"What's our legal standing on this?" Jake asked.
"It's kind of in a gray area," she said. "If you were to go up there and perform copywrited material — either your own or someone else's — you would indeed be in breach of contract. However, since you're planning on performing a song you wrote for the occasion... well... that's not copywrited material, nor is it owned by National as long as you haven't actually submitted it to them in recorded form. You could make a case that such a performance — as long as you weren't paid for it — would not constitute a breach of contract."
"You could make a case?" Jake asked. "Would it be a defensible position?"
"It's hard to tell," she said. "There's really no precedent set for this particular situation. I'll tell you what I think would happen though."
"What's that?"
"I think they'll bluster and threaten and try to intimidate if you go forth with the performance at the wedding, but in the end, they'll conclude that it's really not an issue worth fighting over and drop it."
"That's kind of what I think too," Jake said. "I'm going to do it. I've already got most of the song perfected."
"What's it called?" Pauline asked.
"The Start Of The Journey," he told her.
"The journey being marriage?"
"You guessed it," he said. "It's a soft, gentle, ballad piece set up to sound best with just my voice and my acoustic guitar. It's very un-Intemperance-like, both in music and lyrics."
"It sounds nice," Pauline said. "And I wouldn't worry too much about National's reaction. If you do a good job and the press likes your song, they won't push very hard because the media will make them out to be a bunch of crybaby control freaks."
"They are a bunch of crybaby control freaks," Jake said.
"True, but they don't want the public realizing that."
"Good point," he said.
"Next item," she said. "This one's a little stickier."
"How sticky?" he asked.
"It's Darren," she said. "I went and visited him pretty regularly while you guys were out on tour."
"Is he getting worse?" Jake asked.
"No," she said. "He's getting better."
"Really?" Jake asked.
"He's put on weight and it looks like he might've slowed down on the painkillers and the valium and the muscle relaxers he's been popping. He's been showing up regularly for his physical therapy appointments and he seems to be regaining some of his strength."
"No shit," Jake said. "What got him into gear?"
"He wants his job back," she said.
"Oh," Jake said slowly. "I see."
She nodded. "I know how you feel about it. Charlie's kind of strange, but..."
"He's more than strange," Jake said. "He's a fruitcake to the tenth degree."
"Right," she said, "but, as you've pointed out many times, he's a better bass player than Darren and he's more reliable. Quite frankly, I'm concerned about Darren returning to the band. He's shown us time and time again that he has a problem with the drugs. He can get himself clean for awhile — God knows he's done that more than once — but he always tends to relapse, usually at the worst possible time."
"Yeah," Jake said. "I know."
"He's hoping to be strong enough by the time Matt gets out of jail to go to his release party. At that point he plans to announce that he's ready to return to the band. Coop and Matt will both support him as long as he's physically able to stand up to the rigors of rehearsal and performance. What we need to figure out, is where Bill stands on this issue and where you and I stand on it."
"I'm in favor of keeping Charlie," Jake said.
"I figured that's what you would say," she said. "That's pretty much how I feel as well."
"So what are we going to do?" Jake wanted to know.
"I don't know yet," she said. "It's nothing we need to lose sleep over just yet. Maybe he won't have enough strength when the time comes. Maybe Matt will surprise us and want to keep Charlie too. Maybe Coop will."
"I doubt it," Jake said.
"Me too, but let's just put that on the wait-and-see list for now. We'll deal with the situation when we have to."
"All right," Jake said. "Anything else?"
"Just these," she said, reaching into her briefcase and pulling out a large brown envelope that was bulging with its contents. She set it down on the desk before him. "Four months worth of fan mail. About three hundred letters in all."
"Cool," Jake said, taking it and setting it atop his computer monitor. Reading fan mail was one of the pleasures of his job. He had always made it a point to read each and every letter sent to him, although he rarely had the time to personally answer more than one out of fifty. "This will give me something to do over the next few days. Help build my ego up."
"Like it really needs that," Pauline said with a grin.
"Not nice, sis," he told her. "Not nice at all." He looked at the clock on the wall. "It's almost dinner time. Anyone up for a pre-dinner cocktail?"
"I'm up for it," Pauline said.
"Me too," Jill agreed. Though she was almost a complete teetotaler at home, she tended to imbibe when visiting Los Angeles and her most lucrative client. After all, when in Rome...
Elsa had prepared for them an extra-spicy batch of Louisiana jambalaya. She served it with freshly baked French bread, lots of napkins, and icy cold bottles of Rolling Rock beer. Jake and his two guests dug in heartily, each of them eating no less than two bowls of the fragrant stew that was a combination of chicken, spicy sausage, shrimp, rice, and various vegetables.
"This is wonderful," Jill proclaimed, wiping a sheen of sweat that had formed on her forehead because of the jambalaya's bite. "I can't believe I've never tried this before."
"Keep drinking the beer," suggested Pauline, who was sweating just as badly. "It keeps your mouth from actually combusting."
They kept drinking the beer. Elsa came through at one point to refresh their bread and beer supply. Seeing her, Jake was reminded of a promise he'd made to her grandchildren.
"Hey, Pauline," he said. "You spend more time over at National than I do."
"True," she agreed. "What about it?"
"What do you know about Bigg-G?"
"The rapper?" she said with a shrug. "Not a lot. What do want to know?"
"I promised Gerald and Delilah I'd try to get some autographs for them. I heard he was working on his next album these days. Is that true?"
"It is true," she said. "I've never met him myself so I don't know a lot about him. You know who does, though?"
"Who?"
"Bill," she said. "They're buddies."
Jake looked at her in disbelief. "Nerdly is buddies with a rapper?" he asked.
She nodded. "The two of them are like this," she said, holding her index and middle finger crossed.
"Jesus," Jake said. "Isn't that like the final sign of the apocalypse?"
"It may very well be," Pauline said with a laugh.
"How do they know each other?" Jake asked.
"How else?" she asked. "Bill and Sharon are at the studio every day working with anyone who happens to be recording anything. Bigg-G is recording right now and Bill has been helping him set his sound levels and mix the final tracks."
"No shit?"
"No shit," she confirmed. "You should call Bill and see what he can set up for you."
"I think I'll do that," Jake said, still trying to picture Nerdly and Bigg-G hanging out.
After dinner, the two women climbed back into a limo, both of them more than a little tipsy. Jill would be going back to the Hollywood Hilton, where Jake always put her up when she was in town. Another limo would pick her up in the morning to take her to the airport and her first class flight back to Heritage. Pauline would go to her own home where her plans were to have a few more drinks and then maybe call up Steve Gordon, a golf pro she'd met a few months before while taking lessons. Steve was dumb, a horrible conversationalist, and terribly conceited, but he was also extremely attractive, pretty good in bed, and he almost always came over when she called and then left immediately after the deed was done. That was what Pauline was looking for in a relationship these days.