“Uh ... yeah, I know what you’re saying,” Jake said. “And you’re edging into the land of gross here.”
“Hey, at least she was clean, right?” Ted asked. “Anyway, she’s not hurt or anything, just too fuckin’ big to get up out of the shower on her own. She’d been sitting on this shower chair deal because she had a hard time standing for the amount of time it takes to shower. Anyway, she fell over backwards—was being really vague about exactly what had made her fall—and that chair is all tangled up between her legs and shit. So, the first thing we do is get that chair out of there. That took a minute or two, and all the time she’s moaning about how she can’t get up. Once the chair was free, me and two of the fire guys get hold of her arms and pull on her until she’s kind of in a sitting position on the floor. We can’t get her up any further than that, though, because she’s so fuckin’ big and she’s slippery—got soap and water and fuckin’ baby oil all over her.”
“Eww,” Pauline said. “Do you have to go into so much detail, Ted?”
“I gotta tell things like they are,” Ted said. “That’s what makes a good story. You gotta set the scene. Anyway, we realized that someone needed to get behind her and push her from that direction while the rest of us pulled and kept her feet braced. Now it was me, three fire guys, and Maureen on the call. There wasn’t much room behind this fat chick, so Maureen had to get in the shower stall with her and get around behind her. She was the only one skinny enough for it.
“She gets into position and me and the guys take our spots. We count to three and everyone puts their asses into it. With Maureen back behind the fatty, she finally comes up to her feet. And then we hear this big thunk from underneath her.” Ted looked at them and grinned. “It was a fuckin’ eight-inch vibrator that made the thunk. It had been stuffed up inside of her the whole time, but we couldn’t see it or hear it because her big old stomach rolls were covering her fuckin’ hoo-haw while she was down. Once she was up, however, gravity pulled that thing right out and it landed exactly between Maureen’s work boots, and it was still buzzing away, jittering around back and forth like them little tiny magnetic football players on that old game we used to play as kids, remember that? Anyway, Mo—that’s what we called Maureen—was still holding this bitch up, but she don’t want that fuckin’ dildo touching her boots. So she starts dancing around back and forth, trying to avoid it. She even screamed at one point. Me and the fire guys, meanwhile, we’re just staring at the fuckin’ thing, still trying to process what we’re seeing for a minute, and then trying not to fuckin’ laugh as we realize what was going on. That’s why the bitch fell in the shower. She was hammerin’ herself and overbalanced when she had the big O.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jake said, grinning. He had to admit, this one was pretty funny, as promised.
“Wasn’t she embarrassed?” asked Laura, her eyes wide.
“She really wasn’t,” Ted said. “She just kind of shrugged it off and said, ‘oops’.”
“Wow,” Jake said. “And just looking at Laura reminds you of that?”
Ted nodded solemnly. “Almost every time,” he said.
Laura chewed on her lip a little. “I’m not sure how to feel about that,” she said.
“It’s no big,” Ted assured her. “Like I said, Mo was really cute back then, just like you are now. I’m sure you’re not going to start popping oxy and pouring vodka in your Big Gulp, right?”
“My Big Gulp?” Laura asked, her eyes flitting to Jake for a moment, her face blushing. “You’re not talking about ... you know...”
“Uh ... no,” Jake cut in, picking up on her thoughts. “That’s not what he’s talking about, hon. A Big Gulp is a drink.”
“A drink?”
“Yeah,” said Ted. “A thirty-two ouncer from 7-Eleven, to be exact. The lifeblood of a medic crew. I like a mixture of Pepsi and Dr. Pepper in mine, sometimes with just a splash of Sprite.”
“I see,” Laura said slowly. She really didn’t though.
Jake decided this was a good time to share a few things with the group. He picked up his wine glass and rapped his finger against it in the traditional manner of telling everyone it’s time to listen to me for a minute. The conversations quickly died down and everyone gave him their attention.
He stood, keeping glass in hand. “Sorry to interrupt, everyone, I just wanted to say a few words before we finish this thing up and start heading back to the house for the last time. First of all, to all of us here. It’s been a long road, full of twists and turns, but we’ve come to the end of it now. Soon, we’ll be hearing ourselves on the radio.” He held up his glass. “To success!”
“To success!” they echoed happily, everyone taking a slug from whatever they were drinking.
“And that success is coming,” Jake told them. “I can feel it. I’m proud of all of you. You all did a bang-up job on these projects. Now then, having said that, how about I discuss a few boring financials regarding the albums?”
A good-natured groan erupted.
“Oh, come now,” Jake chided. “I think some of you will find this a very interesting topic.” His eyes flitted to Greg and then Pauline, the two people who did not find what he was about to say interesting, and had, in fact, argued strenuously with Jake and Celia about implementing either all or part of it. Jake and Celia had won.
“Let me address the mothers first,” Jake said. “Mom, Cindy, you two put down some incredible tracks for us during this process, working on both albums, on nearly every cut, and without you we would not have been able to get this thing off the ground, let alone make it the success I know it is going to be.”
“Hear, hear!” said Tom, who was working on his fourth glass of wine and feeling very festive.
“Right,” Jake said. “And through this all, neither one of you have accepted any compensation for your time. We tried to pay you what we were paying Laura and Ben and Ted and Phil, but you would not hear of it.”
“We’re your mothers,” Mary said indignantly. “We don’t charge for our time.”
“No, you did not charge for your time,” Jake agreed. “But Celia and I are going to see to it that you are compensated for your efforts.”
“Jake, that’s not necessary!” Cindy told him. “Bill, tell him that we don’t need money for what we did.”
“I cannot, in good faith, tell him that, mother,” Bill said. “He’s right. You two deserve to get paid for what you did and we are going to see that you do.”
“What do you mean?” Mary asked.
“I’m talking royalties here,” Jake said. “You, Mom, and you, Cindy, are both going to collect one percent royalties on each of these albums, in perpetuity, whether you like it or not.”
“One percent royalties?” Mary asked. “Jake, that’s absurd!”
“Oh, do you want more?” Jake asked playfully. “We can negotiate on that if you want, but I don’t know if we’re going to come up any further. You see, one percent of the wholesale rate of six dollars per CD—we’re not releasing on vinyl or cassette, as we’ve mentioned—works out to six cents for each unit sold. Now I know that doesn’t sound like a lot when you say it that way, but both Celia and I plan to go Platinum at least. That is one million units of each album sold, which means two million times six cents in your pockets if we just reach our minimum goal here. That works out to ... Bill, tell them what it works out to.”
“One hundred and twenty thousand dollars for each of you,” Bill said without the slightest hesitation, “assuming that both albums reach Platinum status. In actuality, I sincerely believe we will go far beyond Platinum with both, however.”
“We are not trying to get more,” Mary cried. “We’re trying to have you not give us anything at all!”
“No deal, Mom,” Jake said. “You’re taking the money, even if we have to go behind your back to give it to you.”