She rolled out of bed and put her bare feet on the floor. She considered taking a shower for a moment and then decided not to. True, she smelled like sex, but was that such a bad thing to smell like? Especially after so many months of never smelling that way? She thought not.
She went to the dresser and pulled out a ragged pair of sweatpants that she’d owned for years. She pulled them on over her legs without bothering to put underwear on first. She then went to the closet and pulled out a long nightshirt that was even older. It was pale blue with fluffy white clouds printed everywhere on it. There were several holes in it these days—one near the left armpit, one near the rear collar, and one tiny one just below the right breast region—but it was comfortable and familiar. She pulled it on over her head without bothering with a brassiere.
She left the room without brushing her hair or her teeth and padded downstairs to the kitchen, which was empty at the moment and sparkling clean, almost sterile. There was a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator. She got a large glass out of the cupboard, filled it with ice from the dispenser in the freezer door, and then poured tea until it was full. She took a sip as she walked out into the entertainment room.
There, sitting on the cabinet that held the house’s stereo system, she found a black CD case. The insert was simple, printed in normal script: BRAINWASH—MASTER CD.
She picked it up and opened it, revealing an ordinary looking compact disc that had the same words printed on it in the same style. She pulled out the insert and took a look at the track listing. There were ten songs on the CD. Jim Scanlon was credited with lyrics and vocals on three of them, Marcie Scanlon on three more, Stephanie Zool on another three. The tenth song—which was actually the first cut on the album—was listed as a duet of Jim and Marcie together, the lyrics credited to Marcie. Celia had never met any of them, but she had heard their demo tape multiple times. The tape had been crude, not of the best quality, and with no overdubs or even basic engineering. And she had still enjoyed hearing it. She couldn’t wait to hear what their music sounded like after being produced by Jake and engineered by the Nerdlys.
She turned on the stereo and popped the CD into one of the empty slots in the changer. She pushed the play button on the machine, adjusted the volume a bit, and then sat back down on the couch.
The music took her away, as good music always did and always would.
She listened to the CD twice and then turned the stereo back off. She then picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. The phone on the other end of the line rang three times before there was a click and a familiar female voice said “Hello?” in her ear.
“Hey, Teach,” she said. “It’s Celia.”
“C!” Laura replied, delight in her voice. “I heard you were coming home today. Are you back?”
“I am,” she said. “Just flew in a few hours ago. Now I’m sitting around in my jammies and thinking about getting into a bottle of wine.”
“I was just thinking about doing that myself,” Laura said. “Are you excited about the tour finally coming to an end?”
“Well, there are still two more shows to do. Tomorrow and Saturday night at the Forum.”
“Oh, I know that,” Laura said. “They’ve been talking about it endlessly on the radio and even on TV ever since we got home. All the tickets are sold out, but it sounds like some of the radio stations still have tickets to give away. People are very excited about it.”
“I’m just happy I’ll get to go home to my own bed after the shows,” she said. “No more hotel rooms. No more flights on the airplane.”
“So ... you’ve seen the last of your pilot friend then?” Laura asked.
“Probably not,” she said. “She lives in San Diego. We’re going to try to keep in touch.”
“Really?” Laura said, interest in her voice. “And how did the ... you know ... the temptations work out?”
“The temptations were a very real thing,” she told her. “But I was a good girl. She made the offer more than once, but ... I never took her up on it.”
“That’s good ... uh ... isn’t it?”
“It is,” Celia assured her. “At least I think it is. Anyway, are you getting excited about the wedding?” Jake and Laura’s date had been set as November 4, at a secluded oceanside resort near the town of Haena, on the north shore of Kauai, Hawaii. That particular date had been chosen because Celia would be home and able to attend, but Sharon Archer would still be far enough away from her projected delivery date of November 30 that travel across the ocean was reasonably safe.
“I’m actually kind of terrified,” Laura said. “And I’m not even sure why.”
“Weddings are stressful,” Celia said, remembering her own. “At least yours is low key, and with only a few guests. No bridesmaids or groomsmen. Just the maid of honor and the best man and you and Jake. And I think me and Nerdly are only in those positions as nods to tradition, right?”
“Well ... kind of,” Laura said.
“That’s okay. It’s a lot less hassle that way.”
“That’s the way Jake and I wanted it,” she said. “That’s okay, right? Should we have...”
“It’s perfect if that’s what you want,” Celia assured her. “How is your dress? Have you picked it up yet?”
“I don’t have a dress yet!” Laura said. “We only got home two days ago! I didn’t want to buy my wedding dress in Coos Bay.”
Celia shook her head back and forth. “Girl, you’d better get on the ball. You are only three weeks out.”
“I know,” Laura said. “I need to get on it. Will you help me after your last concert?”
“Absolutely,” Celia said. “We’ll tear up Rodeo Drive again, just like the last time.”
“It’s a date,” she said. “And I’m not planning on anything too elaborate. It’s going to be a simple ceremony. A simple dress will do me.”
“Did you invite your family?” Celia asked, remembering she had been pondering that dilemma the last time they’d gotten together.
“I sent them announcements,” Laura said. “If any of them had bothered to contact me, I would have invited them. None of them did.”
“It’s their loss,” Celia told her. “If they can’t be happy for you, fuck ‘em.”
“My feelings exactly.”
“Anyway,” Celia said, “the reason I actually called is to talk to Jake. Is he around?”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s in the composition room working on something. I’ll go get him.”
“Thanks,” she said.
The phone thunked down and Celia heard the faint noises of the Kingsley household. A television was playing somewhere, and there was the sound of thumping footsteps. And then, for just a few seconds, she heard the sound of a drawn-out musical note—a G major if she was not mistaken. It sounded kind of like it was coming from an electric guitar, but not quite. It cut off instantly and then, a few moments later, the thumping of footsteps could be heard again. Finally, there was a shuffling sound and Jake was speaking to her.
“Hey, C,” he greeted. “Welcome home.”
She felt a little bit of a thrill at the sound of his voice and then pretended she hadn’t. “Thanks, Jake,” she returned. “It’s good to be home. Teach said you were composing. Hope I didn’t interrupt your creativity.”
“Naw, I was just playing around with something. Gordon gave me a talk box a few months back and I’ve been practicing with it.”
“A talk box?” she asked. “Like Peter Frampton’s?”
“That’s right. It’s kind of fun to play with. I took it up to Oregon with me and whenever things got too repetitious for me with the Brainwash recordings and I needed a break I would plug it in in one of the empty isolation rooms and play around with it. I think I’ve gotten to the point that I can make something approximating music with it.”