"Yeah," Coop grunted sourly.
"The simple fact of the matter is that if you don't get a new bass player and get out on tour in a reasonable amount of time, National will have a valid basis to claim breach of contract. And, as you know, if National can get a breach of contract ruling, you will revert to your original contract immediately, which means that you'll all lose the income from what is obviously going to be your best selling album so far."
This argument was a very persuasive one indeed. Jake and Nerdly both reluctantly agreed that — as painful and distasteful as it seemed — they were going to have to find someone to take Darren's place and hit the road. Matt and Coop refused to budge on their stances at first.
"Then put us back to the goddamn original contract," Matt proclaimed. "What the fuck is money anyway? It sure as shit ain't as important as loyalty to your fuckin' friends!"
"Yeah!" Coop agreed, casting evil glares at Jake and Nerdly. "If Darren ain't going then I ain't going. National can lick my hairy balls!"
"This is a mess, Jake," Pauline told her brother later that night as they sat on his balcony slamming shots of tequila and washing them down with Corona beer. "I can't believe those two are willing to sacrifice everything we've all worked for just because of misplaced loyalty."
"They'll come around," Jake predicted, lighting his thirty-seventh cigarette of that most trying day. "I'll talk to them privately tomorrow and hopefully they'll start to see the light."
"Hopefully," she said. "I better call for a limo now or I'll end up puking in it later."
Jake did talk to the two of them the next day and he was finally able to put things into a proper perspective for them.
"Look," he said, "put aside your feelings for Darren for now. That's how I was able to come to the conclusion I've come to."
"By abandoning a band mate?" Matt asked. "That's real fuckin' rich!"
"No," Jake said, "that's not what I'm doing at all. Did you ever stop to think that National wants nothing more than for us to refuse to go out on tour?"
"What are you talking about?" Coop asked.
"If we refuse to tour, they get to revert us back to the original contract," Jake said. "What that means is they'll rake in almost all of the profit from It's In The Book, which will probably sell at least five million copies over the next year or so, not to mention five or six million in singles sales. That's an ass-load of money for them if they don't have to share as much of it with us. How much do you think they're anticipating making from the tour?"
"I don't know," Matt said thoughtfully. "Why don't you tell me?"
"They would make profit off the tour, don't get me wrong there. We would sell out every venue and I wouldn't be surprised if they jacked up the ticket prices a little just to pull in more. But no matter how much they make off of us touring, it wouldn't be a tenth of what they'd stand to make if we reverted back to the old contract and they got to cheat us blind again."
"Wow," Coop said slowly as he pondered this.
"I never really thought of it that way," Matt said.
"Guys, seriously, I love Darren like a brother — a fucked-up, pain-in-the-ass brother, but a brother nonetheless. I don't make a decision like this lightly. We don't have to kick him out of the band, we can just hire a temporary replacement. If we don't go out on tour, though, we're all gonna get fucked — including Darren — and National is going to be the only one who wins."
Jake's speech did the trick. Within twenty-four hours Coop and Matt had signed on with the plan to go on tour and the search began for a new bassist.
"I'm glad you're finally seeing things our way," Crow told them in his office the next day.
"Yeah yeah," Matt said sourly. "And if chickens could fly you wouldn't be able to felch with their wings."
Crow puzzled over that one for a few moments and then shook his head. "Anyway," he told them, "I've taken the liberty of putting together profiles on four of our studio bass players for you." He pulled four file folders from his desk and set them down before the band. "I would recommend John Clampsy here." He tapped the top folder. "He's been doing sessions with us for six years now and is probably the best of the four."
"Studio musicians?" Jake asked. "You want us to pick a studio bass player?"
"What's wrong with that?" Crow asked.
"Well... in the first place, we don't know any of these people."
"And in the second place they all suck ass," Matt added.
"They're professional musicians," Crow said. "How can you possibly say they aren't good without hearing them first?"
"I don't need to hear them," Matt said. "They're spending their lives playing movie soundtrack bits for you at a little over minimum wage and minor royalties. If they were touring band caliber they wouldn't be here."
"That's not true!" Crow said. "Where do you come up with this shit, Matt?"
"Look, Crow," Jake said. "I'm sure your studio guys are decent with their instruments for what you have them doing, but none of these guys have ever toured before, have they?"
"Well... no, not on a major label tour, but..."
"We want someone with touring experience," Jake said. "We want someone who knows what it's like to ride on a bus for sixteen hours at a time for weeks on end. I don't think a studio musician would have what it takes to put up with that."
"And Intemperance is a fuckin' exclusive club," Matt said. "We ain't letting just any hacker in here, especially not one who would be nothing but a spy for you."
"A spy?" Crow said. "You're getting paranoid, Matt."
"Paranoid?" Matt asked. "When you work for an organization that once bugged Jake's phone just to see who he was dating, I don't think it's really possible to write off anything you people do as mere paranoia."
"I had nothing to do with that," Crow said. "That was Acardio."
"There's no need to dwell too much on the past," Jake said. "But I think our position is clear. We want an experienced touring musician, preferably someone we know or have at least met."
"Who did you have in mind?" Crow asked.
"How about Fran Jeffers from Caliper?" Matt asked. Caliper was a popular thrash metal band that had followed in the wake of groups like Motley Crue and Slayer. "I partied with them two years ago when they came through on their Sustentations tour. Caliper just broke up three months ago, didn't they? Maybe we could try to get Jeffers."
Crow had been shaking his head the entire time. "Caliper was signed with Columbia Records. They broke up before their contract was expired. There's no way in hell Columbia is going to release him from the contract so he can come work with us."
"What the fuck is up with you record company assholes?" Matt yelled. "It sounds like we're talking about buying a fuckin' slave here."
"In a way," Pauline said, "that's exactly what it's like."
"Look, guys," Crow said, "I understand where you're coming from here — really, I do — but I don't think we're going to find a touring experienced bass player who happens to be free of a contract just laying around doing nothing. Our goal here is to get you guys out on tour as quickly as possible. I really think the only way to do that is to go with one of our studio musicians."
Before Matt could go on another tirade, Nerdly suddenly spoke up. "I have somebody in mind who just might be an acceptable choice to all involved parties."
Everyone looked at him. "Who?" Crow asked.
"Charlie Meyer," he said.
"Charlie Meyer?" Jake asked. "From Birmingham?" Birmingham was a southern rock group that had signed with National just over three years before. They had recorded a single album that had produced a single top ten hit that was nominated for a Grammy in 1985. Unfortunately, when they failed to win that Grammy, National had elected not to invest in a second album and the band had faded from view — another one-hit-wonder group that few even remembered now. The only reason the members of Intemperance knew who Charlie Meyer was was because Birmingham had been their opening band on the The Thrill Of Doing Business tour.