Different Circles

“No,” the lawyer said simply. “You would still be on the hook for the back taxes and the penalties that you incurred before you renounced your citizenship. As to future income after you did such a drastic thing, even that is up to debate if you are still primarily obtaining your income from music sales in the United States. And even if that all went well—which is very questionable at best—you would literally have to live in Mexico the majority of the time and be able to prove that you are living in Mexico. And you would then have to start paying taxes to Mexico on your income.”

“Mexico has taxes?” he asked. He had never even considered such a thing.

“Yes, Matt,” Wesley said patiently. “Mexico has taxes. And I would suspect that their version of the IRS is not as polite as ours.”

“Wow,” he said. “Who woulda thought?”

And so, over the next ten days, Matt and Wesley worked together with the firm’s real estate department to begin working on the liquidation of some of his most beloved assets. Wesley spoke with the lead agent in charge of the Matthew Norman Tisdale investigation and was given permission to begin unloading things. He was warned very sternly that each transaction would be watched very carefully for signs of deceit, that each transaction would need to be signed off on by him, and that the capital gains taxation was still very much in play.

“Capital gains tax!” Matt yelled, outraged, when he was told about this. “You’re telling me these motherfuckers are going to tax me on the money I make by selling my fuckin’ condo and my fuckin’ stocks when the only reason I’m selling them is to pay their asses?”

“That is correct,” Wesley told him.

“This shit ain’t right, dude,” Matt said.

“Right or not, it’s the way things work, Matt.”

“Assholes,” he spat again.

“So ... anyway, we were talking about the listing price for your condo in LA. I’m told that one point three million is not an unreasonable number. Shall we start there?”

While Matt was putting his condo and his yacht and his helicopter on the market (and starting to grudgingly think about putting some of his guitars on the market as well), the Celia Valdez tour was in Madrid, Spain for four sold-out shows. They were staying in the Westin Palace Hotel, a quaint, huge hotel that had been built in the early twentieth century and had once been the largest hotel in Europe. Celia and the band had flown into Madrid-Barajas International the morning after their last show in Marseille, France. They had two days to enjoy the city before the first date. It would take that long for their equipment and crew, which was traveling by trucks and buses respectively, to arrive and be assembled.

The weather was pleasant in Madrid, a little on the warm side with blue skies and a gentle breeze blowing. The hotel suites they stayed in were pleasant as well, a little dated, but with all the luxuries and perks that the travelers had grown accustomed to. They checked in and then met for lunch in the Rotunda Restaurant and Lounge which sat beneath a large glass dome. Everyone chowed down on Spanish food and drank a few glasses of Spanish wine (except for Eric, who had had to take a Xanax for the plane ride) and then went back to their suites to take naps. They had just finished back-to-back dates in Marseille with an early travel day after the final show and all were tired and out of sorts.

Celia closed her curtains and blinds. She turned the air conditioning to high. She turned off all the lights. She then stripped herself naked and snuggled in under the covers of the King-sized bed. She was extremely horny and planned to paddle her pink canoe all the way to the Falls of Orgasm before her nap. She had not had anything resembling actual sex since the last night she had spent with Suzie, Jake, and Laura in Caracas before flying in Jake’s plane to Barquisimeto. That night, she and Suzie had enjoyed a long, luxuriant session of sapphic love in Celia’s suite and then slept the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Since then, not so much as a kiss. While staying in Barquisimeto, Suzie had had her own hotel room while Celia slept at her parents’ house in her old bedroom. They had not wanted to give her parents or brother the idea that there was any truth to the media stories about the two of them. And then Suzie had flown off with Jake and Laura while she had stayed behind in her hometown. And she had not seen or talked to Suzie since. Aristocrat tour management was flying them all first-class commercial between the European cities so there was no need for a dedicated aircrew.