“Thank you!” she said. “Wow. So ... that’s where you’ve been all this time they’ve been wondering what happened to you? Hanging out with Jake and Teach?”
“That’s where he has been,” Jake said. “And we would really like to keep that to ourselves for the time being.”
“Oh ... of course,” she said.
“I don’t really expect that you won’t tell Jim about this,” Jake said. “But we would prefer you don’t mention it to anyone else. And when you do tell Jim, please make sure he understands the need for discretion.”
“I will,” she promised.
Jake instructed Marcie how to get to Obie’s house. They dropped Greg off in front and he went in. The servants had been told to expect him.
“He seems nice,” Marcie commented as they drove away, heading back to the studio.
“He’s just an ordinary guy,” Jake said. He considered these words for a moment and then shook his head. “Scratch that. He’s actually a pompous ass completely out of touch with the common people. But, for all that, he is a nice guy. And he’s in a bad place these days.”
“I know,” she said. “Imagine, not being able to be a part of your own child’s life.”
“Yeah ... I suppose,” Jake allowed.
Once at the studio, Jake turned all business. He immediately pulled Nerdly off of the soundboard and into a private office (very much over Nerdly’s protests. He did not want a single note put down on the hard drive without his personal approval of it). He then asked for a report on their progress so far.
“We are proceeding a little more slowly than expected and over budget,” was the summary.
“What’s the issue?” Jake asked.
“The issue is you,” Nerdly informed him.
“What do you mean?”
“None of us quite realized the depth of your contributions to the Brainwash recordings,” he said. “It is you who comes up with and suggests most of the fine-tuning of the melodies and the blends between melodies and bridges, intros and outros. You are the one who comes up with those subtle nuances that elevate the tunes from good to great. Jim, Marcie and Steph are trying to adapt your techniques, and they are getting better at it, but they simply do not have the experience and the instinct that you do when it comes to fine-tuning a recording.”
Jake was flattered by this news, but also worried. “Are you saying you’re not going to be able to put out a quality recording without me?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Nerdly said. “I’m sure that even without your input, we will produce an aesthetically pleasing master in the end and it will sell well. It’s just that it will not be as good as it could be without your regular contributions.”
“Hmm,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Well ... I can’t do too much about this. I’m committed to the TSF and I do not want to shortchange my efforts to put on a good show in September. Especially not since I’ve already lost two weeks so I could pick up my new plane. And especially not since Matt will be the headliner, playing right after me. I’ll be goddamned if I let that asshole show me up.”
“Oh yes,” Nerdly said. “I heard that Matt is now committed once again. Do you have any information about why he changed his mind?”
Jake shrugged. “None whatsoever,” he said. And this was true. Pauline had not mentioned anything to him about Matt’s compelling reason. He did not even suspect that Pauline might know what it was.
“Maybe he wants to show you up?” Nerdly suggested.
“Maybe,” Jake said. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. I’m just going to put on the best fuckin’ show I can throw together with what I have to work with.”
“That’s what you always do,” Nerdly said. “What we always do.”
“And we’ll do it here too,” Jake said. “I’ll make a point to come up here as much as I can and be involved in the process. Hell, with my new plane it only takes about two hours to fly up here. I can come up on the weekends and review what you’ve been doing, make suggestions.”
“I think that would behoove all of us,” Nerdly said.
Jake nodded. “I aim to behoove,” he said.
Jake and Laura got up at 4:30 AM on Monday morning. Jim Scanlon drove them to North Bend Municipal at 5:15 AM. Jake lifted off from Runway 04 at 6:01 AM, just one minute after the night restriction on outgoing flights was lifted. Nevertheless, the screeching, whining loudness of his plane woke up hundreds of people as he made his climb-out and turned to the south. The airport operations voicemail would record two dozen noise complaints before he was even at cruising altitude.
Laura slept almost the entire flight, nodding off around eleven thousand feet and not waking up again until the sound of the flaps lowering for final approach to Whiteman. They touched down at 8:33 AM and were at the studio at 8:55. Laura drove Jake’s truck to Grenada Hills to sleep some more and then to start getting her affairs in order for her upcoming trip to Europe. Jake put in a full day of rehearsal with his band. They made some good progress.
Mindy Snow and Grand Oldfellow returned to their home that same day. Paparazzi and videographers captured her trip from the hospital lobby into the limousine (with reporters commenting on how Mindy did not even look like a woman who had just given birth) and then news helicopters followed her home, broadcasting the entire trip live, including the zoom-in as the mother and son got out of the limo and walked into the house.
Greg Oldfellow’s whereabouts was still a mystery, still the subject of endless speculation. It was known, however, that he was scheduled to officially open his new golf course in Oregon on the morning of July 20th—one day before Mindy’s original due date.
The pap staked out the airport for two days before the 20th, but no one caught so much as a glimpse of him, though they did get some good shots of other celebrities and general rich people arriving in town for the grand opening. The media people were not allowed on the golf course property, but this did not stop them from mobbing the entrance starting at 5:30 AM. They filmed and snapped pictures of every vehicle that arrived for the opening but still never managed to capture Greg’s face since when he did actually arrive, he was in the back of a limo with tinted windows.
There were a gaggle of reporters who were allowed onto the course, but they were mostly sports-oriented, and all had been advised that the subject of Greg Oldfellow’s illegitimate child was off limits.
And so, when the time came, Greg simply appeared outside the clubhouse, dressed fashionably in a pair of expensive slacks, six-hundred-dollar golf shoes, and a polo shirt and hat with the name of the club prominently displayed. He gave a short speech about the club being a lifelong dream of his and then cut a ribbon with a large pair of scissors. He then joined the first foursome to play the course—himself and three of his top investors.
They took to the links and played for the next four hours. Greg beat all of his companions with a scratch 76, thus briefly allowing him to hold the record for the lowest score ever recorded on the course. The fact that his low score was beaten two hours later did not even matter. He was still entitled to having his name inscribed on a plaque above the bar, where it would be there forever.
In his opinion, it had been a good day.
Chapter 8: Blurring the Line
July 26, 1996
Oceano, California
Jake and Gordon Paladay—aka Bigg G—sat in the loungers out on Jake’s deck on the cliff, watching as the sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon. They had just smoked a joint of some pretty good Humboldt greenbud, passing it back and forth until it was gone, and were sipping from icy cold bottles of Lighthouse Ale from the Lighthouse Brewing Company in Coos Bay. A cooler next to Jake’s lounger contained ice and four more unopened bottles. Both men were dressed in shorts and simple t-shirts. They were feeling quite mellow, particularly Jake. It was Friday at last and this was his first indulgence of intoxicating substances in more than a week now.