“It was,” High-Top said. “That was a great job, Jake. Nerdly and I both think we’ll be able to use the whole take right up to where the solo ended, but as you started the transition back, you edged out of tempo a bit.”
Jake looked at the window into the studio and mouthed “How much?” in exaggerated speech, so they could read his lips.
“Just a little,” High-Top told him. “About as little as a white guy’s dick in the locker room, if you can relate to that shit.”
Jake chuckled and held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart.
“Maybe not even that much,” High-Top told him. “Truth be told, I probably would’ve let it go, but Mr. Nerdly here winced, and G told me that when Mr. Nerdly winces, that means another take is in order.”
Jake nodded and then mimed the act of strumming his guitar.
“That’s right,” High-Top told him. “We’ll do it again. This time picking up from the beginning of the solo. Sound good?”
Jake gave him the thumbs up. A minute later, they did it again.
By some miracle of fate and the Gods of Music (and the fact that the Nerdlys were just advisers in the process and did not actually have veto power), they managed to successfully record all of Jake’s guitar parts in the tune to the satisfaction of High-Top by four o’clock that afternoon without anyone directing any actual violence toward Bill or Sharon. In truth, the Jam-On team seemed somewhat impressed by their anal retentiveness and their ear for music. Particularly as it related to recording acoustic instruments.
“All right then,” Gordon said as Jake emerged from the isolation room, guitar in hand. “Damn good playing in there, Jake.”
“Thanks,” Jake told him. “I’m glad we were able to finish it up today.”
“Will you be able to come back for the overdubs and for any final tweaks before we mix?” Gordon asked.
“You bet your ass,” Jake assured him. “Just tell me when you need me and I’ll fly up.”
“Once we’ve laid down the rest of the tracks for Step we’ll be done with the basics,” Gordon said. “Hopefully that won’t take more than few days or so. After that, I’ll give you a call and we’ll work on polishing Step whenever is convenient for you. I’m thinking we should be able to pound out any additionals from you in one day.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Jake said. “And don’t worry much about my schedule. Celia and I are going to start hitting the rehearsal studio soon to start putting our new material together, but we won’t be as tight as we were for the first albums. Struggle and Down are both still selling pretty well and getting a lot of airplay, so there’s no real rush.”
“I feel you, my man,” Gordon told him. “And I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Step is going to be badass and your guitar playing is what’s gonna put that bad in that ass. Now ... how about we go out and celebrate this collaboration? Drinks are on me.”
“I’d love to, G,” Jake said, “but I really need to get home. There’s a seven o’clock out of Oakland to LAX and I want to be on it.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I talked to Laura on the phone last night,” he said, “and ... well ... she said she had something important she needs to talk to me about. She wouldn’t say what it was, just that she needed to speak to me in person as soon as possible. She sounded a little weird, not herself.”
“No shit?” Gordon asked.
“No shit,” he confirmed. “I found that when someone says something like that to you, you should go find out what’s up as soon as you can.”
Gordon nodded his head. “I can appreciate that shit,” he said. “All right then. We’ll get you to your hotel so you can grab your stuff and then get you off to the airport.”
“Thanks, G,” Jake said.
“What about you two though?” the rapper asked Bill and Sharon. “Do y’all need to go rushing back tonight?”
“Uh ... well ... no, not really,” Nerdly said. “We have no previously arranged commitments until Jake and Celia begin their rehearsal projects.”
“Then how about y’all come out and party with me tonight?” he asked them. “Drinks on me. I know a premium club over on MacArthur Avenue and MLK that we can close down. I’ll send a limo for Neesh and we’ll get hammered in style.”
“MacArthur and MLK,” Nerdly said slowly. “That’s a ... well ... kind of a rough neighborhood, isn’t it?”
“Y’all will undoubtedly be the only whities in the club,” Gordon said. “Is that a problem?”
“Uh ... will we be safe?” Sharon asked.
“Maybe not if you strolled in there on your own,” Gordon said, “but you’ll be with me. I’m known there and I carry some weight. Nobody will bother you. I guarantee it.”
“Well...” Nerdly said, looking at his wife for a moment. She shrugged. “I guess we’ll go then.”
“Beautiful,” Gordon said. “And trust me when I say, the brothers there are going to love you.”
“You think so?” Bill asked.
“I fuckin’ know so,” Gordon said. “All you gotta do is start talking about your theories on space and time and the evolution of the sand flea and all that shit that you normally talk about. They’re gonna eat that shit up, homey.”
“Are you sure?” Nerdly ask.
“I guarantee it,” Gordon assured him.
The United Airlines 737 touched down at LAX at 8:23 that same evening. Jake, sitting in the first-class section, was one of the first to exit the plane. He walked to the baggage carousel and stood near the one assigned to his flight, waiting for his luggage to drop out. Other people from his flight and their loved ones gathered with him. Soon enough, someone recognized him.
“Hey,” a young man in his early twenties spoke up. “Ain’t you Jake Kingsley?”
“That’s me,” Jake confirmed, suppressing a sigh. Ever since that rag, the Watcher, had printed his current look, people were recognizing him more and more. As he had told Laura, the free ride had come to an end. Even though he’d shaved off the mustache and kept the hair cut short, it didn’t matter. The clean-shaven look hadn’t been in place for a week before some paparazzi asshole had snapped a shot of him and put it on a magazine cover.
“Dude,” the dude told him, “it’s like, so cool running into you here in the airport. Were you flying on my flight?”
No, Jake wanted to tell him, I just like to hang out near baggage carousels in the airport for the fuck of it. Instead, he said: “If you just came in from Oakland I was.”
The dude seemed completely awed by this. “That’s just so ... so ... fuckin’ cool,” he said. “I guess you were sitting up in first class?”
“I was,” Jake confirmed.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I was back in the back, in the middle seat, you know. I can’t afford that first class shit.”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe someday you will,” he said.
“I doubt it,” the dude told him. “My parents paid for this ticket. I’m coming down to check into rehab tomorrow. Meth, you know? I been clean for like three days now.”
“That’s uh ... good to hear,” Jake told him, spotting a guitar case coming down the ramp onto the carousel. It was black and had a green ID tag on it. It was his case. His suitcase was not behind it or in front of it, however. Naturally. “Excuse me, one of my bags is coming by.”
Jake stepped up to the carousel. The dude stepped right up with him. As the guitar case came by, Jake grabbed it and set it next to his feet.
“Dude,” the dude said, “is that like your guitar?”
Jake briefly considered telling him no, that he just liked to carry his shirts and underwear in a guitar shaped suitcase, but instead, he simply affirmed that it was, indeed, his guitar.
“Is it the one you played on your album cover?” the dude wanted to know.
“It is not,” he said. “That one on the album cover does not actually exist. It was airbrushed in by the technical people for the shot.”