"So now that I'm out and free," Matt continued, "I just want to assure everyone that Intemperance will rock on and we'll be going to work on our next album in just a few days now. It will be recorded and released by November and it will be our best fucking album yet."
Another round of applause, this time with a few whistles thrown in for good measure.
"And the reason I know that this will be the best album ever," Matt said when it quieted down again, "is because the band that I originally put together, the quintessential fucking Intemperance, will be the one to put together this album, to record it, and to tour for it."
"What does he mean by that?" Charlie said nervously.
Before Jake could answer, Matt himself did. "What I mean by this," he said, "is that my main man here..." He put his arm around Darren's shoulders and pulled him close against him, "Darren Appleman, one of the founding fucking members of Intemperance, is back in action after recovering from a very nasty brush with botulism. He's fought hard and long, endured months and months of physical therapy, and now he's strong, healthy, and ready to get back to work. The original Intemperance is back, people. Let's hear it for Darren!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, most of whom were drunk enough that they hardly realized what Matt was even talking about.
"What happens to me?" Charlie asked.
Once again, Matt answered before Jake could.
"Freakboy, you out there somewhere?" Matt asked. "You're still here, ain't ya? I'm sure you are. Well let me be the first to tell you, that you too get to return to your old job. The fuckin' Speedy-Lube awaits you. If you see me before your ass is gone, I'll be sure to write you a letter of reference."
Nervous laughter rippled through the room at this statement. Matt didn't seem to notice. "Party on, people!" he yelled into the mic. "Party on! Everything is right in the world tonight!"
With that, he and Darren left the stage, quickly disappearing into the crowd.
Jake looked over at Charlie and saw that he was near tears.
"Charlie?" he asked carefully.
"I'm out of the band?" Charlie asked slowly. "Just like that?"
Jake looked at him for a moment and then shook his head. "No," he told the bass player. "You're not. Don't worry. I think you're about the strangest motherfucker I've ever met in all my years, but I'm not letting you go that easily." He looked over in the direction of the largest gathering of people and finally caught a glimpse of Matt. He was drinking another drink and standing next to Darren.
"You ain't going anywhere," Jake said. "It ain't gonna be pretty, but I'm gonna fight for you."
Chapter 15a
National Records Building
July 2, 1989
The meeting with Crow was scheduled for eleven o'clock that morning since that was the best time to catch Matt and Coop both awake and in a relatively sober state of being. Jake, who was not looking forward to the subject of the meeting in any way, shape, or form, nevertheless showed up forty-five minutes early. He had a few items that fell under the umbrella of "personal business" to take care of while he was in the building.
Since he was Jake Kingsley, lead singer of National's most popular and profitable band, he was able to walk past the security guards who controlled access to the elevators without so much as an ID check. They didn't bother checking to see if he had an appointment or even asking where in the building he was going. They simply wished him a nice day and opened the bulletproof glass door at the end of the lobby.
Instead of catching an up elevator to Crow's office, Jake caught a down elevator and rode to the basement recording and mixing studio — a place he had spent hundreds upon hundreds of hours in during his career, a place whose layout he knew as well as his own house. He walked down two hallways, descended a set of stairs to a lower level, and finally came to a door labeled MIXING ROOM D. Inside he found a sterile room full of multi-million dollar audio equipment that included complex mixing boards and multiple reel-to-reel tape machines. Three technicians sat at various places around the room. Jake knew two of them on a first name basis, the other on nodding acquaintance. Sitting at the main mixing board were Nerdly and his fiancée, Sharon. They were dressed identically in loose-fitting khaki shorts and oversized polo shirts. Sitting next to the happy couple was a moderately dark-skinned black man wearing faded jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscular arms. A large gold hoop dangled from his left ear and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat perched atop his nose. Jake had never seen a picture of Bigg G before, but since he'd specifically been told to come to this studio at this time in order to meet him, had to assume that Bigg G was who he was looking at.
"Jake," Nerdly said with a nod when he spotted him. He took the headphones off and set them on the table next to him. "Glad you could come. How are they hanging on this day?"
"High and tight," Jake told him.
"Yes," Nerdly agreed. "I can understand how the upcoming confrontation would lead to that phenomenon. I'm suffering from a similar malady myself."
The black man, who had turned toward Jake and taken off his headphones, burst out laughing. "Awww man," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I just love to listen to what comes out of your mouth, Nerdly."
"Did I say something amusing?" Nerdly asked, confused.
"Never mind," the black man said, standing up. He was just a hair taller than Jake. He held out his right hand. "It's nice to meet you, Jake. I'm Bigg G."
Jake shook with him. "So I finally meet you," he said. "What do your friends call you? Bigg or G?"
"They usually call me Gordon," he said.
"Gordon?"
Gordon shrugged. "It's my given name," he said. "Gordon Paladay. I figured I'd sell a few more records if I went by Bigg G."
"Yeah," Jake said. "I suppose you might have a point there."
Gordon told Jake he enjoyed listening to his music. Jake, unfortunately, was unable to return the sentiment. He had never heard a Bigg G tune before. Gordon said he understood, that rap wasn't everyone's cup of tea.
"I've been meaning to give you a listen," Jake told him. "Nerdly's had nothing but good things to say about your music."
"Nerdly's been a big help with this last album," Gordon said. "He knows this mixing shit better than some of these homeys been working here for fifteen years. And he's been giving us all this help for free."
"I like to mix," Nerdly said, obviously pleased with the praise.
"And he's a funny motherfucker too," Gordon said with a chuckle. "I could listen to his ass all day long and never get tired of it. I want to see if I can get him an invite to speak at this year's rap music awards. He'll bring down the fuckin' house."
Jake laughed. "That he would," he agreed.
Nerdly had a look of puzzlement on his face. "I'd be happy to speak a few words at the awards ceremony," he said. "But I don't quite understand what insights I would be able to share with the rap music community that would hold such interest to them."
"Trust me, Nerdly," Gordon said. "It won't matter what you talk about. They'd fuckin' love it."
"Well... if you say so," Nerdly said.
"I do," Gordon said. "I really do." He turned to Jake. "So, I hear you got a couple of kids who want my autograph."
"Yep," Jake agreed. "My housekeeper's grandkids have been pestering me to get one for them for months. They're good kids so I told them I'd see what I can do."
"Don't they want your autograph?" Gordon asked.
"Naw, they don't care about me," Jake said. "I'm just the guy who lets 'em swim in his pool and who might be able to score them a Bigg G autograph."
"They seem like good kids all right," Gordon said with a grin. "I'll be happy to sign something for them. What do they want?"