He stood up and walked over the laundry piles and the debris, crushing two beer cans on the way and overturning a plate that contained the remains of frozen vegetable lasagna from four days ago. He opened the door and found five people standing out there, four men and a woman. It took him a second to credit what he was seeing.
"Jake?" he said. "Nerdly? Matt?"
"I'm here too, Charlie," Coop said. "But that's okay. I always go unnoticed. I'm just a fuckin' drummer after all."
"Oh... hi, Coop," he said, his head spinning. Intemperance had just showed up at his door. What the hell was going on?
"And I'm Pauline Kingsley," the woman said, stepping forward. "I'm the band's manager. Do you mind if we come in?"
"Uh... yeah, sure," he said, stepping aside and allowing them entrance. "Come on in."
The five of them stepped inside. They all wrinkled their noses as they caught a whiff of the smell. They looked around the filth of his apartment and looks of disgust began to appear. It occurred to Charlie that he should be ashamed of his apartment.
"Uh... sorry for the mess," he said with a shrug.
"I guess the maid has the month off, huh?" Matt asked.
"I don't have a maid," Charlie said. "I can barely afford the rent here as it is."
"Uh... yeah," Matt said, casting a glance at Jake.
"You guys wanna sit down?" Charlie asked them.
"Thank you," Jake said, looking at the furniture. "I think we'll stand. How you doing, Charlie? It's been a while."
"Yeah," he said. "I haven't seen anyone but Nerdly since the Grammy awards that time. That was when you got in that fight with La Diferencia."
"I remember," Jake said sourly.
"What are you guys doing here?" Charlie asked. "This is really kind of... weird, you know? How did you even know where I lived?"
"We got your address from National," Jake said. "We would've called first but apparently you don't have a phone?"
"No, it costs too much," he said. "So... what's up? What can I do for you?"
"We came to see if you could help us out with something," Jake said.
"What's that?"
"Well, I'm sure you heard about what happened to Darren, didn't you?"
"Yeah," Charlie said. "What a bummer. I never heard of anyone getting botulism from shooting up before. Is he going to be okay?"
"They tell us he'll recover eventually," Jake said. "It's going to be at least a year before he can tour again though."
"That sucks," Charlie said, pondering the stupidity of Darren Appleman for a moment. He had had it all, had been the bass player for the most popular hard rock band in America, and had thrown it away because he liked to shoot up with heroin. He had basically shitcanned something that Charlie would have killed for.
"Yeah, it does suck," Jake said. "And it puts us in kind of a bind too. You see, we're contractually obligated to go out on tour for our next album."
"Yeah, I heard about your next album," Charlie said. "It sounds like a rocker, man. And I loved that album cover you guys came up with."
"Thanks," Jake said. "So anyway, we were wondering if maybe you could help us out, if you're up to it that is?"
"Help you out with what?" Charlie asked, puzzled.
The five of them passed a look around.
"Are you fuckin' stoned or something?" Matt asked him.
"No," Charlie said carefully. "I haven't smoked any pot today. Why do you ask?"
"Uh, it's like this," Jake said. "We need to go out on tour within the next month or so. Our bass player is out for at least a year. You are a bass player. Is this starting to make sense now, Charlie?"
Charlie thought this over for a second and the light bulb finally went on. "You mean... you mean... you want me to play bass for you on your tour?" he asked carefully.
"Bing!" Matt yelled. "I think he's got it, Jake."
"Are you serious?" Charlie asked, unwilling to believe it just yet.
"We are dead serious," Pauline replied. "If you're interested in this I want you in Crow's office by the end of business hours tonight signing onto the Intemperance contract."
Charlie's jaw dropped. They were serious. They wanted him to sign a contract! But wait a minute? Could this be some sort of elaborate dream? Things like this just didn't happen to someone like him. He needed to make sure it wasn't a dream. In order to check this he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap disposable lighter. He lit it up and then held it under his forearm, burning the skin. "Oww!" he barked, jerking his arm away.
Jake, Matt, and Nerdly were all staring at him, shocked.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Matt asked.
"Just making sure this is real," he said. "Apparently it is."
"Holy shit," Matt said, shaking his head. "This guy is stranger than Nerdly, Jake."
"Then he oughtta fit right in with the rest of us," Jake said. He looked at Charlie. "So you're in?"
"Yeah," Charlie said, still wondering if somehow, someway, this wasn't really happening. "I'm in."
Handshakes were exchanged all around. Intemperance had found their new bass player.
Chapter 6A
Tallahassee, Florida
February 29, 1988
The crowd of 12,186 cheered loudly, all of them on their feet, stomping the ground or the bleachers, many holding lighters in the air, turning the floor of the auditorium into a sea of glowing orange stars. The shouted one word, repeatedly and in unison: more, more, more.
The band was just off stage, in the stage left area, listening to the cheers and stomping while they downed quart bottles of Gatorade to replenish the sweat that had poured out of them during the show. The main part of their set had just ended. They had played eighteen of their songs, seven from It's In The Book and eleven from their first three albums. There had also been an extended drum solo by Coop, a brief bass solo by Charlie (it was the band's way of introducing him to the crowd), a piano solo by Nerdly, and, of course, a ripping, multi-tempo guitar solo from Matt that had lasted nearly ten minutes. Total time for the main set had been ninety-six minutes — within two minutes of their tour average so far. Now it was time for the encore, a three-song set in which they would play Descent Into Nothing, their first hit; Point Of Futility, their biggest hit; and then, to close it all out, The Thrill Of Doing Business, the hard rocking title cut from their second album, which was a nationwide favorite on hard rock stations.
"We ready?" Matt asked the rest of them. He had to yell to be heard over the roar of the crowd.
Everyone nodded, indicating they were ready.
"Let's fuckin' do it then!" Matt yelled.
They dropped their Gatorade bottles in a trashcan and walked back out onto the stage. The stage lights had not been turned down and the crowd erupted into deafening cheers when they saw them.
Jake walked over and picked up his Les Paul — a brand new one that was done up in yellow and black instead of the classic sunburst pattern he'd used on the last tour. The guitar had been given to him by the Gibson company as part of his endorsement contract. The day the tour was officially scheduled and booked they had also wired $1.5 million to him.
Jake slung the guitar over his neck and pulled a pick out of the inlay. He stepped up to his microphone and looked out over the audience even though he could only see the first few rows of the mosh pit due to the lighting. "All right," he told them, feigning exasperation. "You talked us into it. We'll do a few more."
The cheers erupted anew and then faded back down as Charlie began to pick out a rhythm on his Fender bass guitar.