And then there were the animals. The jungle was supposed to be full of ravenous tigers, herds of elephants, and groups of murderous gorillas, but no explanation was given for how these animals, after enduring the destruction of the rest of the Earth, had come to be in the Pacific Northwest in numbers great enough to establish their own ecosystem. There were also the dogs and horses. Though one of the plot points were that food was critically short (the evil army were cannibals who raided other encampments for fresh victims), many of the Seattle residents kept dogs as pets and horses as transportation, somehow managing to feed them while they themselves were always on the brink of starvation. There was also no explanation as to why food was so critically short since the jungle teamed with wildlife and there was enough rainfall that some sort of agriculture could have been established.
In short, Jake left the theater portion of the Hollywood Hilton after the screening feeling almost physically ill at the thought of having to face Greg and give an opinion on the film. Did the man really think he'd just made an epic film? Had they really spent almost one hundred million dollars on that piece of garbage?
"What did you think?" Pauline whispered into his ear as they emerged back into the main ballroom, where more food tables had been set up and the cocktail waitresses and champagne girls were once again circulating.
"That was quite possibly the worst movie I've ever seen in my life," he whispered back. "It was horrible."
Pauline breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," she said. "I was thinking it was just me. The way everyone applauded when the credits rolled, you'd of thought they'd just watched Gone With The Wind."
"Typical Hollywood phonyism," Jake said.
"So what are we going to say when Greg asks us how we liked the film?"
"Well... when in Hollywood," he said.
Greg did ask them how they liked the film, but only after hearing several dozen rave reviews of it by the other guests.
"Epic," said one veteran actress. "Absolutely epic."
"It's a real step forward in cinematography," proclaimed a famous director. "You simply must have Wallace share some of his techniques with me for my next project."
"It'll be a tremendous boon for the environmental cause," said another actor who was well known as an outspoken environmental activist. "A realistic look at what could happen if global warming is allowed to go unchecked."
And then it was Jake and Pauline's turn. Greg stood there, beaming from all the praise, a smiling Celia on his arm.
"Well what did you think, Jake?" Greg asked him. "Did you like it, or what?"
"It was very... uh... thought-provoking," Jake said, unable to bring himself to go any further than that lest a lightning bolt come shooting through one of the windows to strike him down...
"Yes," agreed Pauline. "It was a very original script, and some of the best special effects I've ever seen."
"Thank you, thank you," Greg said, continuing to beam.
Jake and Pauline escaped and went to go grab a drink from the bar.
"How long do we have to stay until it's no longer considered rude for us to leave?" Pauline asked.
"About another hour," Jake replied. "Let's just have a few drinks and lay low."
They were just starting their second drink when Celia came wandering over to them. The smile was no longer on her face.
"Something wrong, Celia?" Jake asked carefully.
"Oh... what could be wrong?" she asked. "My husband is releasing his epic film next week, isn't he? And the reviews should be hitting the papers in forty-eight hours."
"Yeah," Jake said. "That sounds about right. So tell me... uh... what did you think about the film?"
She snorted a little. "I think I can scrap that plan of following on Greg's coattails."
The silence that followed was a bit on the awkward side. It was Celia who broke it.
"Madres de Dios," she said. "That film was awful, an atrocity! What the hell was he thinking when he signed on for it? They're going to crucify him!"
"It's not that bad," Pauline said weakly. When Celia shot her a glare she recanted. "Okay, maybe it was."
"Have you talked to him about it yet?" Jake asked her.
"No," she said. "I lied to him and told him it was great. What else was I supposed to do? I have to support my husband, don't I?"
"Well... yeah, I guess you do," Pauline said.
She shook her head one more time and then looked at Pauline. "Tell me something," she said.
"What's that?"
Celia gave a hopeful smile. "Are you taking new clients? It seems I might be needing a new music agent."
Pauline was caught off guard by this question, but she recovered quickly. "I've never managed anyone besides Intemperance," she said.
"And you've done an absolutely wonderful job at it, from what I hear."
"Well... thank you," she said. "But I'm not really an established agent, not in the strict sense of the word."
"I understand that," she said.
It was obvious to Jake that Pauline was very hesitant about this. It was obvious to Celia as well.
"Is it because you think I'm a has-been too?" Celia asked quietly. "If that's the case, I... I understand. I just thought that maybe... you know..." She shook her head. "I think I've just embarrassed myself. Forget I asked."
"No no," Pauline said, shaking her head strenuously. "I don't think you're a has-been at all. Jake has told me that you're one of the best musicians he's ever heard. And from Jake, that means a lot."
"But there's a problem?" she said.
"The problem is with me, not you," Pauline told her. "I've never represented anyone else before. I'm afraid I won't live up to your expectations."
"Right now, I don't have any expectations," Celia said. "I just want to put some of my music down on a CD and get it out there for people to buy. My music, not some songwriting and choreography team's music."
Pauline nodded. "A very noble goal, I will admit."
"So what do you say?" Celia asked.
"I don't say anything right now," Pauline told her. "But I will consider it. Why don't we have lunch some time and we'll talk about it?"
"How about next week?" Celia asked.
"Okay," Pauline replied. "Next week it is."
Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena
August 11, 1990
The crowd was a bit rowdier than what typically attended an Intemperance concert — which was saying a lot. About half of the concertgoers for this particular show were black, about a quarter white, and the remaining quarter a mixture of Hispanics and Asians. Nearly all of them were between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five. Jake, who had turned thirty back on March 7 of this year, was one of the oldest people there. The smell of marijuana smoke and beer was so thick as to be almost overwhelming. Fights broke out every ten minutes or so somewhere in their view, most of them interracial battles fueled by alcohol and loose tongues. Though Jake and his guests were in the VIP section of the arena, directly in front of center stage, and though there were two large, black bodyguards stationed in there with them, there were a few times when he began to feel a little nervous about his safety, especially when four gangbanger types tried to get in through the ropes around the section and had ended up scuffling with the bodyguards.
The man that most of the crowd had come to see was currently up on the stage, finishing up the final song of encore. It was Gordon Paladay, known throughout the hip-hop world by his stage name: Bigg G. He was dressed in black, his hair an unruly tangle of dreadlocks that hung down over his upper back. He had a large gold medallion hung on a gold chain around his neck. He had a gold hoop earring in his left ear and diamond rings on several of his fingers. His face was sweaty as he walked back and forth across the stage, belting out the lyrics to Got Your Sell-Out, the runaway hit from his recently released album Down With It, into a wireless microphone. Behind him on the stage were two bass players, two drummers, and a DJ — all of whom were new members of his band, replacements for the National Records assigned musicians who had played with him while he'd been under their contract.