“As you wish,” Doolittle told them. “Before we get started, would either of you like a refreshment? Maybe a line or two of...”
“Just fucking tell us why we’re here!” Matt yelled.
“All right, all right,” Doolittle said, projecting hurt feelings. “There’s no need to raise your voice, Matt.”
“I’m gonna be raising my fucking fist in a few seconds,” Matt threatened. “And it ain’t Kingsley it’s going to be flying at. You dig?”
“I dig,” Doolittle said. “I’m sorry for the deception. Sincerely sorry. But I really thought it would be in the best interest of everyone if the two of you met face to face on neutral ground so we can discuss matters of mutual interest.”
“And what would those ‘matters of mutual interest’ be?” asked Jake.
Doolittle put that car salesman grin on his face in all of its glory. “We think the time has come for an Intemperance reunion tour,” he said.
Matt’s glare became downright dangerous looking. “You did not just fucking say that to me,” he said.
“Now ... hear us out, Matt,” Crow said.
“Yeah,” said Jake brightly. “Let’s hear them out, Matt.”
Matt’s head whipped around. He glared at Jake. “Hear them out? Are you high?”
“Not at all,” Jake said. “I’m sure that Mr. Doolittle and Mr. Crow here have a perfectly good reason for believing that me and you, two people who had a very public, very personal, and very nasty parting of ways five years ago, will be willing to put our differences aside and get the boys back together so they can make a little money off of us. I mean, doesn’t it seem perfectly reasonable that I will forget all of my petty little grievances about a man who publicly accused me of murdering a good friend and bandmate; who then convinced said bandmate’s mother to not allow me to attend his funeral; who has gone on record time and time again repeating those accusations and declaring that he will—and I quote—’never stand on a stage with any member of Intemperance again, as long as I live’. Very reasonable, right? Why don’t we just hear them out?”
“You see, Matt,” Doolittle said. “Jake knows where we’re coming from.”
Matt slowly turned his head back to Doolittle. “I believe that that was sarcasm, Doolittle,” he informed him blankly.
“It was?” Doolittle asked, looking over at Jake.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “It was. There will be no reunion. Not now. Not ever.”
“A-fuckin’-men to that shit,” Matt said.
“But ... but ... don’t you two understand?” Doolittle pleaded. “Classic rock concerts at market value pricing is the up-and-coming trend in the industry! The Eagles started it and Celia Valdez helped set the precedent. Everyone is jumping on the bandwagon now. Styx has reunited and is right now putting together a national tour. Bad Company, Def Leppard, and REO Speedwagon are working on tours as well. I even heard a rumor that Journey will be reuniting to get in on this action. Journey! For the love of God, if Steve Perry and Neal Schon can put aside their differences in the name of profit, surely you two can as well!”
“Don’t call me Shirley,” Jake said, deadpan.
“What?” Doolittle yelled.
“I was gonna say that,” Matt pouted. “Only I was gonna say, ‘don’t fucking call me Shirley’.”
“That is more fitting coming from you,” Jake agreed.
“Listen, guys,” Crow cut in. “Do you have any idea how much an Intemperance reunion tour would bring in? It would set the new gold standard for ticket prices! Seriously! We’re talking a hundred and fifty dollars for the fucking nosebleed seats in the back! Two hundred dollars for the side bleachers. Floor seating will be four hundred dollars apiece behind the soundboard and six hundred to a thousand for the stagefront seats! We’re talking more than a million dollars in raw, unadulterated profit per show!”
Jake could not help but whistle at these figures. “You really think people would pay that much?” he asked.
“We know they will!” Doolittle said. “Market research has already been done!”
“That is some pretty good coin,” Matt said pensively.
“Yes, it is,” Crow said. “Can you understand now why we felt the need to get you two together and talk about this?”
Jake nodded. “I do understand why you felt that need,” he said. “How about you, Matt? Do you understand?”
“Fuckin’ A,” Matt said. “I probably would have done the same in their shoes.”
“Me too,” Jake said.
Doolittle and Crow were both grinning now. “Then you’ll consider what we’re suggesting?” Doolittle asked.
“Fuck no,” Matt spat. “I was just saying I understood why you did it. There’s no way in hell I’m ever going to play with this fucking sellout again. I thought I’d made myself clear on that point.”
“As did I,” said Jake. “I wouldn’t have this asshole up on my stage if he were the last guitarist on Earth. Not after all the shit he’s put me through. Intemperance is dead, guys. You need to accept that.”
“Well put,” Matt told Jake.
“Thanks,” Jake said with a nod.
“And, now that that is said,” Matt said, “it’s time for me to fuck off.” He stepped forward and glared at the two record company suits with a dangerous expression. “Don’t you ever pull any shit like this again,” he warned them. “I played nice this time. Next time, I’ll be kicking someone’s ass.”
With that, he turned and opened the office door. He stepped through it and then slammed it behind him, leaving Jake alone with Doolittle and Crow.
Jake looked at the closed door for a moment and then turned back to the desk. “You two didn’t really think that was going to work, did you?”
“Yes,” Doolittle said. “Actually, we did. We were counting on your common financial sense overriding your past grievances.”
“They’re pretty strong grievances,” Jake pointed out.
“How can you two turn down that kind of money?” Crow asked, almost cried. “More than a million dollars per show, with a minimum sixty set tour. I don’t understand.”
“Because, Crow,” Jake explained, “there are some things that are more important than money. Things like honor and integrity.”
Crow shook his head in disgust. “I always knew you were a communist, Jake.”
Jake hung out in Doolittle’s office for a few more minutes, and then in the outer office for a few more before heading downstairs. He wanted to give Matt enough time to leave the premises so they would not run into each other again. When he figured enough time had gone by, he went to the elevator and pushed the call button. The car arrived and he stepped in, riding it back down to the lobby.
As he stepped out through the main lobby door and into the valet area, he saw that he had not waited long enough. Matt was sitting on a planter, talking angrily into his cellular phone to someone. Sitting next to him was a guy in his thirties with a rolling suitcase. Jake had no idea who the suitcase guy might be.
“Heading out already, Mr. Kingsley?” asked the Hispanic valet who had parked Jake’s truck earlier.
“Yeah, it was a short meeting,” Jake said, handing him the valet slip.
The man looked over at Matt. “Were you and Mr. Tisdale in the same room together?” he whispered.
“For a few minutes,” Jake said.
“Is Intemperance going to get back together?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” Jake said simply. “How about you go get my truck for me, amigo? I’ve already wasted too much of my day here.”
“Right away,” the valet said. He disappeared into the parking garage.
Jake pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet to tip him with and then stood waiting. He glanced over at Matt again. Matt had just turned off his phone and clipped it to his belt. He seemed quite unhappy. Acting on an impulse he did not quite understand, Jake walked over to him.