“That’s the allegation,” Jake agreed. “They got that from Suzie’s former copilot, Njord. He didn’t play well with others and told an elaborate story about Suzie and Celia to an entertainment reporter. The rest is history. The press has been running with it ever since and Njord got fired and will probably never fly passengers again.”
“A perfectly ridiculous story,” Greg scoffed. “I’m amazed that anyone actually takes it seriously. Celia having sex with another woman? Absurd! And then suggesting that Laura is sleeping with female groupies? Even more absurd!”
“Uh ... yeah,” Jake said slowly. “Absurd. That’s what it is.”
Greg did not pick up on the tone of Jake’s voice. That was a good thing. Jake did not want him to ask if the allegations were true or not because he did not want to have to lie to the man. Though he was a much better liar than his wife, it did not mean he did it lightly.
“How is Celia?” Greg asked next. “How is she coping with everything—the divorce, the rumors, the media coverage?”
“She’s doing okay,” Jake said. “She’s been able to throw herself into her work and channel all of the negativity into putting on her performances. It’s a gift she has. It keeps her from having to think too much about what happens next.”
“She was always good at that,” Greg said. He hesitated for a moment and then: “Any ... uh ... romantic interests that she has?”
“She does not share the details of her personal life with me,” Jake answered. “And I have not been out on the road with her much. But, as far as I can determine, there has been no new man in her life since you.” Don’t ask about women in her life though, he thought.
Greg did not. He had already made his opinion on that matter clear. He nodded, trying to look somber but actually sending off a happy vibe that Jake was easily able to pick up. “I am so sorry that I screwed things up with her,” he said. “I told her that in person when we met for the divorce agreement, but if you wouldn’t mind just reiterating it to her the next time you see her?”
“I will,” Jake promised. “And she knows that you’re sorry. She’s sorry too.”
Elsa fed them her famous chicken parmesan, angel hair pasta, and a tossed green salad. They washed it down with a bottle of high-end chianti imported from Italy. They ate ravenously and then retired to the deck to watch the sunset while sipping scotch and smoking Cuban cigars. None of them had watched the television or paid any attention to the news since Jake and Greg had arrived, but Laura had informed them that as of 6:00 PM, when they had arrived from the airport, the biggest questions being asked were: Is Mindy going ahead with the induction despite being condemned as a bad mother? And just where had Greg Oldfellow gone and what was he doing? His trail had grown cold in the vicinity of Burbank Airport. Had he perhaps flown from there to somewhere else? And, if so, where?
Just past nine-thirty, as they were all back in the house and enjoying more scotch, the telephone began to ring. Elsa had already finished her nightly cleanup and had retired to her guest house, so Jake checked the little caller ID box and, seeing that it was Pauline’s number, picked up the phone.
“Hey, Paulie,” he said into it. “What’s up?”
“Have you been watching the news?” she asked him.
“Not since I left the studio,” he said.
“Why don’t you let me talk to Greg for a minute?”
“Uh ... sure,” he said softly. “Is it bad news?”
“That depends on one’s perspective,” she said. “It is not unexpected news, however.”
“Uh ... okay,” he said. He turned to the actor. “It’s Pauline. She wants to talk to you.”
“To me?” he asked, surprised.
“To you,” he confirmed, handing him the handset of the phone.
He took it hesitantly and then put it to his ear. “This is Greg.” He listened, his face souring a little. “She did? It was?” Another pause. “And this is official? Really? Grand? Seriously? Wow.” A shake of the head. “I see. Well ... I suppose that’s good to know. It doesn’t change anything, but I appreciate you letting me know. Okay ... I will. And you do the same. All right. Goodbye.”
He pushed the button to disconnect the handset. He then slowly handed it back to Jake.
“What was that all about?” Laura asked. “Did she have the baby?”
“She did,” Greg said. “Pauline says it was officially announced by Mindy’s agent ten minutes ago. She had a baby boy. Seven pounds, two ounces. Healthy in all respects. A routine induced delivery.”
“Wow,” Laura said. “I honestly didn’t think she would go through with the induction after all the negative media coverage of it.”
“You can’t steer Mindy off a course if she decides she wants to be on it,” Jake said.
“That is very true,” Greg agreed.
“Did she tell you if they know the name?” Laura asked.
“They do,” he said. “She named him Grand, no middle name. She apparently made sure to specify that.”
“Grand?” Laura asked.
“Yes,” Greg said sourly. “Grand Oldfellow.”
They paused and let that sink in for a minute.
“I knew she’d give him a fucked-up name,” Jake finally said.
Pictures of Grand Oldfellow were printed in the LA Times on Sunday morning, the shots released by Georgette, Mindy’s agent, who had reportedly been by her side during the labor, the delivery, and the immediate postpartum period. He looked like a typical baby that had been delivered vaginally, his head somewhat misshapen from having been squeezed through the birth canal, a blue hat on his head, no particular expression on his face. He was neither beautiful nor ugly at this point in his life, though it was plain to see that he shared Greg’s nose and Mindy’s cheeks. There were no pictures of Mindy and no quotes from Mindy other than that she would just like to be left alone to care for her child in privacy. As if that was going to happen.
Speculation remained rampant about just what had happened to Grand’s biological father. Though it was well-established by this point that Greg had no intention of being a part of the child’s life, this did not prevent the various reporters from accusing him of being a bad father. He had not been there for the birth! He had not even offered her congratulations! He was not returning any of their calls or reporting his whereabouts so they could harass him! In their eyes, this last was particularly unacceptable behavior.
About an hour after reading the copy of the Sunday Times that Jake had arranged to have delivered to the mailbox at the front gate of his property—Elsa enjoyed making the hike down each morning to collect it—Jake, Laura and Greg climbed into Jake’s car and made the drive to SLO Regional. It was time to get Greg to Coos Bay. Obie offered to let him stay in his house while he was there—he and Pauline and Tabby were currently staying in LA—and Greg took him up on it, though he did plan to start scoping out a house of his own while he was there.
They lifted off and Jake climbed to his assigned altitude of 34,000 feet. It only took two hours and ten minutes from wheels up to touchdown—more than one hour faster than he could have done it in the Chancellor. Marcie Scanlon, who could be spared from recording duties today because they were still working on the rhythm tracks, picked them up in the van that KVA had purchased for transportation in Oregon.
“Oh my God!” she gushed when she saw who was with Jake and Laura. “Greg Oldfellow!”
“That’s right,” Greg said with a sigh.
“It’s really you! Oh my God! I knew that Jake knows you, but I never thought I would get to meet you!”
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Greg said, though he sounded anything but pleased. “Jake has told me a lot about you. And, of course, I really enjoy your music.”