set of twenty-four pink ones nearly six days ago. And she had not bled while taking the white ones last time. That was rare but not unheard of in her experience, so she had not thought too much about it. The first time she had the bleeding she attributed it to road stress. That was probably what it was this time as well, but she was starting to wonder if she should call her gynecologist and discuss the issue.
She decided that she would put that off for now. After all, it was after business hours in Los Angeles now and she did not think a little spotting warranted an emergency phone call.
She finished up her pee and then wiped herself very thoroughly. She then went back to her suitcase and opened it. Inside was a box of tampons. She pulled one out, returned to the bathroom, and installed it in the usual manner. She then washed her hands and went back to the bed. She laid down under the covers and was almost immediately asleep.
When she woke up two hours later, she went back to the bathroom. A quick check of the tampon showed only a very light amount of blood. She changed it and then went back into the living room to order her dinner.
By the time her steak and baked potato arrived, she had pretty much put the ordeal out of her mind. There was wine to drink and mindless TV to watch. She was a little bummed that she would not be able to paddle the pink canoe tonight though.
“Really?” Meghan asked, her eyes wide at what had just been suggested. “You want me to come to New York with you?”
“That’s right,” Laura said. “If you’re up for it. If you would rather not, we will pay you extra to take care of Caydee while we’re gone. We’d rather keep her with us though, but that’s up to you.”
They were in the entertainment room of the house. It was Thursday and Jake was in Santa Clarita working with V-tach for the day. With the new hours they had set, he would be home just after five o’clock. Caydee was down for her afternoon nap. Elsa was in the kitchen, working on dinner. It was her double-sauced meatloaf and homemade macaroni and cheese. Both of them were drinking glasses of chardonnay. Laura had introduced the nanny to the pleasure of good wine a few weeks before and Meghan had embraced the beverage.
“How would we get there?” Meghan asked. “Would we fly in your plane?”
“No,” Laura said. “We’ll fly commercial for a trip like this. First class, of course.”
“First class? Really? I’ve never flown first class before.”
“I should warn you that it’s really hard to go back to coach once you’ve flown first-class,” Laura told her. “And you would have your own suite at the hotel.”
“My own suite?” she asked.
“Well ... kind of,” Laura said. “You see ... uh ... Caydee would be staying in your suite with you at night.”
Understanding crossed Meghan’s face. “Ohhhh,” she said knowingly. “Because you and Jake and Celia ... uh...”
“That’s right,” Laura said. “You know how it is with the three of us. We would like to get ... you know ... reacquainted with each other while we’re there. Having you mind Caydee in your own suite would be helpful to that cause. We would take care of her during the day—kind of the opposite of your current schedule—and, of course, we would pay you overtime pay for every hour of the entire trip.”
“For every hour?” she asked.
“For every hour,” Laura confirmed. “Now, of course, you are not obligated to do this. If you say no, that’s fine. We will not hold it against you. And if you do not want to watch Caydee full time while we’re gone, that is fine as well. We will still pay you your normal rate for the days and we’ll just take Caydee with us and make do. After all, we did it in Glacier Park. We can do it in New York.”
“No no,” she said quickly. “I’ll do it. It sounds like fun. I’ve never been to New York before.”
“Awesome!” Laura said. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”
I bet you are, Meghan thought with a little smile.
The Matt Tisdale Faithless Tour of 1998, meanwhile, was working its way east to west along the northern part of the United States. Greg Gahn had once again been placed in charge of operations. Grinning weasel that he was, he was an excellent road manager. The Faithless and Living in Limbo tours had crossed each other in the Midwest but had never played in the same city at the same time. The closest they came to each other was when Matt and the boys were playing in Chicago on the same night that Celia and company were playing in Lansing, Michigan.
On the day that Celia was to perform in Albany, Matt and crew were in Seattle. Their show the night before had been in Spokane, Washington, and they had flown into the rainy city (which was living up to its name) in the afternoon. It was one of the scheduled nights off for the crew and the band so the first of three Seattle shows would be the next night. Matt and the boys celebrated their night of freedom by invading the hotel bar and pounding down the drinks while checking out the local gash. There was a good selection of women in the bar but none of them were Matt Tisdale fans. No one was able to hook up before the hotel’s head of security came and politely told the musicians and their paramedic that they needed to go up to their rooms because people were complaining about their behavior.