"You know someone who's got some?" he asked.
"Damn right," she said. "You see Johnny over there? The guy I was talking to a little earlier?"
Darren looked and saw a tall, well-dressed man with neatly cropped hair and watching eyes. "Yeah," he said. "I see him."
"He's a dealer. You give me a hundred bucks and I'll get enough blackball to keep us feeling good all fucking night."
The hundred dollar bill was out of his wallet in seconds. Allison carried it over to Johnny and spoke a few words with him. They disappeared off into a corner of the club, out of Darren's sight. A few minutes later, Allison returned, smiling happily.
"I got it," she said. "You ready to leave?"
"Bet your ass," he said.
They rode in Darren's limo back to his condo just outside of Hollywood. Cedric, his manservant, was already in bed when they entered. Darren took just enough time to show Allison his luxury condo — which she predictably oohed and ahhed over — and then they retired to his bedroom. Darren pulled out his trusty water bong and a lighter and they sat on the edge of his bed.
Allison opened up the baggie and pulled out a small, sticky ball of black, tarry stuff that smelled like vinegar. She put it in the bowl of the bong for him and told him to fire up.
"You'll have to hit a little harder than you do with pot," she advised. "It's kind of like smoking hash."
"Cool," Darren said, feeling a little better about this when she compared it to hashish, which he'd smoked many times in his life. He flicked his Bic and put it to the small ball in the bowl, sucking hard. The ball burned with a crackling noise. The pungent smoke went up the neck and into his lungs. He held it in. Almost immediately he felt the nostalgic sensation of warmth spreading through his body — it wasn't exactly the same as when he'd shot China White into his veins, not quite as intense — but it was close.
"You like it?" Allison asked, already rolling up another little ball for herself.
"Fuck yeah," he said, smiling, feeling the depression starting to lift from his being.
In all they took three hits apiece. Instead of fucking they both just laid on the bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and basking in the sensation of opiate intoxication. Darren was already thinking that he'd have to go to the Flamingo a little more often and get to know Johnny better.
Chapter 2a
New Beginnings
Los Angeles, California
December 9, 1986
Jake opened the door to his condo and led Jill Yamashito and her father, John, inside. The house was clean — the maid service had been in just that morning — and he gave them the ten-cent tour. They were both suitably impressed with his accommodations.
So far they'd been impressed with everything they'd experienced on this day, just as Jake had intended. It had started at 7:00 that morning when a limousine, sent by Jake, had picked them up at their respective homes and driven them to the Heritage County Airport. There, two first class tickets to Los Angeles had been waiting for them. They landed at LAX shortly after nine o'clock and another limo took them to their individual suites at the Hollywood Hilton Hotel. Once there they were offered use of either room service or the hotel restaurant for dining then allowed to rest up until eleven o'clock, at which point Jake arrived in yet another limo to escort them to Pauline's house to begin work.
At Pauline's they'd spent about ninety minutes going through every wire transfer receipt and every check Jake had received since the new contract had gone into effect. Pauline had then presented them with a document she'd drawn up regarding the band's contract with National Records. In order to look at the contract — and thus be able to calculate how much income Jake should be receiving from National Records — they had to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement that threatened severe civil penalties if the agreement was broken. This was because National — despite many rumors — had never actually admitted, either publicly or privately, that they'd renegotiated their contract with Intemperance for fear that other bands would try the same thing.
Jill and her father were both a little reluctant to sign such a document at first and Pauline had to explain to them that they would not be able to do business if they didn't. "It's not trickery of any kind," she explained to them. "It's a simple half-page document that's not even written in legalese. All it says is that if details of the Intemperance contract with National Records are made public and the source of that information can be proven to have originated with your firm and National, as a result, reverts to the old contract because of this, your firm will be held liable for damages."
"Which would be considerable," Jake added, much to Pauline's chagrin. "We weren't pulling in any money at all under the old contract."
"So in other words," Pauline said, shooting a dirty look at her brother/client, "as long as you keep your mouths shut about the specifics of the contract, there will be no problems."
Jill and her father both read the agreement several times, word for word, looking for hidden pitfalls but, as Pauline had promised, it was written in a simple, straightforward manner. They signed and Pauline then gave each of them a copy of the Intemperance contract to keep. She also gave them copies of Jake's contract with Gibson Guitars and Buxfield Limousines.
Both had spent the entire trip to Jake's condo reading through the documents.
"So the band is due another five hundred thousand dollar advance soon?" Jill asked as Jake led her to his office next to the condo's master bedroom.
"As soon as we submit a demo tape for the next album," Jake confirmed.
"Will that be before the end of the year?" she asked.
"Not a chance," he replied. "National is already pestering us for it but we haven't even all been in the same room together since the end of the tour, let alone jammed together."
"Jammed?" she asked, confused.
"Uh... yes, you know? Played together? Tried to compose new music?"
"Oh... of course," she said, filing that word away.
"Anyway, I've got two songs I've picked out on my acoustic there." He pointed to the battered Fender up on the wall. "And Matt's probably got one or two in mind as well. We need to come up with at least twelve tunes, maybe as many as fourteen, jam them out and perfect them, and then record them for submission. That won't happen until at least March, maybe even April."
"So your advance will not be forthcoming during this tax year?" she asked.
"Exactly," Jake said.
"Okay," she said. "We won't worry about that now then. What other income are you expecting this year?"
"All the big stuff is paid quarterly or on delivery," Pauline said. "Their next royalty checks will come in January. This includes the royalties from National and Jake's share of the profits from the Jake Kingsley signature guitar from Gibson. Merchandising profits are also paid quarterly and that will come in in January as well. The only thing left before the end of the year is the payments from NBC for the Saturday Night Live performance and the payments from CBS for their appearance on Rockline on December 28th."
"How much will those be?" Jill asked.
"SNL is fifty grand for the band," Pauline said. "Minus my twenty percent and divided by five, that will be another..."