INTEMPERANCE VII

Chapter 7

Giving Thanks

Oceano, California
November 21, 2000

It was 7:45 PM. Jake had just finished guitar and sing time with Caydee. He had only recently
gotten to the point where he was able to hold up his end of the singing part without getting
winded. Their final number had been a duet of sorts, the song Shoot High Aim Low by Yes, with
Caydee singing John Anderson’s lyrics while Jake sang Trevor Rabin’s. They sang in decent
harmony for the chorus hook. Laura even got in on the action, playing her flute—which she had
become quite proficient with since acquiring—for the guitar solo and the fills. It was by far the
most complicated and technical piece that Caydee had participated in so far, but she carried her
parts quite well and with reasonably correct lyrics.
“Do ‘nother one, Daddy!” she said when they wrapped it up. “Rollin’ on the River!”
“It you and Daddy do another song,” Laura told her, “I won’t have time to read you a story
before lights out.”
“Awww,” Caydee pouted, but it was a good natured pout. She hugged and kissed Jake, being
careful to stay on his left side. “Daddy feeling better ‘night?” she asked. This was a nightly
ritual.
“A little bit better than last night, Caydee girl,” he told her, giving the same answer he always
gave. And it was mostly true. He was slowly healing little by little. Very slowly. The bandages on
the right side of his chest had all been removed and all of the sutures and staples had been pulled
as well. The incisions themselves had all knitted back together and the skin was not red or puffy
anymore. But there was still pain. Pain in his ribs when he breathed or moved his torso, pain in
his armpit when he raised or lowered his arm, pain in the back of his shoulder when he bent over,
and, worst of them all, the persistent pain in his chest wall around the gunshot wound scar. It
ached all the time regardless of whether he was moving or sitting still. He really wanted to get
off the pain pills and he had weaned down to some degree, but he still could not get through a
day without taking at least two doses.
 Even worse than the pain, however, was the weakness and lack of energy. He wanted to sleep
all the time. Walking from one part of the house to another was exhausting. This was a difficult
thing to face for a man who, up until being shot, had routinely run twenty miles a week and
worked out at least twice a week in the gym room next to his office. He had not so much as taken
a walk since being released from the hospital. And he had not even entered the gym room.
“I love you, Daddy,” Caydee told him. “Sleep tight. Get all healed.”
“I love you too, Caydee girl,” he told her, giving her another kiss. “And I’ll try.”
Laura led Caydee off to her room to read her the nightly story. Jake slowly got up from the
couch and picked up his guitar with his left hand as he was not supposed to lift anything over
five pounds with his right. He carried it over to the bar and set it down on one of the chairs. He
then made his way behind the bar, pondered what he wanted to drink for a few moments, and
then pulled down an unopened bottle of Rowan’s Creek 12-year-old bourbon that he had bought
for $250 in a high-end Cincinnati spirits shop while on the Millennial Tour. He put some ice in a
glass, cracked the seal on the bottle, and then poured himself a triple shot. He returned the bottle
to its place and then walked back from behind the bar, picked up the glass with his right hand
and the guitar with his left, and continued his journey to his composition room.
He had not been doing much composing in here lately. The pain pills and the fatigue and the
pain itself made it difficult to concentrate on coming up with new material. He did play his guitar
in here quite a bit though. He still had to have ninety-minute long infusions of antibiotics
pumped into the PICC line in his left arm four times every day. He and Laura had settled on 8:00
AM, 2:00 PM, 8:00 PM, and 2:00 AM as the best times to run the doses (it was important that
they be spaced exactly six hours apart, apparently). For the 2:00 AM dose, they stayed in the
bedroom and would sleep while the pump was running. For the morning dose, Jake would sit on
the couch in the entertainment room, read the paper and maybe watch some TV or listen to some
music. For the afternoon dose, he would return to the bedroom and usually take a nap as it ran.
For the evening dose, however, he liked to go to the composition room and spend some time
strumming his guitar. The act itself was soothing to his mind, even if he was not coming up with
new compositions, and it kept him in practice better than the Caydee guitar-sing sessions did. It
also kept the calluses on his fingers maintained and the muscles in his hands and fingers in
proper tone for their most important job.
Laura came into the room at 8:05, now dressed in her nightshirt for the evening. She carried
the portable IV pump and its portable IV pole with her in one hand, a medical basin with all the
supplies she would need to hook him up in the other. She set them down on the table in front of
the composition couch where Jake was sitting.
“Ready to hook up, sweetie?” she asked him with a smile.
“Always,” he said, returning it.
She extended the IV pole and set it on its stand next to the couch. She then attached the small
pump and plugged it into a power strip that was usually used for amplifiers. She turned the thing
on and, while it went through its self-checks, she pulled out one of the bags of Vancomycin that
they kept in the refrigerator and a single-use IV tubing set that was packed in a clear plastic
wrapper. Laura was now quite adept at this particular job. She spiked the tubing into the bag of
vanco and then hung it on a hook at the top of the pole. She squeezed the little drip chamber just
below the plug-in point until it was half full of the clear liquid from the bag. She then opened the
valve on the tubing and watched as the liquid flowed by gravity through all three feet of it and
began to drip out the tip. She closed the valve and then handed the distal end of the tubing to
Jake, who knew to hold it a few inches upstream to avoid contaminating the end that would plug
into him. Laura then opened an alcohol prep and fished the end of the PICC line out of the little
gauze pouch attached to his bicep where it was stored when not in use. She spent a full fifteen
seconds scrubbing the hub where the tubing would plug in. They had been instructed that this
step was sacred to the process if Jake wanted to avoid a blood infection from the invasive line.
Once the hub was sterile, Jake handed her back the tubing and she screwed the tip into the hub.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s get the motor running.” She clipped a cartridge near the top of
the tubing into a receiver on the pump and closed the little door. She then pushed a button that
said “Start Infusion” on the front of the pump. Unlike hospital pumps, this pump was pre-
programmed to only infuse 250 milliliter bags of Vancomycin over ninety minutes. It was
capable of doing nothing else. The screen asked if Laura was sure she wanted to start the
infusion and she pushed a button marked “Yes”. The pump began to make a soft whirring sound.
Drops began to slowly form and fall in the drip chamber. The medicine began to infuse into
Jake’s body. A light on the pump turned green, indicating that all was well. A timer started and
began to count down from 1:30:00.
“We’re rolling, sweetie,” Laura told him.
“You should have been a nurse,” Jake told her affectionately.
She shook her head. “They deal with too much gross stuff,” she said. “Blood, puke, adult
pee, adult poop. Not for me. I’d rather blow the horn.”
“You do blow a good horn,” Jake told her with a smile.
She chuckled a little and then gave him a saucy look. “As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be
adverse to blowing some horn right now,” she told him.
Jake’s smile faded a bit. “Uh… well, Meghan is still up, isn’t she?”
Laura shrugged. “The door closes, sweetie. And Meghan would never come in here while it
was closed.”
He sighed. “Uh… yeah, I suppose.”
Her saucy smile turned sympathetic. “Not in the mood?” she asked quietly.
“Sorry,” he said. “I know I haven’t been up to my normal level lately. The pain and fatigue
are kind of draining.”
She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she told him. “I still
love you even if you are only fucking me a few times a week or so and I always have to get on
top. Things will go back to normal as you get better.”
He was grateful for her understanding. “I’m damn sure going to make up for lost episodes
once I get my strength back,” he told her.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she told him. “How’s the pain right now? You haven’t had a
Vicodin since this morning.”
“It’s up there,” he told her.
“Want me to get you a pill?”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, almost ashamed of himself for being weak. “I guess I’d better.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
She disappeared for about four minutes and then came back with one of the white oval pills
in her hand. She handed it to him. He took it from her and put it on his tongue, tasting the now-
familiar bitter taste of the pill. He was pretty sure, at this point, that he would be able to identify
Vicodin in a blind taste test of similar looking pills without a problem. He washed the pill down
with his bourbon and settled into the couch.
“Thanks, hon,” he told her.
“Anything else you need right now, sweetie?” she asked.
 “I’m good,” she told him. “I’m gonna sit here and let the pill go to work while I do some
strumming on the guitar for a bit. I know how to pause the pump and unhook if I need to go take
a leak or get another drink.”
“All right then,” she said. “I’ll close the door on my way out. I’m gonna go upstairs and read
for a bit. If I fall asleep you’ll be able to unhook and flush?”
“I can do it,” he told her.
“All right,” she said, leaning in and giving him another kiss. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Love you,” he told her.
“Love you too,” she returned.
She left the room, closing the door behind her. She then went upstairs to their bedroom and
closed that door as well. She peed and then tossed her panties into the hamper, leaving her only
in her nightshirt. She then got the book she was currently working her way through—it was the
hardcover first edition of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, her second reading of it since it
had come out earlier in the year—and set it on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. She did
not open the book just yet. Instead, she opened the drawer on the nightstand. Inside of that
drawer was a vibrating dildo and a vibrating clitoral stimulator. She took out the dildo and put it
to work. Her mind thought of the last interlude between her, Jake, and Celia as she slid it in and
out of her body and drove herself toward a nice orgasm.

*****

Jake sat on the couch and idly strummed his guitar while he waited for the Vicodin to kick in. He
did simple melodies and chords from the vast collection of tunes he had accumulated in his head
over the course of his life, hardly thinking about what he was doing. He played Reo
Speedwagon’s Time For Me to Fly for a bit and then switched to Behind Blue Eyes by The Who.
From there he transitioned into Blind Faith’s Can’t Find My Way Home and then switched up to
Bourgeois Tag’s I Don’t Mind at All. He did none of his own material and he did not sing the
lyrics to the tunes, though he did occasionally hum them. Every once in a while, he would sip
from his drink.
Finally, when the timer on the pump read 00:55:00, he felt the swimmy head sensation of the
Vicodin kicking into gear. As it did so, his various aches and pains faded down considerably
(though did not go away). The tradeoff was that his concentration and focus faded down with
them. But he was used to the sensation by this point so he took another healthy sip of his drink
and then settled in to play some more guitar.
He upped the complexity a bit now that the pain was tolerable. He also started to sing the
lyrics, keeping his vocal cords in practice. He played and sang War Pigs, one of Caydee’s all
time favorites, and then Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress, one of his all time favorites. He
strummed absently for a few minutes, lost in the alcohol/Vicodin high, and then began to play
Suite Madame Blue, another of his all time faves. From there, while the timer on the pump kept
moving backwards and the antibiotic kept infusing into his bloodstream where it was only doing
a half-assed job of killing the MRSA so far, he started playing around with some of his own
material. He concentrated, not on his solo tunes, but the older Intemperance tunes, tunes he had
not played in some time.
He started with Point of Futility, from the very first Intemperance album, the song he had
composed while still playing clubs in Heritage, California, the song about his breakup with
Michelle Borrows, his first serious girlfriend. It was rough playing it at first. The muscle memory
was still there, but it was buried deep and he had to dust it off a bit. Even the lyrics poured
slowly, hesitantly out of his mouth. God, he thought nostalgically, how long has it been since I
last played and sang this song? The last Intemperance tour? Eleven years ago? Has it really
been that long?
He finally managed to grind out the complete tune as it had first been composed. He sat back
and thought for a moment, remembering being up on stage with Matt, Coop, Nerdly, Darren,
singing that song for three or four hundred people in clubs, singing it up on stages before tens of
thousands, hearing their cheers. He smiled as he thought about it. Those had been the days. He
had been looking forward to playing all the tunes again, to going out on tour as Intemperance
again, but fucking Jenny Johansen had put a major snag in the plan. How long will it be until I’m
healthy enough to even rehearse for a tour? he wondered. At the glacial pace his body was
healing, it would be months, maybe longer.
He sighed and then began to strum the guitar again. After a few moments he grabbed a G
chord and began to play the opening for I Am Time, one of Intemp’s biggest hits. This one he had
played more recently—it made regular appearances at guitar-sing time because Caydee liked to
play Matt’s harmonic parts—and it poured smoothly out of him. He put a little flair into the
guitar, strumming more aggressively, playing at the same tempo as the actual recording instead
of the slower tempo of the acoustic version. As always when he played music like this, his
troubles and worries slipped away from him, the pain faded from his mind much more
effectively than the Vicodin and the alcohol could ever hope to accomplish. He was in the groove
now.
After Time, he took another sip from his drink. It was now almost gone and he could feel that
he was going to have to empty his bladder soon. But he did not want to stop playing just yet. He
strummed some more, playing with different opening chords and melodies until his brain latched
onto what it wanted to play to completion. After a few minutes of this, he found himself
strumming out the melody for his tune Dark Matter. He smiled as he got into it. Dark was a song
he had originally composed for one of his solo CDs but he had ended up dropping it from the
project. He and the band had started to work it up—with Nerdly playing the piano parts instead
of Liz—and then Jake had come to the realization that it was not a Jake Kingsley solo tune they
were playing with but a classic Intemperance genre tune. He had not wanted what would be
perceived as an Intemperance rip-off on one of his progressive rock genre solo CDs.
It was a damn good tune though. If Intemperance ever did do it, it would be one of the best
fucking songs in the catalogue. He strummed it out a little more, repeating the opening over and
over without advancing into the heart of the song. Oh well, he thought with a little bit of longing
and regret, maybe some day it will be heard. If I can heal up and get this tour together and pull it
off, and if me and Matt don’t kill each other or irreparably damage our relationship, and if we
can still work together in a composition atmosphere, maybe we can put out a new Intemp CD.
He shook his head a little. A good thought, maybe, but there were so many variables in the
equation, so much time that would have to pass before something like that could occur, it did not
even bear thinking about right now. He played through the opening and began to sing out the
lyrics now, deep, thoughtful lyrics that made an analogy between the unseen matter of the
universe and human interaction and socialization in the modern era. As he played and sang, he
kept thinking about what he and Matt and Nerdly could do with the tune, how good it could be.
And Dark was not the only song that fit in this mold. He had two or three others that he had
composed melodies and lyrics for before deciding they were not worthy as Jake Kingsley solos,
that only Intemperance could do them justice. He wondered if Matt had such tunes as well.
Probably. It seemed an intuitive thought.
And then was when his fingers jangled to a halt on the guitar, when the lyrics to Dark died in
his throat.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as a proverbial lightbulb flared to life above his head.

*****

The next day, which was the day before Thanksgiving, Tom, Mary, Stan, and Cindy arrived at the
Kingsley house after driving six hours from Heritage. They had large suitcases with them as all
planned to stay until after Caydee’s birthday on December 1. Cindy and Stan would stay with the
Nerdlys in their house while Jake’s parents would stay with Jake and Laura.
Caydee greeted them excitedly, getting and giving lots of huggies and kissies. After putting
their luggage in the guest suite, Tom and Mary fussed over Jake a little. It was the first time they
had seen him since he had been shot. Mary declared he looked like he was losing weight (which
he was, he was down eight pounds since the shooting) and Tom and Stan wanted to see his scars.
Jake showed them. The wounds were now completely closed but still looked fresh.
“They don’t look infected,” Mary commented.
“On the outside, they’re not,” Jake said. “The infection is on the inside.”
“Are you still having pain?” asked Cindy as she reached over and touched the bullet wound
scar with her finger.
“Yeah,” Jake said simply. “It’s getting better but it’s still there.”
They sat down in the entertainment room. Laura played host and poured everyone some red
wine. There was a tray of snacks that she had prepared on the main coffee table (Elsa had left for
Orange County earlier in the day) and Caydee, now given permission to do so, immediately
began to munch on them.
“Leave enough for the guests, Caydee,” Laura told her.
“I will,” Caydee said haughtily at this questioning of her character.
Mary took a sip of her wine—her son always served the best wine. She then looked at him.
“Do you have all the groceries you need for tomorrow? The stores will be a madhouse today, but
they’ll be closed tomorrow.”
“We have everything,” Jake said. “I have two fifteen pound turkeys that are brining in the
garage. I’ll do one on the grill and you do the other one in the oven, just like before. We have ten
pounds of potatoes, all the ingredients for Cindy’s homemade stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet
potatoes, and fresh corn. Before she left on vacation, Elsa made us a half gallon of her gravy,
pumpkin pies, cherry cream cheese pies, and some of that green bean casserole.”
“It sounds like you’re covered all right,” Mary said. “How many are going to be here?”
“It’ll be quite a crowd,” Jake said. “In addition to all of us and Bill, Sharon, and Kelvin we
have the LA people. They’ll be arriving by helicopter at ten o’clock tomorrow. Paulie, Obie, and
Tabs, naturally, and Celia is going to join us too. Eric the violinist will be tagging along as well
as Massa Wu.”
“Massa Wu?” Tom asked. “Who is that?”
“He’s the other violinist we use,” Jake said. “The one who played for me on the last tour. He
and Meghan have a little bit of a thing going.”
“Oh yeah?” Mary asked. “Is it serious?”
“Nobody really knows,” Laura said. “Not even the two of them. They talk mostly on the
internet with those chat boxes. Sometimes they talk on the phone. They haven’t actually seen
each other in person since coming off tour except for one time when Meghan rode down to LA
with us for the quarterly meeting. They went to a movie together. They do talk every day though.
They’re probably talking to each other on the computer right now.”
“Interesting,” Mary said. She rather liked Caydee’s nanny and wished the best for her.
“Oh, and Celia asked if it was okay if the helicopter pilot could join us,” Jake added. “I told
her that was fine with me.”
“The pilot is going to join us?” Tom asked.
“He doesn’t have anything else to do,” Jake said. “He would otherwise spend Thanksgiving
sitting around at the airport in the pilot lounge waiting for it to be time to take everyone home.”
“Oh… I guess that makes sense,” Mary said. “Doesn’t he have his own family though?”
“Apparently not,” Laura said. “Celia told me about him the last time we talked. He’s
divorced and his family lives in Wyoming. That’s why he put himself available to fly on
Thanksgiving. He gets twice his normal pay for working the holiday.”
“She seems to know a lot about him,” Mary said. “Is there a romantic angle there?”
Jake and Laura looked at each other, a little startled. That thought had honestly not occurred
to either of them. Celia Valdez dating a pilot? Absurd. But… was it really? It wouldn’t be the
first time she had gotten involved with a pilot, or even the second time.
“Uh… I don’t think there’s anything like that going on,” Laura said. “Ron, that’s the pilot’s
name, lets her sit in the cockpit when they fly even though it’s against regulations. That’s why
she asks for him when she needs to go somewhere by helicopter.”
“I see,” Mary said thoughtfully. She hoped this information was wrong. She did not approve
of the relationship her son and daughter-in-law had been engaging in with the beautiful singer.
She did not approve one little bit. She had heard from Pauline that Celia had broken the sexual
part of the relationship off, which Mary thought was wonderful news. She truly loved Celia and
thought she was a strong, powerful, intelligent woman as well as a master musician and
composer. But being in a sexual relationship with Jake and Laura was just wrong. It was wrong
for society and it was wrong for Caydee to be exposed to. If Celia had a little romance going on,
that would be a very good thing in Mary’s book.
The conversation turned from a possible Celia romance to the presidential election that had
taken place two weeks before. They still did not know who the next president of the United
States was going to be. It all came down to the vote count in Florida, where, as of the last
recount, Bush was 537 votes ahead of Gore—in other words, too close to call for sure.
Everything was now mired in legal issues and courts about whether dimpled ballots and hanging
chad should be counted or disregarded. Jake had been paying very little attention to the whole
affair—he simply did not care who the next grand poohbah was going to be because they were
all corrupt and dishonest—but his parents and Nerdly’s parents were very much involved.
Tom and Mary were both diehard liberals. Stan and Cindy were both staunch Republicans.
How they had managed to remain best friends with each other over the years was a mystery to
Jake. They engaged now in a friendly little argument about the dimpled ballots and the hanging
chad. Tom and Mary thought they should be counted since the intention of the voter was clear on
such ballots (and there was a theory that Democrat voters would be more likely to not push the
little punch thing hard enough to separate the chad, though there was no actual logic behind this
supposition). Stan and Cindy were of the opinion that such ballots should not be counted because
the Florida election laws clearly said they should not be (and their man Dubya was currently
ahead by 537 votes and they wanted to keep it that way). Jake took the opportunity to get up and
pour himself another glass of wine. Soon it would be time for his two o’clock Vancomycin dose
and the nap that went along with it.

*****

Jake was able to perform his husbandly duty that night after everyone went to bed. Laura still
had to get on top and be careful not to put weight on his right upper body, but they still got a lot
of mutual enjoyment out of the act. Jake licked her to two orgasms before she mounted him and
she managed to squeak out one more while she rode the pony. Jake shot a pent up load into her
and it overflowed, running down onto the sheets.
“I guess I’ll have to wash the bedding tomorrow,” Laura said with a giggle as she cuddled
into Jake’s body.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she said, kissing his mouth and tasting her own juices on his lips. It was a
wonderful taste, almost as good as tasting Celia’s juices there. “It was worth it.”
They slept. At 1:55 AM an alarm went off, waking them.
“It’s that time,” Laura said sleepily.
“Yep,” Jake agreed, just as sleepy.
Laura got up and put her robe on over her naked body. She slipped through the door and
walked through the dark halls to the kitchen, where she pulled a bag of Vanco out of the
refrigerator. She walked back to the room, where the IV pole and pump had already been set up.
In less then five minutes she had Jake hooked up and the pump running. She made sure there was
an alcohol prep and a 10-milliliter saline flush on the nightstand where Jake could reach it.
“Thanks, hon,” Jake muttered, already half asleep again.
“Love you, sweetie,” she said, kissing him and enjoying the stale vaginal juice taste once
again. Within five minutes, she was back asleep as well.
An hour and a half later, the pump began to beep steadily, signaling that the infusion was
complete. Laura stayed asleep. Jake woke up and sat up in bed. He turned off the pump and then
awkwardly disconnected the tubing from his PICC line (he had to use his teeth to steady it so the
tubing could be unscrewed). He then screwed in the saline flush, pushed it into the PICC, and
then unscrewed it and threw it in the garbage can. He tucked the PICC line back into its little
holder. Another wave of antibiotics hit the battlefield against a stubborn and formidable enemy.
Laura got up and showered at 7:00 AM and then left the room to get Caydee up. Jake stayed
in bed another thirty minutes, not sleeping, just laying there feeling his aches and pains. Finally,
he struggled into the bathroom and popped a Vicodin. He then shaved and showered and got
dressed for the day.
His mother had gotten up early and was making breakfast on the stove, scrambling some
eggs with sausage and cheese. Laura was making toast and Caydee was buttering the slices and
putting them on a platter. Jake hugged and kissed everyone and then poured himself a cup of
coffee. Meghan and Tom came staggering out a few minutes later, drawn by the smells of the
kitchen.
About the time that Jake finished his coffee and began to eat breakfast, the pain pill kicked
in, leaving him feeling dopey but dampening down his aches and pains considerably. He was
even able to help with the dishes.
“Well,” he said when the cleanup was complete, “I guess I’d better get the Weber going if
we’re going to have dinner at three. Who wants to help me?”
Meghan volunteered to help. They went out on the deck and Jake directed her to build a
pyramid of charcoal briquets in the bottom of the grill. He then saturated them with a
considerable amount of lighter fluid.
“Now we light it?” Meghan asked.
“No, we let it soak in for about fifteen minutes and then we light it. If you do it too soon you
just burn out the outer layer of the fluid and they’ll peter out. If it soaks in you’ll get a good
ignition that will last.”
“Makes sense,” she said thoughtfully.
Once the coals were burning, Jake returned to the kitchen. He sent helper Meghan to the
garage refrigerator to retrieve the two turkeys that had brined for sixteen hours and had been
removed from the brine and rinsed last night. While she was doing that, Jake poured a large
amount of pecan wood chips into a stainless steel bowl and then covered them with water. These
saturated chips would create a fragrant smoke to flavor the bird.
“Here you go,” Meghan grunted, putting the birds down on the kitchen island cutting board.
“Two big-ass turkeys.”
“Which one is mine?” his mother asked.
“Take your pick,” Jake said. “They’re both fifteen pounders.”
She made her pick. While Jake prepped his turkey his way, Mary did her bird her way. Jake’s
way was to make garlic butter and rub it all over underneath the skin. Mary’s way was to inject a
combination of broth, butter, and bourbon into the meat and then cover the skin with a
combination of herbs and spices she had perfected long ago. The brining process would make the
meat of both turkeys juicy and flavorful.
With Meghan’s help, Jake separated the coals in the grill into two piles on either side, leaving
a large area without direct heat where the turkey would cook. He then had Meghan put the grill
on. The turkey he had prepped went on next, followed by healthy handfuls of the wood chips
dropped directly onto the coals. Smoke began to form immediately.
“And now, we close the lid,” Jake told her. “Every thirty minutes or so, we come out and
drop some more wood chips in to keep the smoke going.”
“That’s a lot of work,” Meghan said.
“It’s a labor of love,” Jake told her.
The Nerdlys and the Nerdly parental units arrived at the house at 10:00 AM. Cindy
immediately went to work making her famous stuffing—although none of it was actually going
to be put into the birds because doing so sapped a lot of the moisture from the meat. Mary and
Caydee were making deviled eggs for the appetizer tray. Tom and Stan were watching the New
England Patriots take on the Detroit Lions. They had a discussion about how they thought the
Patriot’s starting quarterback, Drew Bledsoe, should be replaced by the new guy drafted in the
sixth round, some guy named Brady. Jake, who did not follow football as closely as the dads,
was unsure if Brady was the man’s first or last name.
At 10:30, Meghan and Laura left for the airport, Meghan in Jake’s BMW, Laura in her
minivan. The helicopter carrying the rest of their guests was scheduled to leave Santa Monica at
10:00 AM and arrive at 10:51.
The two-vehicle caravan arrived back at Kingsley Manor at 11:25. By this point, Jake had
opened a few bottles of New Zealand chardonnay and he, the mothers, and the fathers were all
on their second glasses. Everyone poured in from the garage door that led into the kitchen. Jake,
who had been prepping another bowl full of pecan chips, was the first to greet the new arrivals.
He hugged Pauline and then Obie (they had brought more white wine and a bottle of good
bourbon), gave huggies and kissies to Tabby, shook hands with Eric and Massa (they had brought
nothing, having been instructed to do just that), and then beheld Celia dressed in her jeans and
maroon sweater. She had a pecan pie she had picked up at a high end bakery in Malibu.
“It’s good to see you again, C,” he told her, opening his arms.
“Good to see you too, Rev,” she told him with a smile. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the
cheek.
Standing behind Celia, looking a little awkward, was a man dressed in a florescent blue
jumpsuit with Broderick Aviation Services on one lapel and the name “RON” on the other. His
brown hair was cut short in military fashion. His eyes were looking around the crowded kitchen
nervously.
“Jake, Mary, Cindy, Bill, this is Ron Grover, the helicopter pilot who flew us here,” Celia
introduced. “Ron, Jake Kingsley—he doesn’t need any introduction—Bill Archer, audio engineer
and keyboardist for Intemperance, Mary Kingsley, Jake’s mom, and Cindy Archer, Bill’s mom.”
“It’s nice to meet you all,” Ron said shyly. “Thank you for having me over for
Thanksgiving.”
“Any friend of Celia’s is a friend of ours,” Jake said, holding out his hand.
Ron shook with him. His grip was firm. “It’s nice to meet you Jake,” he said. “I enjoy your
music.”
“Thank you,” Jake replied. “That’ll get you a free turkey dinner.”
“Uh… nice. I appreciate that.”
“Don’t appreciate it until you taste it,” Jake told him. “I’ve never tried cooking a whole
turkey before.”
“Really?” Ron said. “Celia told me that you’re a master with the grill.”
“I was just kidding,” Jake said.
“Oh… I see,” Ron replied, clearly not seeing any humor in Jake’s little jest.
“Speaking of turkey,” Jake said, “I’d better get out there and throw some more of these chips
on the fire.”
“Come on, Ron,” Celia said, “I’ll introduce you to the rest of the bunch.”
Celia and Laura took the pilot into the entertainment room and introduced him to the dads,
Caydee, Kelvin, and Sharon.
“You fly high in the sky like Daddy?” Caydee asked when told that Ron was a pilot.
“That’s right,” Ron replied. “Only I fly a helicopter instead of a fixed wing.”
“Do you make moo-zik for peoples?” she asked.
“No, I just fly them around to where they want to go.”
 “Daddy and Mommy make moo-zik for peoples,” Caydee informed him. “See-ya too.”
“That’s what I understand,” Ron replied. It seemed he was a little uncomfortable talking to
children. Laura picked up on this.
“Do you have any kids of your own, Ron?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “My ex and I divorced before we had any.”
“They’re a lot of work but they do enrich your life,” Laura said.
“That’s what I hear,” Ron said.
“Caydee is an absolute dear,” Celia said, “aren’t you, Caydee girl?”
“Yep,” she said in a matter of fact way. “See-ya give huggies and kissies now?”
“You bet,” Celia said, holding out her arms so she could pick the little redhead up. She soon
had her giggling and planted a big raspberry on her tummy.
“Do you want to see the house, Ron?” Laura asked.
“Uh, sure,” Ron said. “It’s beautiful place from what I’ve seen so far.”
Laura gave him the tour, showing him the master suite, the secondary suite, the composition
room, the office, the gym, and then finishing by showing him the deck where Jake was sitting in
one of the chairs watching the smoke billow about while sipping from his wine. It was a nice
sunny day with only a slight onshore wind coming off of the ocean. There were no whitecaps out
on the water and a few fishing boats were bobbing about a mile offshore. The eternal sound of
the waves crashing into the base of the cliff was heavy in the air.
“This place is amazing,” Ron told Jake.
“Thank you,” Jake said. “I designed it myself. It’s the place we call home.”
“How long did it take them to build it?”
“From the time we acquired the land to moving in was almost a year. We used to fly over it
on our way up to Oregon to check on the progress. One of the happiest days of my life was the
day we moved in. Right up there with Laura and I getting married and Caydee being born.”
“It was one of my happiest days too,” Laura said, smiling at the memory. “Do you want
something to drink, Ron? I know you can’t drink alcohol but we have iced tea, lemonade, sodas,
coffee.”
“Just some water would be good,” Ron said.
“With ice?”
“Please.”
“One ice water coming up. How about you, sweetie?”
“I still have half a glass of wine,” he said. “I’ll refill when I go back in.”
Laura gave him a little kiss on the lips and then went back inside. Jake invited Ron to sit with
him and he did.
“How was the flight in?” Jake asked. “It can get pretty turbulent going over the coastal
range.”
“Nice and smooth today,” Ron said. “No bumps at all. A beautiful day for flying.”
Jake nodded. “I envy you,” he said. “I probably won’t be able to get back behind the controls
for another few weeks at best.”
“Celia tells me you own an Avanti. That’s a sweet plane. How do you like it?”
“I love it,” Jake said. “It’s comfortable, can hold eight passengers in style, it’s almost as fast
as a business jet and has about the same range, but it’s very fuel efficient.”
“And you use it as a commuter aircraft?”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “That’s how we’re able to live here but make music in LA. It’s a
twenty-five minute flight from SBP to WHP, a ten minute drive from WHP to our studio. We
have another house in Granada Hills we can stay in if we need to stay overnight in the city, but
we try not to do that if we can avoid it.”
Ron was visibly impressed with how much money Jake had to have to afford two houses and
a multi-million dollar aircraft. Though he flew rich people around for a living, he likely did not
get to interact with them on this level very often. “I guess the music game pays pretty well.”
“Not for most,” Jake said, “but Celia and I and the Nerdlys made the most of the talent we
were given. Add in some shrewd negotiating over the years by Pauline, and we’re doing pretty
good—better than any of us could have done on our own.”
“Maybe I should learn to play the guitar,” Ron said, looking out at the ocean.
“Or you could learn to play them drums,” Jake said lightly.
Ron did not pick up on the Dire Straits reference. “Maybe,” he said. “I do have a good sense
of rhythm.”
“Uh, that would be helpful,” Jake said.
Laura returned with the ice water. Ron thanked her politely and took a drink from it. Jake
took the opportunity to stand and announce that he was going back inside for now. Laura and
Ron followed him in.
Ron ended up settling in with the dads in front of the TV to watch football. Apparently he
was a fan of the sport and launched into an in-depth discussion of the game being played and the
Minnesota vs Dallas game that would be played at 1:00 PM. He drank nothing but water and
only munched on a few of the appetizers that had been laid out.
“So, what do you think of Ron?” Celia asked when they met each other near the appetizer
table.
Jake shrugged. “He seems nice enough. Maybe a little square.”
She giggled. “Everyone is a little square compared to you, me, and Teach.”
“A fair point,” Jake allowed. “What do you think of him?”
She gave a shrug of her own. “He’s nice, he’s single, he has a good job. He’s not hard on the
eyes. Maybe something could develop from this.”
Jake felt a stab of jealousy. He suppressed any outward display of it. “Are you serious?” he
asked. “You want to date Ron?”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asked. “Am I too good for him?”
Yes, you are too good for him, his mind screamed. “No, I’m not saying that at all. There is a
bit of a disparity in income and lifestyles however.”
“What does that matter?” she asked. “When I married Greg I was dirt poor, didn’t have a
dollar to my name. That worked out for a few years, didn’t it?”
“Well, yeah,” he agreed. Until Greg decided to slide his schlong into Mindy Snow’s chasm.
“I’m not saying I found a soul mate in Ron,” she said. “It might not work out, but… well… if
he wants to give it a try, I’d go along with it.”

*****

Thanksgiving dinner was a success. Both turkeys came out perfectly and were juicy and
flavorful. The stuffing was incredible. The pies were the perfect capper for the meal. Everyone
was drowsy and stuffed by the time the cleanup began. Everyone, even Ron and Caydee, pitched
in to help put the kitchen back in order. There would be no Wrath of Elsa when she returned
Sunday night.
Meghan and Laura had both kept their alcohol intake at a level that would not preclude them
from driving their guests back to the airport. Just after five o’clock, it was time to make that trip.
Celia, Pauline, Obie, Eric, Massa, and Tabby all said their goodbyes and gave their final huggies
and kissies to those who merited them. Ron thanked the Kingsleys for their hospitality, shook
everyone’s hands, and then thanked them all again. They left the house, with Celia, Ron, Obie,
and Tabby climbing into the minivan with Laura while Pauline, Eric, and Massa climbed into the
BMW. Massa and Meghan enjoyed a long hug goodbye when they got to the airport.
The helicopter took off at 5:30 PM, with Celia in the copilot’s seat. She and Ron were linked
on the headsets while no one else in the aircraft was.
“I’m glad you were able to join us today, Ron,” Celia told him.
“It was an interesting experience,” Ron replied. “Getting to see how my clients live and
celebrate. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“What did you think of Jake and Laura?” she asked.
“They were much more down to earth than I expected,” he said. “They made me feel like a
welcome guest in their home instead of just a servant that dropped by for the day.”
“They don’t put on airs,” Celia told him. “Jake takes out the garbage just like any other
husband. Laura goes to the grocery store and takes her daughter to the park just like any other
wife. I like to think that I’m like that as well.”
“You really are,” Ron told her. “I almost forgot a few times that I was hanging out with the
Celia Valdez and the Jake Kingsley. Other than the big house on the ocean, it really was just like
hanging out with ordinary people.”
“We like to think we are ordinary people,” she said. “Yes, we make more money than the
average American, yes, we’re in the spotlight a lot and our every move is reported in the media
and in the freakin’ American Watcher, but we try as hard as we can to stay grounded, to stay
human.”
“I can see that,” Ron said. “I was a little nervous about meeting Jake. I’ll admit that. His
reputation precedes him. I was half expecting to find cocaine mirrors on the coffee tables and
signs that a Venezuelan transgender was being hidden from me.”
“I think that story is the most ridiculous of them all,” Celia said.
“More ridiculous than the cocaine from the butt crack thing?” Ron asked.
“By far,” she said.
“That story… uh… it’s not true?”
“The butt crack? No way,” she scoffed. “Nothing but media lies.”
“That’s kind of what I always thought. No one is that depraved.”
“Of course not,” she replied.
They flew on in silence for a few minutes, the ocean visible on the right, the sun on its way
into the sea, the coastal mountains below. They were flying eleven hundred feet above the
minimals. Celia felt a bit nervous, though not because of the helicopter flight.
“So… listen,” she said, “I got the last schedule that you texted me. Thanks for that.”
“No problem,” Ron said. “Are you planning any more flights soon?”
“As a matter of fact, I promised Caydee I would be there for her birthday party. That’s on
December 1. It’s also Kelvin’s birthday, just a different year. They’re going to have a dual party
for them at Rev and Teach’s place.”
 “I am scheduled on call for the first,” Ron said.
“I saw that,” Celia said. “Can you pencil me in? Likely the same group as we have right
now—except probably Eric won’t be with us. Massa wasn’t specifically invited but I’m sure he’d
like to come visit Meghan again. I’ll just have to clear it with Teach.”
“I’ll make sure I’m available,” Ron said. “What time should we be wheels up?”
“The party is at two so probably at one. I’m sure they’ll invite you along as well.”
“I hope they don’t feel obligated or anything,” he said. “I’m used to hanging out in the pilot’s
lounge waiting for clients who need return flights.”
“They will not feel obligated,” she insisted. “Rev and Teach are very giving people and they
love to host at their house. Jake’s going to grill some baby back ribs. Those are one of his
specialties.”
“All right,” Ron said. “If they don’t mind, I’ll be happy to come and hang out on the ocean
and eat ribs and birthday cake with everyone.”
“Cool,” she said with a smile. She paused for a moment. “Uh… I noticed on your schedule
that you’re off the next three days.”
“That’s right,” he said. “After I park this beast in the hangar I start my off-call rotation.”
“Any plans?” she asked.
“Other than watching football all day on Sunday, no. I’m a bit of a homebody.”
“I don’t have anything going the next three days either,” she said. “Maybe we could get
together?”
He looked over at her, surprise on his face. “Get together?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe have dinner tomorrow night? It’ll have to be at a restaurant. I don’t
know the first thing about cooking, although Jake has tried to teach me a few times.”
“You… you’re asking me… to go out to dinner with you?” he asked, his face now blushing.
“Is that okay?” she asked gently. “It’s not against some ethical rule or anything is it?”
“Uh… no,” he said, “there’s no rule against it, but… but why?”
“Why do I want to go to dinner with you?”
He nodded his head.
“Because I like you,” she said simply. “I like talking to you. You’re a nice guy. Does there
need to be any other reason?”
He looked down at his instruments and then back out the window. “No,” he said at last,
“there really doesn’t. Where were you thinking?”
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Mar Vista,” he said, “not far from the airport.”
“Have you ever been to the Albright?”
“The place on the pier?”
“That’s the place,” she said. “Great seafood if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“I’ve driven by it but never been there,” he said. “It’s… uh… kind of pricey, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about that,” she told him. “I asked you out and named the place. I pay. Trust
me, I can afford it.”
“Oh… well… I guess you can, but I wasn’t suggesting that it was… you know… too pricey
or anything. And I’m happy to…”
“I’ll pick up the check,” Celia told him. “When you ask me out and name the place, you can
pick up the check. Deal?”
“Uh… sure,” he said. He was blushing furiously now. “So… should I pick you up at your
place?”
 “It’s a bit out of your way,” she said. “You would have to drive all the way out to Malibu and
then back to Santa Monica and then back to Malibu to drop me off. It would probably be easier if
I picked you up.”
“Oh… well… sure, I guess that’ll be okay.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said with a smile. “Be sure to text me your address after we land.”
“Will do,” he promised.

*****

Jake ate his breakfast while the 8:00 AM Vancomycin was running into his PICC line. This was
pretty much a morning ritual at this point. Once breakfast was done and Laura, Meghan, and
Tom started working on the cleanup duties, Jake wheeled his IV pole and pump into the
entertainment room and read the Friday LA Times (Laura had taken over the duty of retrieving it
from the box at the turnaround now that Elsa was on vacation). Once that was done, he checked
the timer on the pump. There was still twenty-five minutes remaining. He got up and wheeled his
buddy into the office and closed the door behind him.
By this point, he had Matt’s number memorized once again. He dialed one, the area code, and
then the number. He figured that Matt would be up at 9:15 but still sober. At least that was the
theory he was operating under.
“Tisdale residence,” a cultured voice said after the third ring was cut short. “How may I
assist you today?”
“Hey, Charles,” Jake said. “Jake Kingsley here. Is Matt awake?”
“He just finished his breakfast several minutes ago,” Charles replied.
“Is he sober?”
“At this point, he is,” the butler said. “As to how long that will remain the case is anyone’s
guess.”
“I need to talk some serious shit to him. Can you see if he’s available?”
“Certainly, Mr. Kingsley. Please remain on the line.”
There was click and then classic heavy metal began to play in his ear. The current tune was
Some Heads are Gonna Roll by Judas Priest.
Hmmm, Jake thought approvingly. Good on-hold music. I need to ask Matt what service he
subscribes to.
The music cut off and a familiar voice said, “Jake! What the fuck’s up, brother? Chuckie said
you got some serious shit to talk.”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “How are you doing, Matt? Keeping it real?”
“As real as Kim’s fuckin’ titties,” he replied. “How are you doing? Haven’t heard from you
since you came out of the hospital last time. Still alive, obviously.”
“Yeah, I’m hanging in here,” Jake said. “Still weak as fuck but getting a little bit better week
by week. Still not up to rehearsing for a tour yet. That’s more than a few months in the future.”
“That’s a bitch, dude,” he said sadly. “And not just because I can’t get on top of these fucking
tax payments without some major income. That crazy bitch really did a fuckin’ number on you.”
 “That she did,” Jake agreed. “I’m just glad she didn’t know enough to buy the right ammo for
an assassination. I got this fuckin’ IV installed in my arm and I have to have antibiotics through it
for an hour and a half every six hours. The shit’s running in me right now, as we speak.”
“That’s fucked up,” Matt said. “I hear that bitch is playing the fuckin’ insanity card.”
“That’s what the DA tells me. He doesn’t think it’s going to fly. There was too much
premeditation and planning involved. All it’s gonna do is delay the shit out of the legal
proceedings while shrinks from both sides examine her and question her for weeks before they
come to their pre-determined and pre-paid conclusions about her.”
“The justice system fuckin’ bites ass,” Matt said righteously, apparently with no memory of
how he had beaten the system thanks to a slimy defense attorney invoking the Plain View
Doctrine. Or at least no sense of irony.
“Anyway,” Jake said, “the reason I called. I had a thought the other night while I was
strumming my guitar, you know, keeping in practice for when we can start rehearsing.”
“What was the thought?”
“I started playing around with some of the old Intemp material. It’s fucking astounding how
long it’s been since I really played any of it—except I Am Time, Caydee likes to play your
harmonica parts on that one so it’s in our rotation.”
“That is a good fuckin’ tune,” Matt said. “When we do get things together I’m going to have
to start rehearsing the shit out of the harmonica parts. I ain’t played the fuckin’ thing since our
last tour together. That shit was eleven years ago.”
“That was the thought I had as well,” Jake said. “But that’s not why I called. You see, I have
this tune called Dark Matter. I wrote it a couple of years ago and it was going to go on one of my
solo CDs. We started rehearsing it up and it’s a good tune, solid shit, but I ended up dropping it.”
“How come?”
“Because it’s not a Jake Kingsley tune, it’s an Intemperance tune.”
Matt chewed on that for a moment. “Too heavy for your solo shit?”
“Too heavy on multiple levels,” Jake said. “It’s a tune that cried out for having Matt Tisdale
play the lead guitar parts. I couldn’t do justice to them. And Celia, who was playing rhythm
guitar for the workup, couldn’t do justice to what I was envisioning. And Liz, our pianist,
couldn’t plug into the tune at all.”
“She’s that old bitch, right?” Matt asked.
“Right,” Jake said slowly. “The old bitch. And she’s a damn good pianist but she had no idea
what I was shooting for so Nerdly stepped in to show her what I was after. He sat down at that
keyboard and gave me exactly what I was looking for. And it was almost like the old days. We
had Coop on the drums, me on a guitar, Charlie on the bass, and Nerdly on the piano. All we
were missing was you putting the melody into a distortion riff. And that was when I started to
realize it wasn’t going to work. We carried on with it for a few more sessions but finally I made
the very painful and agonizing decision to drop it. It wasn’t Jake Kingsley. It was fucking
Intemperance.”
“All right,” Matt said. “I think I dig what you’re laying down here.”
“I thought maybe you would,” Jake said. “You see, Dark Matter is not the only song I wrote
that fell into that category, it’s just the one that went the furthest in the process before I made the
decision to shitcan it. I’ve got three or four others that I got as far as melody composed and lyrics
written before I realized they were in the same category. I still have those tunes in my memory,
in my sheet music.”
“What are you saying?” Matt asked.
 “I was wondering if you have experienced this phenomenon as well. Did you come up with
any tunes during your solo years that you abandoned because they were too much like Intemp
tunes?”
“Yeah,” Matt said without hesitation. “Three or four of them over the years. What of it?”
“Feel like maybe dusting those tunes off and seeing if we can lay them down?”
“Are you talking about putting together a new Intemp CD?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Jake confirmed. “I can’t rehearse for a tour, but I
can sit in a chair and play my guitar and sing. Once I’m off of these fucking pain pills, I can
compose. I want to get back to work. I want to work on new Intemp tunes and put out a CD
while I’m waiting to be healthy enough to tour.”
“Damn, Jake,” Matt said after taking a few moments to absorb what was being suggested.
“Do you really think we can do that shit?”
“What do you mean?” Jake asked. “Are you suggesting we don’t have it in us to pull it off or
that we won’t be able to get along with each other on a project like this?”
“A little bit of both,” Matt said.
“There’s only one way to find out and that’s to try. I’m willing to give it a shot if you are. The
others will go along with it, I’m pretty sure.”
“I guess we can try,” Matt said. “When are we talking?”
“My parents and Nerdly’s parents are here until the second of December. Once they’re back
home, how about we all get together at the new studio. The rehearsal building is finished now.
We can jam in it as much as we want and you and the rest of the band can stay in the housing
part of the studio.”
“You mean we all come to your county and stay there until we’re done?” Matt asked
doubtfully.
“That is what the housing is for,” Jake said, “but I see what you’re saying. How about we just
take it a week or so at a time at first?”
“All right then,” Matt said. “If the others are in, I’m willing to give it a fuckin’ shot.”
“I’ll call them up right now,” Jake said.