We really had something going with Intemperance though, another part of him insisted on saying. We were on top of the fucking world, and it was because Jake and Nerdly and I were a great fucking musical team. We could put together tunes that rocked, that still rock, that they’ll still be playing on the radio fifty fucking years from now!
“Fuck this shit,” he spat, trying to drive the doubts from his brain. They did not want to go. His usual method of drowning them—cocaine, alcohol, marijuana—were unavailable to him at the moment because he had a show to do in a few hours.
So, instead, he turned to another subject. Why in the fuck didn’t I know until this morning that Kingsley and G were putting out this tune?
Maybe that was a question he could get a few answers to.
He stood up from the chair and walked to the door of the dressing room. He unlocked it and opened it up. He then stepped across the small hallway to the larger, communal dressing and shower room where the food and the drinks and the groupies would be after the show. He ripped the door open and put his head inside. Austin, Steve, and Corban were all sitting in their stage clothes. Jim was sitting on a couch, drinking from a bottle of water and watching everything, his ‘football’ next to him. They were not who he had come to see, however.
“Matt,” said Greg, who was standing next to Jack Ferguson. “You’re not dressed yet. We only have a few minutes until we need to head backstage.”
“I need to talk to you,” Matt told him.
“Right now?”
“Right fucking now,” Matt insisted. “Come with me.”
Greg came with him. They walked back across the hall and went into Matt’s private room. Matt closed and locked the door again.
“What’s the problem?” Greg asked.
“Did you know that Jake Kingsley and Bigg G were putting out a tune together? A tune that was to be released today; on the very fucking day I’m starting my tour?”
Greg hesitated to speak, an act which was all the answer Matt needed.
“Fuck me,” Matt spat. “You knew about this shit and didn’t tell me about it?”
“Well ... yes,” Greg admitted. “Steve Crow told me that I should try to keep this information from you as long as possible.”
“What the fuck for?” he demanded.
“It was thought that the information might be ... oh ... upsetting to you,” Greg said. “And that if you were upset it might cause a distraction that would detract from your tour duties.”
“Did he think I wasn’t going to find out about this?” Matt nearly yelled.
Greg managed to look apologetic. “Uh ... actually, it was thought that we might go quite some time before you did hear about it,” he said. “The tour has started. Your days are now quite full. It has been noted on past tours that you don’t typically listen to the radio much and I have been instructed to tell all of the DJs who will be interviewing you as we travel not to bring up the subject. Your band members all know not to bring up anything involving Jake or Intemperance with you. So ... yes, we thought we could at least get you well into the routine of touring before you found out.”
“You assholes,” Matt said, shaking his head. “So, Crow and the rest of those fuckheads at National have known about this shit for months?”
Greg shrugged. “That is a fair assessment of the situation,” he allowed. “Who did tell you? That unsavory DJ? That station manager? If it was them, I can guarantee they will never be granted another...”
“It wasn’t them,” Matt said. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about who it was. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know, and I’m fucking pissed off that no one told me.”
“That was because we feared the reaction you are now having,” Greg said. “Are you going to be okay for the show tonight?”
“Of course I’m going to be okay!” Matt spat. “I played an entire fucking set once with my heart going more than two hundred fucking beats a minute and my chest throbbing like a rotten tooth and feeling like I couldn’t fucking breathe. You think I’m going to have trouble because of this shit?”
“Well ... when you put it like that,” Greg said.
“Answer me this, though,” Matt said. “The timing on this thing. Is it deliberate?”
“The timing?”
“The fucking timing!” Matt barked. “This Bigg G and Kingsley tune coming out on the very same day I start the tour. Two weeks after I release my own CD. So my tunes are going to be playing on radios across the fucking world in the same sets with this I Signed That Line tune. Coincidence?”
“Well ... the basic timing that you and Bigg G’s CDs are coming out in a similar time period is a coincidence,” he said. “But ... well ... the exact timing ... well ... that was actually by design.”
“By design?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“I’m sure you’re aware that sometimes competing recording industry entities will cooperate when it benefits their mutual interests.”
“Imagine that,” Matt said.
“This was one of those times,” Greg said. “Bigg G is contracting with Aristocrat Records for MD&P for this CD. The promotions department of Aristocrat and Steve Crow got together and agreed that it would be mutually beneficial for there to be a new Intemperance related tune from Jake Kingsley in circulation at the same time as your CD went on sale and your tour started.”
Matt was pretty much out of anger at this point. He only sighed. “Of course they fuckin’ thought that,” he said.
“It should help sales of both projects,” Greg added helpfully.
“Get out,” Matt said simply.
“Okay,” Greg said. And then... “Are you going to get dressed now?”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”
“Very good,” Greg said.
“The show must go on, right?”
“Indeed it must,” Greg agreed.
He left the dressing room and Matt locked the door behind him. He then began to get ready for the show.
Chapter 15: In the Flesh
Los Angeles, California
September 16, 1995
Jake’s plane touched down at Whiteman airport just past one o’clock in the afternoon after the short flight from Oceano Airport. He and Laura had flown home yesterday afternoon but now Jake had a two-thirty appointment at the Aristocrat Records Office in Hollywood, and, after that, he needed to report to the Forum in Inglewood by five o’clock for a sound check. Tonight was the opening night of Bigg G’s national tour and Jake was going to be a special guest of the show; a special guest who would also perform at the shows in Portland and Seattle the following week, thus setting the precedent that he might show up at any further shows.
Jake parked his aircraft in one of the transient spots in front of the office and shut down the engines. He and Laura got out and, after removing the two cased guitars and Laura’s suitcase from the cargo compartment, the two of them secured the plane to the tie downs and locked it up. They then made the short walk to the hangar buildings to retrieve Jake’s Ford pickup, which was parked inside, patiently awaiting his return to the hated LA region.
Jake kept the truck’s battery on a trickle charger when he was away from it for long periods of time—as he had been while he and Celia and the others had been working on their new CDs in Oregon these last three months—so it fired up immediately when he turned the key. He pulled it out of the hangar and, once Laura closed the roll-up door behind him and locked it, she hopped in and they made the short drive to their second home in Granada Hills, where they stayed on those rare occasions they had to spend the night in LA.
The Granada Hills house did not really feel like home, not like their Oceano cliffside house did; not even like the Coos Bay house they stayed in while recording. Still, it was comfortable enough, and fully furnished with brand new everything, and clean, with a maid service and a landscaping service coming in at regular intervals to keep it that way. The refrigerator was stocked with beer and soda and non-perishable food, and the bar was stocked with wine and liquor and ice.