“Not bad, huh?” Jake asked as the lights came back up and the crowd began to move toward the bar or the restrooms.
“I enjoyed it,” Celia said. “Particularly the last number. I’ve always loved that song.”
“I thought their original material was decently arranged,” Nerdly said. “They really should have someone work on their sound mixing, however.”
“Not everyone can have a Nerdly working their sound, Bill,” Jake told him.
“True,” Nerdly agreed. “What did you think, Pauline?”
She shrugged. “They weren’t painful to listen to,” she offered. “And at least they’re keeping in practice for us.”
It took the members of Lighthouse about fifteen minutes to clear all their equipment from the stage. Once that was done, Jake and the others were led through a small door into the backstage area by Pinkerton himself. As had been the case when he’d gone back to meet the group Brainwash in Boston after Celia’s wedding and the little aircraft incident that had compelled him to stay an extra day (I wonder how Brainwash is doing these days? Jake took a moment to wonder. Are they still together? Still touring?) an overwhelming rush of nostalgia for his own club days washed over him. Everything reminded him of those chump-change sessions they had done for more than a year in Heritage: the smell of sour sweat and cigarette smoke, the tubs of beer on ice, the tiny, cramped accommodations, the instrument cases and amps stacked in a corner, even the filthy, undersized bathroom that smelled like stale urine and had a perpetually running tank.
“Jake! Celia! Nerdly!” greeted Ted as he saw them come in. “Oh ... and Pauline too. Welcome!”
At his voice, the other members of the band offered their greetings as well. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged. Everyone was introduced to Lenny, the guitar player and songwriter.
“Nice work up there, Lenny,” Jake complimented. “Both in playing and composition.”
“Thanks, Jake,” Lenny said, pleased with the praise. “I have to say that I’m having a lot of fun with this group.”
“I hear you’re a guitar teacher like Ben,” Celia said. “At one of the high schools?”
“That’s right,” Lenny replied. “That’s how Ben and I met. We were both at one of the music instructor seminars we were taking for continuing education credits on our teaching credentials. We were the only two guitar players there.”
“That was a stupid class,” Ben said with a shake of the head.
“It was,” Lenny agreed. “Absolutely nothing said there applied to teaching guitar in any way.” He shrugged. “It was eight CEUs though.”
“True,” Ben said. “And they did have that cool bar just down the street from the complex.”
“Hell to the yeah,” Lenny said. “I don’t think the instructors appreciated much that we hit that bar up during the lunch hour.”
They shared a laugh over this.
“Anyway,” Ben said, “Len and I kind of bonded during that class and we got together a few times after it, then we kind of lost touch a bit when I started working with you guys on the albums. When it came time to put Lighthouse together and we needed a guitarist, Len was the first one I thought of. I gave him a call and we got together. It’s kind of a bonus that he’s a songwriter as well.”
“I’m trying to be, anyway,” Lenny said shyly.
“I think you’ve succeeded,” Jake told him. “I enjoyed the original tunes you laid down out there. Good work.”
“Really?” Lenny said, his eyes looking at Jake carefully, as if to see if he were being jerked off.
“Really,” Jake assured him. “I don’t give false praise.”
“I thought you did a good job as well,” Celia added.
“You really should work on your sound mixing a bit though,” Nerdly put in.
A look passed between the members of Lighthouse, a look that Jake was not quite sure how to interpret.
“You really liked us?” Phil asked.
“We really did,” Jake assured them.
“That’s very good to hear,” Ben said. He hesitated for a moment and then said, “You see ... we were kind of hoping that maybe Pauline might be interested in ... you know ... managing us.”
“Managing you?” Pauline said. “You mean like ... as your manager?”
“That’s right,” Ben said. “The way you do Jake and Celia and Veteran.”
“I don’t manage Veteran anymore,” she said. “They fired me.”
“Man, that’s fucked up,” Ted said, shaking his head. “But that means you have an opening then?”
“Well...”
“We’d be really grateful, Pauline,” Phil put in quickly. “I honestly think we have what it takes to make it in the industry once we come up with a few more tunes.”
“Hell to the yeah,” Ted said. “And with your connections, we can get better gigs and get our name out there. Once our name is out there, I’m sure you can get us a recording contract, right?”
“Uh ... well...” Pauline said, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
“Or maybe we could sign with KVA?” Phil suggested. “That would be my preference, actually.”
“Mine too,” said Ben. “I remember hearing your horror stories about signing with the majors, Jake.”
“Uh...” Jake said, and then could think of nothing to follow it up with. This conversation had turned awkward quickly.
“That’s ... well ... a very interesting proposal, guys,” Pauline said, “but ... honestly, I’m not sure it’s feasible at this particular moment in time.”
Their faces all fell a few notches as they heard her words.
“Not feasible?” Ted said. “What do you mean? Why not?”
“Well ... primarily is the reason we actually came to see you,” Pauline said.
“What reason is that?” asked Ben.
“We came to see if you’re ready to start working on Jake and Celia’s next album,” she told them. “They’ve got some tunes they want to start putting together.”
“The next albums,” Phil said slowly. “That’s why you’re here?”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “We would offer the same deal as before. Fifty dollars an hour for the sessions, including the recording time, and royalties on the completed projects.”
They all looked at each other for a moment and then back at Jake. “Uh ... well, we certainly appreciate you thinking of us again,” Ben finally said. “But ... well ... I don’t really think that I’ll be able to do it.”
“You won’t?” Pauline asked, raising her brows a bit.
“Me either, to tell the truth,” said Ted.
Jake had not been expecting this answer from them. After all, they had cleaned up quite nicely on the last albums, each of them pulling in handsome hourlies from KVA Records and, now that Struggle had gone well past double platinum and Down was fast approaching it, were raking in a respectable amount of royalty pay each quarter. “Why not?” he asked them.
“There is no way the college is going to grant me another leave of absence,” said Ben. “That’s the big reason.”
“Me either,” added Ted. “I used up all my favors and strings to pull taking that last LOA. I’d have to quit to commit to you for the next round, or at least drop to part-time and do some really complicated scheduling to meet my minimums.”
“Oh ... I see,” Jake said. That the work conflict might be a problem had honestly not occurred to him.
“I’m really sorry, guys,” Ben said. “I had a blast playing with you the last time—it was the time of my life, to tell you the truth—but now I’ve got a baby at home and a wife who needs to work as well and ... I just can’t commit to the same thing this time around. It won’t work.”
“I see,” Pauline said. It was obvious she had not been expecting this answer either. She turned to Phil. “What about you?” she asked him. “You’ve been doing some vocal sessions over at the studios, right?”