"You got any publicity shots on you?" Jake asked.
"Not currently," he said. "I can probably go upstairs and dig a couple up from the promotions department."
"That might work," Jake said thoughtfully. "I have a better idea, if you're down with it."
"Lay it on me," Gordon said.
"They got you staying in a leased condo with some National Records spy who doubles as a servant, right?"
Gordon barked out a sharp, resentful laugh. "It sound like you been through this."
"I have," Jake said. "Why don't you come over to my pad after you're done here tonight? The kids will be there and they can meet you. In return, my housekeeper will serve you a genuine home-cooked meal. I believe she told me she was doing up some tacos tonight."
Gordon liked that idea. "Tacos huh? You mean, like, real tacos?"
"As real as they get," Jake said.
"And she's a good cook?"
"That's one of the reasons I hired her," Jake said.
"I'm in," Gordon said. "That asshole they got cooking for me is some flaming faggot who's always making weird shit like rabbits and geese and fuckin' snails."
"His name isn't Manny, is it?" Jake asked.
"Yeah," Gordon said. "It is. How'd you know?"
"Long story," Jake told him with a laugh. "How do they get you here and back? Limo service?"
"Nope," he said. "They got me a Mercedes 500E coupe — leased, of course, and coming out of my recoupables."
"No shit?" Jake said. "When I first started they threw a shitfit about me having my own car. It gave me more freedom than they wanted. Now they're leasing the car for you?"
"They ain't doin' it out of the kindness of their hearts," Gordon said. "It's an image thing. People expect to see a famous brother with his own ride so they got me one. They charge me extra if I go over a hundred miles a week though, and they threaten to cut off my allowance if I go someplace they don't want me going with it."
"Like to my pad?" Jake asked.
"I'm sure they won't be down with that," Gordon agreed. "You is considered a bad influence on other musicians."
Jake chuckled. "I suppose I am at that," he said. "So are you gonna get in trouble for coming over?"
"Shee-it," Gordon scoffed. "Trouble is my middle name."
"I thought you said it was Albert," Nerdly said, causing Jake to crack up and Gordon to look acutely embarrassed.
Jake wrote down his address and basic directions for Gordon and told him he was looking forward to the visit. Nerdly, meanwhile, held a brief conversation with Sharon regarding the final instructions for the low-end bass levels they were working on. She agreed with most of what he said but did have a few points of contention to offer. Gordon then jumped in with a few points of his own. Finally they reached a shaky consensus on the matter, enough that Nerdly felt safe leaving them for an hour or so.
Jake said goodbye to Sharon and Gordon and headed for the exit. Nerdly trailed behind him. They made their way back to the elevators and pushed the up button. While they waited, Nerdly began to chew on his fingernails.
"Remember," Jake told him. "We stick to our guns on this, no matter how much he threatens and postures."
"Stick to our guns," Nerdly agreed.
By the time they reached Crow's office they were still more than twenty minutes early. Crow's secretary greeted the two musicians and told them to go right in.
"Are you sure?" Jake asked. "The last time we busted in on him unexpectedly he was getting his knob polished by Mikey Garcia."
The secretary blushed a little. "I assure you, he's alone in there this time," she told them. "And I also buzzed him to let him know you were here when I saw you in the outer office."
"Okay then," Jake said. "If you're sure it's safe."
They walked in. It was safe. Crow was sitting behind his desk, seemingly doing some actual paperwork of some sort although Jake wasn't quite sure what sort of actual paperwork someone like Crow would have. He greeted them warmly but cautiously as he waved them to seats in front of his desk.
"You're early, guys," he said.
"I came a little early to meet Bigg G," Jake said. "Nerdly here was kind enough to introduce me to him."
Crow nodded. "He's a nice enough guy... you know... for a nigger."
Jake rolled his eyes. "That's quite some praise, Steve," he said. "I'm sure he'd be quite pleased to hear that from your lips."
Crow shrugged. "He's not in my department and I try not to mingle with people not in my department."
"Except for Mikey Garcia, right?" Jake asked with a smile.
Crow chose to ignore this remark. "I've never quite understood why people like that rap shit anyway. It sounds like a bunch of noise to me." He shrugged again. "Oh well. It makes us a lot of money."
"And that's what it's all about, right?" Jake asked.
"Exactly," Crow said, either missing Jake's sarcastic tone or ignoring it. "So, tell me something, gentlemen. Is the subject of this meeting what I'm afraid it is?"
"That depends on what you're afraid it is," Jake said.
"Well... let's see," Crow said. "You called Pauline, Nerdly, Matt, and Coop for a meeting with me but you specifically excluded both Charlie and Darren. That kind of implies that Charlie and/or Darren are to be the subject of the discussion at hand."
Jake and Nerdly looked at each other. "We'd rather not say until the others get here," Jake said.
Crow sighed, shaking his head in consternation. "I knew it," he said. "I knew that somehow you guys were going to piss on my tranquility again."
"Steve..." Jake started.
"I am not going to allow a dispute to disrupt the timeline for the next album," Crow warned. "I'm telling you this right here and now, and you guys had better take heed of my words."
"Like I said, Steve," Jake said. "Why don't we wait until everyone gets here before we start yelling at each other? There will be plenty of time for that later."
Crow sighed again. "I suppose," he said. "You guys want something to drink?"
They both asked for non-alcoholic drinks (Jake, iced tea with a lemon slice, Nerdly, a virgin strawberry daiquiri with a banana slice). Crow got his secretary on the intercom and passed the order along. She promised the beverages would be there in less than five minutes. While they waited, Jake brought up the subject he really wanted to discuss. He had received the resume, news clippings, and demo tape from Brainwash almost two weeks ago. Out of his own pocket he had made ten copies of everything, including the tape itself. One set he had given to Crow, telling him he thought they were a great band with huge money-making potential. Crow had promised to look into the packet and give the tape a listen.
"So," he said to Crow now, "have you had a chance to go over that material I gave you on Brainwash?"
Crow made a sour face. "I went over it as much as I needed to," he said. "You really should leave new artist development to the NAD department, Jake."
"You didn't like them?" Jake asked, surprised. He himself liked them so much he had taken to listening to a copy of their demo tape in his car. They really did make some good music.
"Nothing to like about them," Crow said. "They are most definitely not what we're looking for in a new artist — now, or at any other time."
"Why in the hell not?" Jake asked. "What's wrong with them?
"What's wrong with them?" Crow asked incredulously. "Jesus Christ, Jake. How could you seriously ask me that? The guys in that group all look like friggin' accountants, one of the girls looks like a dyke, and the other girl is a fat cow."
"Fat?" Jake said. "Marcie Scanlon is not fat. She's full-bodied, voluptuous maybe, but I certainly wouldn't call her fat."
"I would," Crow said. "And so would much of America. She's a goddamn moose. The camera would make her look even fatter."
"Steve," Jake said, "did you even listen to the tape or did you base your entire judgment on the band's photos?"
"I didn't need to listen to the tape," Crow said. "There's no way in hell a band with a fat chick, a trio of nerds, and a dyke on lead guitar is going to make it in this industry. They could be Led Zepplin resurrected and no one would care."