“Assuming, of course, that Marcie and Jim trust your wife to watch their children,” said Nerdly matter-of-factly.
“Jenny would be awesome at the job!” Marcie said immediately. “She’s a wonderful mother! Germ, you’ve got to convince her to come with us. It would be perfect!”
“I’ll talk to her,” he promised, still trying to process everything.
“And what about you, Rick?” Jake asked. “You have kids too, right?”
“Right,” he said. “A ten year old and a thirteen your old.”
“And a wife?”
“Thirty-eight years old,” he confirmed. “And I don’t think she would be up for dragging herself and the kids across the country for three months. She’s a nurse at Providence General. It’s a good job that pays more than what I make.”
“Is this a deal breaker?” Jake asked.
“What? No! Not at all,” Rick said, shaking his head. “We’ll work it out. She’s used to having me away touring with the band most of the summer anyway. Her sister and her mom can watch the kids. Hell, maybe I can even fly them out for a few weeks. They’ve never been west of the Mississippi before. And if Jenny is there to babysit ... well ... I think they’d have a good time.”
“All right then,” Jake said. “It sounds like you all are seriously considering our deal?”
“We would have to look at the specific contract first,” Stephanie said, “and, you know, have that lawyer look it over, but...” She looked at the rest of the band. “What do you think, guys?”
“If everything is on the up and up,” Jim said, “I’m in.”
“Me too,” said Marcie.
“Sign me up,” said Jeremy.
“Me as well,” said Rick.
“Awesome,” Jake said, happily. “Pauline will draw up the contract before we fly out tomorrow and get copies of it to you all. Look it over, have that lawyer look it over, and then get back to Pauline as soon as you’ve made your decision.”
“What if we want to negotiate on something in the contract?” Jim asked.
“There is no negotiation,” Jake said. “We’re offering you a very fair contract. It’s a take it or leave it deal.”
“I see,” Jim said, somewhat taken aback.
Jake ignored his discomfort. “Now then,” he said. “It seems the business part of this meeting is now complete. Anyone up for a cocktail?”
It turned out that everyone was up for a cocktail.
Chapter 21: Red Skies at Night
Los Angeles International Airport
Los Angeles, California
March 17, 1994
It was 9:30 AM, twenty-four minutes after the big board reported that American Airlines Flight 612 from Sau Paulo had ARRIVED, when Jake first caught sight of her. He was sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs near the bottom of the escalators that led downward from the gates of Terminal 4 to the main concourse. A steady stream of arriving passengers from a variety of American Airlines flights had been making their way down those moving staircases ever since Jake had planted his butt there. Now, at last, he saw a familiar female figure with a head of hair a familiar shade of red at the top of the ride. Gathered around this familiar looking person were several other people who looked familiar as well—a group he had spent a week hanging out with and playing live music with five months before.
His eyes locked onto her, a smile coming to his face. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt with a picture of a chili pepper on it. Her hair was down and flowing across her shoulders. Even from a distance, Jake could see that she looked tired and haggard from her travels. Even so, she was beautiful, he loved her, and his heart was extremely happy to see her with his own two eyes.
He stood and made his way toward the bottom of the escalator. He waved his right hand at her as he approached. About halfway down, she spotted him and her face lit up. She waved back enthusiastically. The moment her feet stepped off the bottom step, she rushed to him, weaving in and out of other passengers and loved ones in the crowd until she slammed into him nearly hard enough to knock him down. They put their arms around each other and she began to cover his face with wet kisses.
“I missed you so much!” she told him, kissing his lips, his cheek, his ear. “It’s so good to finally be home!”
“I missed you too, hon,” he told her, relishing the feel of her body in his arms, not minding at all that she smelled of sour sweat and stale cigarette smoke (smoking on domestic flights was no longer allowed, but the ban had yet to be applied to long-haul international flights). He could not wait to get her back to the house and into bed. He was already springing a semi just from the thought.
By the time they broke their embrace—after one final, passionate mouth kiss that involved a bit of tongue play—the rest of the musicians had made their way over to the couple. Squiggle, Groove, Sally, Homer, and, of course, Z himself—all looking burned out and haggard to varying degrees themselves—each shook Jake’s hand and gave him warm greetings.
“How was the flight?” Jake asked.
“Fuckin’ long,” Homer said. “Thirteen goddamn hours in the air.”
“Yeah,” said Z, “but at least it led to home.”
“Damn right,” said Sally. “No show tonight, no show tomorrow, no show anytime in the near future. We’re back in the land of wanton waste and the twenty-four hour drive-through, where it’s reasonably safe to drink the tap water and eat from a roadside taco stand.”
“You got that shit right,” Z said, shaking his head with a painful grimace. “You ever had dysentery, Jake?”
“I never have,” Jake said.
“Take it from me and Sally,” Z told him. “Don’t try it just to see what it’s like. Especially not if you have to do a ninety-minute show.”
Laura giggled a little. “I had to extend my sax solo for him a few times that week so he could go take care of some emergency business. I improvised for nearly ten minutes straight one night.”
Jake nodded, impressed. “The show must go on, right?”
“Right,” Z said sourly. “Sometimes, however, I think maybe we should change that to ‘the show might go on’.”
The group made their way through the concourse to the assigned baggage claim area for their flight. They found a spot near the carousel and, while Jake and Laura held hands and stood with their bodies in contact, the rest of the band continued to regale him with a few anecdotes of their time in South America.
It took the better part of twenty minutes for everyone’s checked baggage to drop down and get collected. Laura had one large suitcase and her saxophone case—an insurance policy had been taken out on the sax to cover its potential loss or damage by American Airlines—and they were among the last items to emerge (naturally). From there, the group made its way to the terminal exit. A limousine had been arranged to take away the rest of the band and it was waiting out front.
It took another ten minutes for Laura to give a tearful farewell to the group of men she had been traveling and playing with almost constantly for the past eight months. The emotion of the moment was quite thick in the air as they exchanged hugs and goodbyes with her. Though Bobby Z intended to start putting together his next album very soon, he would not be needing a saxophonist for quite some time and Laura had not, in any case, even committed to being that saxophonist when the time came. This would be the last she would see of this bunch for months, possibly even forever.
Jake watched quietly as this played out, his hand resting on Laura’s suitcase. He could not help but notice that when it came time for her to say goodbye to Squiggle, the hug was extra-long, extra-snug, that the tears running down her face began to run a little faster, in higher volume, and that the kiss on the cheek she gave him was positioned a little closer to the corner of his mouth.