Jim, who had been dozing in a chair after finishing a vodka and tonic of his own, blinked a few times and then dutifully got to his feet. He stepped across the narrow space, his head hunched due to the low ceiling, and picked up Matt’s wrist. He felt for the radial pulse and, once he found it, looked at his watch. He counted for fifteen seconds. “You’re truckin’ along, Matt. A hundred and sixteen.”
Matt nodded, feeling relief. “That’s not so bad,” he said. “Doing coke always does that to me. As long as I’m not doing that SVT shit.”
Jim walked over to the small bar. He dumped his glass out and then began constructing a fresh drink. “You know, Matt,” he said, “you probably wouldn’t have as many episodes of SVT if you stopped using so much cocaine.”
“You sound like one of those fuckin’ doctors,” Matt scoffed.
“There is a strong correlation between tachyarrhythmias and habitual stimulant use,” Jim said. “You really should think about the long-term consequences of that white powder of yours.”
“You’re paid to save my ass, not lecture it,” Matt told him. “I like this white powder. It’s what makes life worthwhile ... well ... that and gash ... and music, of course. And even if it is causing these episodes, I have you with me. You’re here to fix that shit when it happens.”
“Just because I’m here is no guarantee that I’ll be able to pull you out of a potentially lethal heart rhythm,” Jim told him. “You do know that, right?”
Matt gave him his signature glare. “Don’t be talking shit like that, dude,” he told him. “You’re being paid good money to save my ass. I fuckin’ expect you to do it if it needs to be done.”
“Yes,” Jim said, “I’ll try, but...”
“No fuckin’ buts!” Matt barked. “You save my ass, or you don’t get fuckin’ paid. You understand?”
“I understand,” Jim said with a sigh.
“Good,” Matt said, satisfied. “Now, would you mind mixing me up another Jack and Coke while you’re over there at the bar? Heavy on the Jack.”
“You got it, Matt,” Jim said.
They flew the rest of the flight in solitude. There was a little bit of turbulence as they came over the San Gabriel Mountains, but they touched down neatly and smoothly at 12:55 AM, Pacific Time. A limousine was waiting for them. The driver took them to Matt’s condo in downtown Los Angeles.
“You can have that guest room there,” Matt said, pointing at a door.
“Okay,” Jim said. “Do you want me to ... you know ... go with you to your meeting?”
“Of course I want you to go,” Matt said. “You’re on the clock, ain’t you?”
“I guess I am,” Jim said.
They both slept soundly until nine o’clock in the morning. Both showered and then ate a breakfast that consisted of frozen egg dishes that Matt kept in his freezer just for such occasions. At 10:30, a limousine, sent by National Records, pulled up in front of the building. They went downstairs—Jim wheeling his ‘football’ in front of him—and climbed into the back.
It was a twenty-minute ride to the National Records building. They passed through the security and got into the elevator for the ride to the top floor. They entered the outer office of James Doolittle, the head of the A&R department. The extremely attractive secretary behind the desk was expecting Matt and told him to head right in.
“You hang out here,” Matt told Jim, pointing to one of the couches. He then leaned close to the paramedic, gave a nod in the direction of the receptionist, and whispered: “She’ll give it up if you play your cards right. And she’s nasty too. Likes it up the ass.”
“Uh ... okay,” Jim said. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Play it, dude,” Matt said with a grin.
He then went to the door of Doolittle’s office and opened it. The first thing he saw was Doolittle and Crow, sitting next to each other behind the desk. They had shit-eating grins on their faces, grins he mistrusted immediately.
There was someone else in the room as well. A familiar looking figure, sitting in the chair in front of the desk. Matt looked over at him and his breath froze in his throat. It was Jake fucking Kingsley sitting there. His hair was a little shorter and his face looked a little older, but there was no mistaking. It was Jake. And Jake looked just as surprised to see Matt as Matt was to see him.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Matt said, glaring at Doolittle and Crow.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kingsley said, shaking his head. “Is this what you two assholes called me here for?”
“Sorry for all the cloak and dagger,” Doolittle said. “We didn’t think that either one of you would voluntarily show up for this meeting if we just asked.”
“You got that shit right,” Matt said.
“What the hell are you trying to accomplish here, Doolittle?” Jake demanded.
“Gentlemen,” Doolittle said magnanimously. “I know you’ve had your differences. But hear what we have to say. We have a proposition to make.”
Chapter 16: I Remember You
Los Angeles, California
October 6, 1995
“I’m fucking out of here,” Matt said, spinning on his heal and turning himself to walk back out the door.
“Matt, wait a minute!” Crow said, pleading in his voice.
“I’ll be leaving too,” said Jake. He stood from his chair.
“Gentlemen!” said Doolittle. “We’re all adults here, aren’t we? At least stay long enough to hear what we’re proposing!”
“Right,” said Crow. “The financial gains to be realized by our suggestion would be innumerable!”
“Unimaginable!” Doolittle added.
Matt paused, which forced Jake to pause as well, unless he wanted to physically push by the guitarist to exit the office. He did not want to do that. It was entirely possible that if he and Matt made physical contact with each other, blows would result. He did take a moment to look at the man, however. Matt wasn’t looking so hot since the last time Jake had seen him—what was it? Five years ago now? He had lost weight and he looked at least ten years older than his thirty-six years. His hair was thinner, his skin color was not right, looking far too pale, with a hint of grayness.
“What is this shit about?” Matt demanded. “Did you bring us here to try to talk us into putting Intemperance back together? Because you can just take a flying fuck if that’s the case.”
“Amen to that shit,” Jake said. “You two have a lot of fucking nerve, bringing two people who are quite on record as not wanting to be around each other into your office without telling them.”
“Goddamn right,” Matt agreed. “Do you assholes think this stunt is helping you get me to sign for the next contract period? You think I’m not going to remember this shit?”
“Or me?” asked Jake. “You probably just got our latest master CDs in the mail, didn’t you? Do you really think pissing off one of the KVA owners is in your best interest?”
“Gentlemen,” Doolittle said, “I understand the emotion of the moment here. Really, I do. But hear us out before you storm out of here.”
“That’s right,” said Crow. “At least give us the courtesy of listening to our proposal.”
Jake looked over at Matt, who was still standing in the doorway, one foot out the door. Matt looked back at him. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Finally, Jake gave a little shrug. Matt hesitated a little longer and then returned the gesture. He stepped back inside the office and closed the door behind him.
“All right,” Matt said. “Make this shit fast. My patience is already in the fucking negative.”
“Absolutely,” Doolittle said, smiling. “Why don’t you two have a seat?”
“I’ll stand,” Jake said. “I don’t think this is going to take long.”
“Me too,” said Matt.