"What about the rest of your homeys?" Gordon asked. "How they set up?"
"They're getting by," Jake said. "Coop is talking about playing drums with a new band that's forming up. The bass player from Earthstone is hooking up with the guitarist from Gold Rush and the singer from Destination. They're looking for a drummer and a keyboard player and the word is they'd love to have Coop play for them."
"Think he'll do it?" Gordon asked.
"Yeah, he'll do it," Jake said. "He's working on bringing all four of them over to using my sister as their manager. The rest of them are using Ron Shaver at the moment..."
"That fuckhead?" Rickie said, shaking his head. "I heard he'll fuck you so good you'll think it was prime pussy."
"Yeah," Jake said. "He was our first manager before we... you know... decided to go with someone else."
"You renegotiated your contract," James said. "We all know about that. It's a fuckin' legend in the industry, homey."
"It is?" Jake asked.
"Fuck yeah," James said. "You stuck it to The Man, nigga. Right up his fuckin' ass! Word gets around about shit like that."
"You're kind of a hero in the industry, Jake," Gordon told him. "Don't you know that?"
"I guess not," Jake said.
"What's Nerdly doing?" Gordon asked. "I fuckin' love that geeky motherfucker. Tell me he's doin' all right, Jake."
"Well, Nerdly is now working full-time with his wife in National's studio as a sound engineer. It seems to be his calling in life. He was perfectly happy with ending the tour and working a nine-to-five schedule. They're paying him pretty damn good too since he's so good at what he does."
"He does know his shit when it comes to engineering a record," Gordon said. "I wished a thousand times we woulda had him when we was puttin' together Down With It."
"What about that faggot you had playin' bass?" asked James. "Did he really know that tranny was a fuckin' dude when he tapped into it?"
"He says he didn't," Jake said, repeating the standard company line. "And he's having some problems of his own because of all that. He had a couple of restaraunts going in the south. They were doing pretty good until that whole transsexual thing hit the media — especially the part in the magazine that did the spread on the dude."
"That was fuckin' disgusting!" said Rickie. "I used to like that mag because they'd show sisters in there every issue, but when they showed some bitch with a fuckin' dick... man, that's too fuckin' far."
"That ain't no shit," James agreed.
"Yeah," Jake said. "So whatever the truth is, he had to close down all his restaraunts in the south. People ain't into that sort of thing there and they stopped patronizing his establishments long before the tranny even did the spread."
"You reap what you fuckin' sow, man," James said seriously.
"That ain't no shit either," Rickie agreed, and the two of them exchanged a complex handshake over this proclamation.
"Anyway," Jake said, "he's still doing okay with royalties from our last three albums. And someone suggested to him that opening one of his restaraunts in San Francisco might not be such a bad idea."
"Was that you that told him that?" Gordon asked.
"Yeah," Jake said. "I'm pretty good at making the best of a bad situation."
They all had a laugh at this.
"Hey," said Gordon, "what about this fuckin' Greg Oldfellow motherfucker? Ain't he one of your homeys too?"
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call him a homey," Jake said. "His wife and I are friends. That's how I know him."
"Oh yeah," said James lasciviously. "Celia Valdez. That girl's got a booty on her that won't quit."
"You ever bang her?" Rickie asked. "Tell me you tapped a piece of that ass, Jake."
"I've never tapped a piece of that ass," Jake admitted. "We're just friends."
James and Rickie were both disappointed by this revelation. So was Gordon, for that matter.
"That's too bad," Gordon said. "But what about her old man? What the fuck was that shit he put out a couple a months ago? That fuckin' jungle shit?"
"Oh man," Rickie said. "That was the worst fuckin' movie I ever seen, even if it did have a couple a titty scenes in it."
"Yeah," said James. "Why the fuck didn't they just eat the elephants? Where'd they get all the fuckin' dog food?"
Jake shook his head in silent sympathy for Greg Oldfellow. The reviews had indeed come out less than forty-eight hours after the premier and none of them were good. The best he achieved was one and a half stars from the San Diego Bee on the basis of the cinematography. The LA Times and the New York Times actually gave the film zero stars — a rating they'd only employed two times in their entire history of movie reviews. Once the reviews came out, the movie was on its way to being doomed. It only cleared two million in box office receipts on its opening weekend. Once word of mouth got around that it did indeed suck, things got even worse. Total box office receipts for its entire national and international movie theater run amounted to less than thirty million dollars. The film had been released the previous week for video rental and the numbers weren't doing well there either. Less than two million as of last Saturday, according to Celia, who was in constant communication with Pauline, her new manager (although no one was willing to sign her to a record deal, leaving little to manage). The film was already being touted as the worst flop since Shanghai Surprise.
"From what I hear," Jake said, "Greg is seriously regretting signing on for that film. It would seem in retrospect he learned that just because you spend a hundred mil making a film, that does not guarantee success if the material sucks ass."
"Yeah," said Gordon. "You can't polish a turd, man."
"That's The Truth," James agreed, prompting another exchange of handshakes between him and Gordon.
"Well, homey," Rickie said, "I'm finna go hit the shower. They'll be bringin' the bitches back in a few minutes."
"Yeah, me too," James said, standing up. The other band members stood up as well, all except Gordon.
"You comin', G?" Rickie asked.
"I'll be there in a few," Gordon told him. "I'm gonna finish my drink first."
"Sound good," Rickie said. "Jake, you wanna hang out and tap a few groupies with us?"
"Naw," Jake said. "I gotta be getting back to my seat before No Bail hits the stage or I'll have to push my way through the crowd from this side."
"Yeah, I guess that make sense," Rickie said. "Well, if I don't see you again, it been a pleasure."
The rest of the band echoed this sentiment. Handshakes were exchanged and the group headed off to the showers, leaving Jake and Gordon alone.
"So," Gordon said. "On a completely different subject, what do you think about this whole Iraq and Kuwait thing? You think it's gonna go all the way?"
This was a subject that had been on everyone's lips lately. Nine days before, Iraq had invaded the small, oil-rich country of Kuwait, overrunning it and claiming it as a province of Iraq. The American and international response had been immediate and forceful. The words of warning and condemnation toward Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein that were coming out of the White House and the UN Building since the invasion seemed to be a little bit more than the standard diplomatic rhetoric. American and British troops were already on their way to Saudi Arabia to help defend that country should the Iraqis decide to forcibly annex more territory.
"I think," said Jake, "that if Saddam doesn't pull his troops out of Kuwait, and fast, it'll go all the way to a shooting war. The man is fucking around with our oil supply, after all. We'll tolerate a lot of shit in this country, but we won't tolerate that."
"That's my thought as well," Gordon agreed. "I think that A-rab motherfucker just bit off a little more than he can chew."
They talked a little more about Operation Desert Shield, as it was being called, a subject that was dominating the news and even overriding stories about the turbulent Mindy Snow/Michael Stinson romance (rumor had it that Mindy might be pregnant and the he might be cheating on her). Jake noticed that once Gordon's bandmates left the room, his speech became considerably more intellectual and less peppered with slang. He did not make mention of this observation.