“Interesting,” Jake said. “And they’re willing to pay me this just for doing my solo work? No Intemperance songs?”
“No Intemperance songs,” she confirmed. “They don’t even want to go there. It would cost them too much to purchase performance rights from National, even if National agreed to allow it.”
“I see,” Jake said, pondering. It was a very lucrative offer, to say the least. “Would I be the headliner?”
“Uh ... no, actually,” Pauline said. “You would be the act before the headliner. Stillson was open and made sure I was aware of that when he spoke to me.”
“I see,” Jake said slowly.
“Is that a problem?” she asked.
“It hurts my ego a little bit,” he said honestly. He had not opened for anyone since the Earthstone tour way back when Intemperance had gone out on the road for the first time after the release of their first album. And even that had only lasted for the first leg before National split the tour and sent Intemperance out on their own as a headliner with the AC/DC soundalike band Voyeur opening for them.
“Does it hurt it enough to turn down a million bucks?” she asked.
“Maybe not that much,” he admitted. “That is a lot of money for just two shows.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. After all, she would score two hundred thousand of that—her cut as his manager.
“Who will be the headliner?” he asked.
“That has not been determined yet,” she said. “I’m guessing they’re shooting for Metallica, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, someone like that.”
“So, they’re going for more of a hard rock genre then?”
“That was my understanding,” Pauline said.
“Well ... I guess I could give them a tentative yes,” Jake said. “There is, however, the small matter of my not having a band currently.”
“That could be an issue,” Pauline said. “Celia’s tour should wrap-up well before June, potentially freeing up Coop, Charlie, Laura, Eric, and even Liz, but ... well ... I’m already hearing rumblings about Aristocrat wanting to fund a European and South American tour after the North American tour is done. And I’m inclined to think that Celia would be agreeable to such a project.”
“Great,” Jake grumbled. Another five or six months without regular sex.
“Such a tour would be quite lucrative,” Pauline told him. “You have to know that. It would increase CD sales internationally and bring in a buttload of tour revenue. That’s really nice on KVA’s bottom line.”
“I suppose,” he said with a shrug. At least there was such a thing as internet porn these days. “Anyway, if Coop and Laura and the rest are going international, I should still be able to throw a band together. After all, I’m established now. It shouldn’t be much of a problem digging up professional musicians.”
“When would you have to start working on rehearsals and all that?” Pauline asked.
“For a late September date? With musicians unfamiliar with my work and that I’ve never worked with before?” He thought for a second. “We would need to be in the studio and starting rehearsals by mid-June ... late-June at the latest. Which means I would have to start auditioning people by the first week of May.”
“That means you wouldn’t be able to contribute much to the second Brainwash album,” she pointed out.
“That is true,” he said, nodding. “But if I can just help them select the tunes that will be on the next album, the Nerdlys could do most of the rest.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. “You serve as the voice of reason for the recording sessions, the one who tells them when it’s time to let something go. If you’re not there during the sessions, Brainwash might not make it out of the studio before the summer is up.”
“They’ll make it out,” Jake said. “Even if I have to call the Nerdlys up and yell at them on the phone, we’ll squeak out the deadline.”
“I suppose,” she said doubtfully. “Anyway, I’ll give Stillson a call and let him know you’re definitely interested.”
“Sounds good,” Jake said, sipping a little more of his drink.
She smiled. “A million-dollar gig,” she said. “A long way from those five-hundred-dollar gigs you used to do at D Street, right?”
“Yep,” he said. “A long way indeed.”
Twenty minutes later, he was in the back of the limo again, sipping out of yet another rum and coke. He was developing a nice buzz at this point and was looking forward to his arrival in Granada Hills. His plan was to heat up one of his Tupperware meals, take a bonghit or two while it was cooking, eat, have a scotch, fire up the old computer and peruse some pornographic Usenet boards, whack off, and then go to bed. He might or might not find time for a cigar out on the patio between step six and step seven.
The limo was just climbing up Cahuenga Pass over the Santa Monica Mountains when a jingling, jangling noise began to erupt from Jake’s back pocket.
“What the fuck?” he asked, startled.
“Isn’t that your cell phone?” suggested Tony.
“Oh ... yeah, I guess it is,” Jake said. He had never actually heard it ring before. He primarily used it for outgoing calls and usually did not even leave it powered up when he was not using it. He must have forgot to turn it off after talking to Pauline.
He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the display. This was not helpful, however, since whoever was calling him did not have their caller ID activated. He debated just letting it ring out—after all, the reason he had waited so long to buy one of these infernal devices was that he valued his alone time and did not want to be constantly intruded upon in situations where it was customary to be out of communication—but curiosity got the better of him. He flipped up the cover and put the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Jake? Is that you?” The connection was scratchy, probably because they were climbing a mountain pass, but he instantly recognized the British accented voice coming through the little speaker.
“Yeah, Elsa,” he said. “It’s Jake. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine here,” she said. “I knew you were scheduled to return to Los Angeles today and I just talked to Pauline to see if she knew your status. She told me you had just visited her and were heading for your house there. She suggested I might be able to reach you on your mobile phone.”
“I guess she was right,” he said. “I’m in a limo going up the pass right now. Why did you need to talk to me?”
“Well, first of all, I wanted to determine if you would be staying overnight in the city or flying home. Pauline says you’re staying overnight. Is that correct?”
“That is correct,” he said. “I’ve had a few drinks today so I can’t fly until tomorrow. I’ll probably head home in the late morning.”
“Very good,” she said. “The other reason I called is because Mr. Oldfellow was looking to speak with you.”
“Greg? He called you?”
“That is correct. He said he needed to speak with you and that the matter was of some importance. Naturally, I did not give him your mobile phone number since I did not have your permission to do so.”
“Naturally,” Jake replied.
“He did ask, however, that I pass along a request for you to phone him as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “Where is he at?” Greg could be in a couple of different places—the LA house, the Palm Springs house, a hotel out of town somewhere—each of which had a different phone number.
“He said he’ll be...” Her voice faded out and became mired in static as they started down the backside of the pass. A second later, the connection severed as the call was dropped. Jake shook his head, thinking this technology was not all it was cracked up to be.