High above central California

July 3, 1991

The 1982 Cessna 414A Chancellor cruised placidly along in level flight 17,500 feet above sea level, its twin Ram VII turboprop engines driving it through the thin air at 220 nautical miles per hour. Inside the aircraft the pilot and his passengers sat comfortably in a cabin pressurized to eight thousand feet of altitude. Outside the windows they enjoyed a panoramic view of the cloudless summer sky and the foothills and peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains off to their right. To their left, the broad expanse of the Sacramento Valley stretched off to the west, framed by the low, rolling hills of the California coastal range. The city of Sacramento and its suburbs could be seen sprawling out beneath an ugly brown haze of summer smog. The aircraft flew more or less directly above the boundary between the valley floor and the foothills of the Sierras.

Jake Kingsley, former lead singer of the former rock band Intemperance, was sitting in the left-hand cockpit seat, his hands resting gently in his lap as the autopilot handled the mechanics of keeping the plane straight and level and on course. Jake had been a licensed private pilot for three years now. He carried an instrument rating, a multi-engine certification, and a pressurized aircraft operational certification. As of leaving the ground for this flight, his logbook showed 424 total hours of pilot time, including ninety-seven in the 414A Chancellor, which he had purchased two years before. If not for the months he had spent in self-imposed exile in New Zealand, he likely would have had another hundred hours or more in the log.

Jake was thirty-one years old on this day. His brown hair, which had been shoulder length, sometimes even longer, for his entire life past the age of thirteen, was now cut short, just barely falling over the tops of his ears. On his upper lip he now sported a carelessly trimmed mustache that extended just a tad beyond the corners of his mouth. Since his return to the western world from Oceania six months before, he had found that the short hair and mustache made for an almost foolproof camouflage. After all the years of trying to disguise who he was from adoring fans and committed haters by putting on hats and sunglasses and bulky clothing, the simple haircut and lack of shaving his upper lip had succeeded almost too well. Sometimes, these days, he had trouble convincing someone he really wanted to know he was Jake Kingsley that he was Jake Kingsley.

Jake�s body was looking a little better these days as well. Currently dressed in a simple pair of denim jeans and a button-up short-sleeved shirt, the blossoming beer belly he had recently sported was gone, replaced by the mostly flat and firm abdominal region that had marked much of his younger days. True, he was no longer skinny and gaunt as he had been back in his high school days, when his peer-assigned nickname had been �Bone Rack�, but he cut a respectable figure thanks to the morning runs he now habitually engaged in up in Griffith Park above his Los Angeles home, the thrice-weekly sessions on the weight machines in the downstairs of his home, and the relative reduction�though certainly not the elimination�of his alcoholic beverage intake.

Since the sky was clear with more than thirty miles of visibility, Jake was flying the plane under visual flight rules, or VFR, though he was only five hundred feet below the maximum altitude for such a thing. He did have his transponder squawking at Oakland Center for courtesy flight following, both so they would know that he existed and where he was if something went wrong, and so they would know where he was in relation to the commercial traffic flying above him. The plane passed a waypoint on the flight path�the VOR beacon located near Mather Air Force base outside of Sacramento�and turned gently to the right, settling on a new heading of 015 degrees�directly toward the small foothill town of Cypress, California thirty-six miles outside of the Heritage metropolitan region.

�We�re sixty miles out from Cypress muni now,� Jake told the woman in the copilot�s seat. She was not a licensed pilot, and was, in fact, never comfortable in the air at all, despite the fact that she had chosen both a profession and a marriage in which frequent air travel was pretty much mandatory.

�That means we start to descend now?� Celia Valdez, former lead singer of the former pop band La Diferencia asked, her white teeth nibbling a little on her lower lip. It was something she did when she was nervous, a habit Jake had learned to recognize over the past few months as they had spent an average of fifty hours a week together in a small, rented studio in Santa Clarita outside of Los Angeles.

�That�s right,� Jake said with a nod. He checked the frequency settings on his communications radio, confirming the primary channel was still set to the regional ATC frequency. It was. He keyed it up and spoke, his words picked up by the microphone on his headset. �Oakland Center, November-Tango Four-one-five.�

�This is Oakland Center,� a female voice replied. �Go ahead, Four-one-five.�

�Four-one-five is beginning descent toward KCCA, maintaining present course, will cancel flight following at four thousand feet.�

The air traffic controller repeated back his words, her voice calm, cool, professional. Jake suspected her voice would remain at that same tone and inflection even if a fully loaded 747 was reporting a catastrophe and declaring an emergency. I copy you�ve collided with another aircraft, your roof has peeled away, and you�ve lost three engines, she would chirp. Can I give you a vector to the nearest airport?

Jake punched the altitude he wanted to descend to�3000 feet�and the rate of descent he wanted to maintain�1200 feet per minute�into the autopilot panel. Upon hitting the enter key, the plane immediately began to nose down. His avionics package did not include an auto-throttle, so he had to manually pull back the two levers, his eyes tracking on the airspeed indicators to keep them at or about 220 knots indicated. The engine noise wound down and the altimeter began to spin downward.

�See?� Jake said to Celia with a smile. �Nothing to it.�

�As long as nothing goes wrong,� she said, giving her lip another chew.

�As long as nothing goes wrong,� he agreed. �Remember the first rule of flying with me though.�

�As long as you don�t look worried, then I have nothing to worry about,� she dutifully recited.

�Exactly,� he said. �That�s the beauty of getting to sit in the cockpit.�

Celia gave him a weak smile, chewed her lip one more time, and then continued to grip the sides of her seat with her hands. She was just one of those people who was never going to be comfortable in the air.

Like Jake, Celia was looking a little better these days than she had in recent times. She too had had her entire musical career thrown into turmoil and uncertainty at about the same time as Jake and the rest of Intemperance had gone their separate ways. Type-cast as a teen pop singer despite one of the most beautiful contralto voices since Karen Carpenter, she had been unable to secure an acceptable contract for a solo album after Aristocrat Records refused to pick up La Diferencia for another album. Locked into depression and anxiety that was amplified by the problems her husband�actor Greg Oldfellow�was experiencing in his own career, she had put on thirty pounds and let herself go to some degree.

The challenge of going independent and producing her own solo album had had the same effect on Celia as it had on Jake. Hope and purpose were great healers. She had stopped the midnight snacking (and early afternoon snacking, and the late morning snacking) and had started hitting the gym once again. The effect was now apparent. As she sat in the right cockpit seat, dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a sleeveless cranberry colored blouse, she was back to her fighting weight of one hundred sixty-five pounds on her nearly six-foot tall, Amazonian frame. Her dark hair flowed majestically over her shoulders and her breasts pushed alluringly at the front of her blouse. Her hips and rear-end were back to their premium proportions�the curves of which made men ache with wanting when they saw them.

Sitting immediately behind the two vocalists in the cockpit, in seats that faced the rear of the plane to maximize the room, were Bill �Nerdly� Archer and his wife of almost two years, Sharon Archer (formerly Cohen). They were part owners of KVA Records (the �A� in KVA belonged to them), the limited liability company formed to produce both Jake�s and Celia�s upcoming solo albums. The Nerdlys (as they were called by pretty much everyone who knew them) were perhaps the most sought after audio engineering and mixing team in southern California. They could have named their own price at any of the major recording studios that produced more than ninety percent of the American music market. Instead, they worked for free with Celia and Jake in a tiny, three-room studio in an empty commercial complex in Santa Clarita. Actually, they worked for more than free. They had put up a million dollars of their own money for the privilege of having that A.

The Nerdlys were looking pretty much like they always looked. Bill was sporting a button-up black shirt with a pocket protector and four pens in it; a pair of khaki cargo shorts with multiple pockets, most of which were filled with a variety of objects like a Velcro wallet, a tape measure, extra pens, an asthma inhaler, and even a protractor (�you never know when you might need a protractor,� Nerdly always said); a pair of black socks; and an open-toed pair of Birkenstocks. Sharon had on a pair of baggy jeans; an even baggier T-shirt from her alma mater: UCLA, from which she held a Master�s Degree in Audio Engineering; and a pair of generic sneakers she had bought at a discount shoe store near their home. Both had headsets on that were plugged into the plane�s communication system.

�Do what I do when I ride in this contraption with Jake, Celia,� Nerdly said.

�What�s that, Bill?� she asked.

�I think about the mathematical calculations related to air travel.�

�You mean the odds?� Celia said.

Nerdly winced a little. �I�m not a fan of that term,� he said, �but, yes, that is what I�m referring to. Now, granted, flying in Jake�s plane is not as statistically safe as flying on a commercial airliner, but as long as he is a qualified pilot and the aircraft is maintained properly at the prescribed intervals�and I happen to know that Jake is quite fastidious about that�and, of course, you�re flying in good weather conditions, such as we are now, then you�re talking a likelihood of fatal accident that runs around one in twenty thousand or so. Compare this to a likelihood of one in five thousand for automobile travel.�

�That is a pretty good statistical analysis,� Celia had to admit.

�Indeed,� said Nerdly. �It�s all a matter of perspective.�

�If we do all crash and die, it can�t be right now,� said the fifth person in the plane�Pauline Kingsley, Jake�s older sister, the manager of both Jake and Celia, and part-owner of KVA Records. She was seated in the very rear of the cabin in a forward-facing chair. �If we have to go, it needs to be after we�ve put your albums out, or at least recorded them. That way, we�ll be able to cash in on the tragedy.�

�Well ... our next of kin will be able to, anyway,� Jake said.

�Yeah,� Pauline agreed. �The situation does have its drawbacks.�

�Can you imagine though?� piped up Sharon, in all seriousness. �Jake and Celia both dead in a plane crash and then the albums are released a few months later? We wouldn�t even have to promote them. We�d go platinum on both in the first week.�

�That would make Greg very happy,� Pauline said. �You know ... once he got over his wife dying and all that.�

�This conversation has taken a turn toward the morbid,� Celia said with a shake of her head.

�Hey, C,� Jake said. �We�re just talking industry realities here. Nothing stirs up album sales like a well-publicized death. We just need to pick the right time to cash in on it.�

�Madre de Dios,� she muttered, though she could not hide a slight chuckle of amusement.

When they passed below five thousand feet and were only ten miles out from Cypress Municipal airport, Jake declared a sterile cockpit condition. All of his passengers knew that meant they should not talk or otherwise distract him from his task of safely landing the plane. Despite their earlier conversation, all knew it was in their best interests to follow the rule, particularly when they were to land at an airport Jake was not familiar with.

Jake brought them down to thirty-five hundred feet and followed his navigation notes until the small airport was in sight. It was nestled onto a plateau just north of the historic gold rush town, its single runway a 7/25 that was thirty-two hundred feet in length. There was no wind to speak of, so he decided to bring them in from the southwest approach. There was a ridge about half a mile from the runway on the northeast approach�something he really did not want to deal with on his first landing at the field.

He circled around once in the pattern and then lined up with the runway for his final approach. The engines wound down, the flaps were incrementally deployed, slowing them to ninety knots of airspeed, the gear were lowered, and they touched down neatly on the centerline of runway 7 with barely a thump.

�Nice one,� Celia said appreciatively as they completed the rollout.

�Naturally,� Jake replied with a smile.

He parked the aircraft in one of the visitor spots near the airport office, pulling it in between a Cessna 172 and a Piper PA-24. The five of them exited the plane and spent a few minutes stretching their legs after the semi-cramped two hour and twenty minute flight. Jake spent a few minutes securing the plane to the two tie-down rings embedded in the concrete of the parking slot and then directed everyone to remove their baggage (one bag apiece, no more than thirty pounds) from the cargo boot in the nose of the plane. Once the bags were all removed and the doors all securely locked, they headed over to the airport office. Here, a 1990 Toyota Land Cruiser had been parked.

�Is that our ride?� asked Sharon as she looked it over.

�I�m thinking so,� Jake said, �since it�s exactly the model I requested and parked exactly where I told them to park it.�

�A Land Cruiser, Jake?� Pauline asked. �Really? You couldn�t have got us a Caddy or something comfortable?�

�Well, Mom and Dad live up in the mountains now,� he said. �I thought the four-wheel drive might come in handy.�

�They only live two miles off the main road and their access is paved,� Pauline told him. �Not only that, it�s July, not the dead of freaking winter. Were you picturing some Donner Party shit or something?�

�Well ... I didn�t know what to expect,� he admitted. �I know they live on the edge of the canyon, so ... you know?�

Pauline shook her head. �They�re only at an elevation of thirty-two hundred feet. It only snows there once or twice a year, sometimes not at all.�

�Well, it�s better to be overprepared than underprepared, right?� Jake said.

�No,� Pauline said. �It�s better to ask someone who has freakin� been there what vehicle would be appropriate.�

�I�m a man, sis,� Jake told her. �We don�t ask for advice.�

This earned him another shake of the head. He ignored it and went inside the airport office, where a young woman, moderately attractive, was working behind a counter. She looked up at him without interest or recognition when he entered.

�Help you?� she asked.

�I�m Jake Kingsley,� he told her. �I just flew in from LA. The rental car company delivered a Land Cruiser here for me. I believe that is probably it outside in the parking lot.�

The name caught her interest a bit. Her eyes immediately locked onto his face, examining him carefully for a moment. She took in the short hair and the mustache and then gave a little shake of her head. No, not that Jake Kingsley, her disappointed expression said. The disguise had worked its magic yet again. She put her eyes back on her desk and pulled up a set of keys on a tab. �Right here, Mr. Kingsley,� she told him. �I�ll just need to see some ID first.�

�Absolutely,� he said, pulling out his wallet and opening it to reveal his driver�s license. He had recently had it updated with a new photo, one that showed him as he currently appeared.

She looked it over briefly, her eyes flitting from the photo to his face a few times. She either did not notice or did not realize the significance of the address and zip code listed. �That looks like you,� she said, handing him the keys. �It must be weird to go through life with Jake Kingsley being your name, huh?�

He smiled a little. �Why would that be weird?� he asked.

She looked up at him again. �Uh ... you know, because it�s the same as Jake Kingsley the singer.�

�There�s a singer named Jake Kingsley?� he asked, as if surprised.

�Uh ... yeah,� she said, as if talking to a retard. �From Intemperance? He�s only the most famous singer of the past ten years or so.�

Jake shrugged. �Never heard of him,� he told her. �I mostly listen to talk radio.�

�He�s the singer that snorted cocaine out of that girl�s butt crack that one time,� she said, somewhat exasperated.

�Wow,� Jake said, shaking his head a little. �Cocaine from a butt crack? That sounds kind of depraved ... not to mention unhygienic.�

�Yeah,� she said dreamily. �Some girls have all the fun.�

�I guess so,� Jake told her. �Anyway, I�d better get going. You have a nice day now.�

�You too,� she said. �And give Intemperance a listen sometime. You�ll love them.�

�Maybe I will,� he told her and then walked back out, singing the chorus for I Am Time, one of Intemperance�s most popular hits, softly under his breath. The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, as the door closed between she and Jake.

They loaded up everything into the back of the Land Cruiser and then piled in after it. Jake and Pauline sat up front. The Nerdlys and Celia crammed together in the back, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sharon in the middle. Pauline directed Jake to drive out of the airport grounds and onto Highway 49, the main route through Cypress, until they reached State Route 38 in the center of town. There, Jake turned east and they began to climb higher into the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Approximately fifteen miles later, after a twisting, turning, climbing drive along the badly maintained two-lane road, Pauling directed him to turn right onto an even narrower two-lane passage called Canyon Ridge Road. They wound through a forest of towering pine trees for about ten minutes and then came to a narrow, paved access road that was marked with a wooden sign on a post. The sign read: Paradise Homestead. Below it was a smaller sign that read: Private Property.

�This is the entrance,� Pauline said. �Just another quarter mile or so to the houses.�

Jake turned onto the road and drove about five hundred feet before coming to a closed steel gate, painted forest green, with a camera and an intercom box. Pauline directed him to stop at the box and push the button. He did so and was rewarded with his mother�s voice.

�You made it!� Mary Kingsley said excitedly. �Hold on a second while I open the gate.�

�You got it, Mom,� Jake said, feeling the first stirring of emotion. He had not seen his mother or father in person in nearly eighteen months now.

�Come right to our house,� Mary told him. �Stan and Cindy are already here. We have lunch ready for you.�

�On the way,� he said as, before him, the gate started to slowly swing open.

He drove down the access road, which rose steeply through the trees beyond the gate. At the top of the hill it turned forty-five degrees to the right and entered a large cleared area a little more than a quarter mile wide by five hundred yards deep. Two houses sat upon the land, one at either end, both tucked into the far corners. The area between the houses was mostly manicured lawn with a few isolated evergreen trees poking up. There was a tennis court almost equally between the two houses. There were two outbuildings that appeared to be garages, one near each of the houses. Beyond the land was a steep, rugged hillside that dropped down into the Heritage River Canyon. On the other side of the canyon�which was perhaps a half a mile wide at this point�were jagged, hillsides of rock and tree-lined plateaus that grew higher and more rugged. Rising beyond these were the granite mountains of the Sierras.

�It�s beautiful,� Jake said appreciably.

�Yeah,� Pauline said with a smile. �They picked their place well. Take the right fork of the road. Mom and Dad�s place is the one on the right.�

Jake nodded. He would have known that even had he not been told. The house on the right side of the property was a single story, spread out to take advantage of horizontal space and to avoid staircases. Jake had advised his parents on that design back when development of the property had still been in the planning stages. The house that belonged to Stan and Cindy�Nerdly�s parents�was a two story with a wrap-around balcony on the second level. The Nerdly parental units preferred to be a bit more pretentious with their domicile.

There was a circular driveway in front of Tom and Mary�s house, currently empty of any vehicles. Jake pulled in and brought the Land Cruiser to a halt. Before they even stepped out, the front door of the house burst open and two sets of parents came rushing out to meet their children.

Tom and Mary, Jake and Pauline�s parents, were both in their late fifties. Tom, the former lawyer for the ACLU, was tall, just an inch shorter than Jake�s six foot one inch, and had not the merest trace of the beer belly he had sported for much of his life. His hairline had receded slightly from his forehead over the past ten years, but, except for a few speckles of gray around the ears, maintained the dark brown color he had been born with. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a pullover t-shirt with the logo of a local brewery printed on it. His legs were well-muscled and his eyes were free from the glasses that had adorned his face for as long as Jake could remember.

Mary also retained her natural dark blonde hair color, though she too was showing a few streaks of gray here and there. Her legs were short, her body thin and well proportioned. Her face was attractive, the resemblance to Pauline unmistakable, though Pauline�s hair was much darker. Once she had been capable of turning young men�s heads as she passed. Now, in her moderately late middle age, she was a distinguished and attractive woman who could still easily pass for early to mid forties. One of the most distinguishing things about her, however, was the asymmetry of her arms. There was nothing wrong with her left arm, but her right was quite noticeably larger in diameter, tighter, and significantly more toned and muscular through the bicep, triceps and forearm region. This was from a long career spent playing the violin professionally, mostly for the Heritage Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra. The right arm was the one that had spent a lifetime moving a bow across the strings of her instrument.

Jake�s parents took a brief moment to take in the sight of their wayward son�they had not seen his hair so short since he had been in grammar school, they had never seen him with a mustache, and, undoubtedly, they had feared he would look haggard and strung out after the last year and a half he had put in during his journey through the life of a rock musician�and then both rushed up to him.

Tom reached him first. He did not bother with a handshake, he simply wrapped his only son up in a big bear hug that Jake returned heartily, feeling a small tear form in his left eye.

�Welcome, Jake,� Tom said when the embrace was broken. There was strong emotion in his voice and Jake saw him wiping at his own eyes. �It�s good to see you.�

�It�s good to see you too, Dad,� Jake told him. �Sorry I�ve been away so long.�

Mary embraced him next, her hug softer, more motherly, longer in duration. She was freely crying as she held her son, her words choked with joy at holding him in her arms. �Welcome to our place, Jake,� she told him. �I�m so glad you�re here.�

�Me too, Mom,� he replied, kissing her on her wet cheek. He pulled from her hug and stood back a moment. �You two look great,� he observed. �Retirement is definitely agreeing with you.�

�It�s all the tennis we play,� Tom said. �And the hiking we do on the canyon trails.�

�We get a lot more exercise these days,� Mary said. �Not having to go to work every day frees up the time.�

�It shows,� Jake said. He turned to his father. �Where are your glasses, Dad? You look really different without them.�

�I had the RK surgery,� Tom told him. �I wrote you about it when you were living in New Zealand�several times I mentioned it, in fact.�

�Oh ... yeah,� Jake said guiltily. �It must have slipped my mind.� It had not slipped his mind. He had not opened any correspondence from home during his expatriate phase, which was why Pauline and Jill Yamashito, his accountant, had had to fly across the globe to finally track him down and pound a little sense into him. He still had not read any of those letters. In his haste to get back to California and start working on putting KVA Records together, he had left all of them unopened in a drawer in his home on the South Island.

�Yeah,� Tom said with a nod, �it sounds like you had a lot on your mind back then.�

�You don�t know the half of it,� Jake said.

�I kind of like your new look, hon,� Mary told him, reaching out to touch his mustache.

Jake shrugged. �It�s an almost perfect disguise,� he told her. �I can walk around in public now without people hounding me.�

�I almost didn�t recognize you,� Tom said. �My first thought in the first second was: �who the hell is that?��

They had a chuckle over this and then the Kingsley parents finally acknowledged their other offspring, Pauline, who was standing just behind Jake. Hugs were exchanged, as were warm words of greeting, but the emotion of the moment was not quite as strong. Pauline, after all, kept in regular touch and flew down to visit every few months. She had helped them hire the contractors who had built the place and had helped her father clear all the legal obstacles that had cropped up along the way.

After greeting their daughter, Tom and Mary turned their attention to Celia, who was shyly hanging back near the rear door of the Land Cruiser. She had never met Jake�s parents before and they were a bit puzzled why she had come along for the visit. They knew who she was, of course, and that she and Jake were partners in the record company and both working on solo albums, but they also knew she was married to Greg Oldfellow and that there was not (or at least there shouldn�t be) any romantic involvement between her and their son. He was not bringing her home to introduce a girlfriend, so why would she be here?

Still, they were gracious when the introductions were made and they made her feel welcome.

�It�s very nice to meet you, Celia,� Mary told her. �I have one of the guest bedrooms all set up for you.�

�Thank you, Mrs. Kingsley,� Celia replied. �I�m looking forward to a tour of the house.�

�Oh, call me Mary, please,� she said. �I don�t even let my music students at the high school call me �Mrs. Kingsley�. It�s so formal.�

�And I�m Tom,� Tom said. �We don�t stand much on ceremony here.�

�Mary and Tom it is,� she said with a smile.

�Pauline said your husband can�t join us?� Mary asked.

�He wasn�t able to make this leg of the trip,� Celia replied, keeping the answer vague, implying that Greg was simply too busy with movie business to accompany her to meet Jake�s parents. In truth, there was no movie business for Greg Oldfellow these days. The abomination that was his last movie�The Northern Jungle�had all but destroyed his career. He had been offered no roles except for in slapstick parody movies as comic relief. No one was taking him seriously as a serious actor anymore. The real reason he had not accompanied her was he refused to fly in Jake�s plane, thinking it a cramped deathtrap flown by an inexperienced pilot. He had not wanted Celia to come along either and Celia�s insistence on making the trip had led to a long, still unresolved argument between the two of them.

�That�s too bad,� Tom said. �I would have enjoyed meeting him. I think he�s a wonderful actor and I own several of his films in my collection.�

�He�s going to meet us on the second leg of the trip in Oregon,� Celia said. �I�ll give him your praise.�

They beamed at the thought that a famous Hollywood actor�even one who was technically washed up at the moment�would be hearing their names.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the driveway, Stanley and Cynthia Archer had finished greeting their son and their daughter-in-law�it had been the better part of six months since they had last seen them in person�and wandered over to meet Jake, Pauline, and Celia.

�Stan, Cindy,� Jake greeted, shaking hands with the former and giving a hug to the latter. �It�s good to see you both.�

�It�s good to see you as well, Jake,� said Stan. He was a shorter than average man, standing around five foot six inches, and he had a moderately advanced receding hairline. He, like Jake�s parents, looked to be in better shape these days than he had throughout his previous life. A career desk jockey who had worked for Mutual of California Insurance as a specialist in structural and business underwriting, he had always been more than a little round around the middle. He was now at least four inches smaller in the waistline than he�d been at his son�s wedding some eighteen months before.

�I like your new look, Jake,� Cynthia told him, her brown eyes tracking up and down from his face to his hair. �Haven�t your mother and I always said you�d look good with short hair?�

�You did always say that,� Jake had to agree. �You look good as well.�

And she did. Whether it was from walking the trails in the canyon or playing tennis or just generally living better in retirement, Cindy�who he had always thought of as almost a second mother�had dropped at least fifteen pounds since the wedding as well. Her brunette hair had been cut short and neatly styled recently and her face also appeared to defy her age. She could have passed for forty easily, despite the fact that she was fifty-four.

After greeting Pauline, the Archers were then introduced to Celia.

�It�s very nice to meet you at last,� Celia told them. �Bill talks about both of you all the time.�

�Only the good stuff, I hope,� Stan said with a chuckle.

�Is there any bad stuff?� Jake asked. �I�d like to hear that.�

�I�m sure he has a multitude of fascinating narratives about his career as an insurance underwriter,� Bill said seriously. �I always try to get him to share some with me, but he only says they would be boring.�

�Insurance underwriting, boring?� Jake said as if appalled. �Get the hell out of town with that, Stan!�

�Exactly!� Bill said. �Promise me that you�ll share something with us over dinner.�

�Uh ... well,� Stan said, casting an evil (though amused) glare at Jake, �I�d love to but ... you know, there are privacy issues involved.�

Bill nodded seriously. �Oh, of course,� he said. �Forgive me. I wouldn�t want to imply that your honor and professionalism should be forfeit simply because you�re now engaged in financially stabilized voluntary unemployment.�

�Well put, son,� Stan said, then turned his attention back to Celia. �So ... I hear you and Jake are making solo albums together with Bill. How is that going?�

�We�re moving along quite nicely,� Celia said.

�In fact,� said Jake, �the solo albums are part of the reason we came to visit.�

�It is?� asked Mary. �What do you mean?�

�We�ll talk about that in a bit, Mom,� Pauline said. �Maybe with lunch.�

�Of course,� Mary said. �Although I can tell you my curiosity is now piqued a bit.�

�We�ll un-pique you soon,� Jake assured her. �For now, how about you show me your house. I�ve been dying to see it.�

Coos Bay, Oregon

July 4, 1991

North Bend Municipal was the largest airport on the coast of Oregon. Even so, it was not very big and the only commercial passenger service it supported were daily flights to and from Portland. Situated on a peninsula of flat land that protruded out into Coos Bay�the largest natural harbor between San Francisco Bay and Puget Sound�it was just south of the large cantilever bridge where Highway 101 spanned the neck of the bay.

Jake overflew the town of Coos Bay itself and then brought them in for a gentle touchdown on Runway 22 at 11:43 AM. The weather on the Oregon coast was clear and pleasant, with only a light onshore breeze blowing and the temperature sitting nicely at sixty-two degrees. As they stepped out of the plane in the general aviation parking area, everyone took a moment to enjoy the contrast between hot and sticky inland California and where they were now.

No sooner had he secured his aircraft for an overnight stay than Jake heard the high-pitched whine of jet engines approaching. He looked up to see a Lear jet on final approach, its landing gear down, its flaps fully deployed. It touched down on the same runway Jake had just used and then taxied over to park near the GA terminal. The engines shut down and, a moment later, the side door of the aircraft opened. Out stepped Greg Oldfellow, washed up character actor and Celia�s husband. He was dressed in a custom tailored three-piece suit and carrying a briefcase. He was the only passenger on the plane.

Greg looked a little older than he had back when he�d made The Northern Jungle. His hair was a little thinner, his cheeks a bit hollower, his eyes a little more tired. Still, he was an extremely good looking man and, like most professional actors, in fine physical shape thanks to a stringent diet and regular workouts. Though he had no prospects in sight for making more films, he made a point to keep himself in Hollywood form in case something did pop up.

Celia rushed over to him as he emerged. The two of them shared a warm embrace and a lengthy kiss. It was quite obvious they were happy to see each other.

�I missed you,� Greg told her as he touched the side of her face.

�I missed you too,� she said. She then whispered in his ear: �I told you Jake wouldn�t kill us.�

�That�s good to see,� he returned. �Still, I�m much happier knowing you�ll be flying back with me.�

�Fair enough,� she said with a shrug. She did not enjoy flying on a Lear any more than she enjoyed flying in Jake�s plane, or even a commercial jetliner. All of them scared the mierda out of her.

Jake waited until their embrace broke and then headed over himself.

�Good to see you, Greg,� he greeted, holding out his right hand.

�You too, Jake,� Greg returned, shaking with him.

�Nice suit. Do you always fly dressed like that?�

�Only when I�m to attend a business negotiation,� Greg said. He looked Jake up and down, taking in his casual pair of slacks and a button-up short sleeved shirt. �Is that what you�re wearing?�

�That is my plan,� Jake said. �I�m told that Mr. Blake isn�t much for putting on airs.�

Greg nodded thoughtfully. �Hopefully that information is correct,� he said.

�Hopefully,� Jake agreed. �How was the flight in?�

Greg gave a sour look. �A little bumpy and a little cramped. I�m not a big fan of private aviation. I�d much rather fly first class commercial, if given a choice. It�s cheaper, there is more room, and you can actually sit down in the toilets without breaking your kneecaps on the door.�

�I don�t know,� Jake said, thinking of some of the exploits he had enjoyed on private jets in his time. �There is a lot to be said for having the plane to yourself.�

Greg picked up what he was laying down. He nodded appreciably. �I do see where you�re coming from with that. You�ll have to tell me some stories about it over a drink or two.�

Jake laughed. �Deal.�

Greg looked around at his surroundings for a moment. �A quaint little place, I suppose,� he said. �The weather is certainly nice. Where is the limo? Is it running late?�

�There is no limo,� Jake told him. �This entire area only has twenty or thirty thousand people in it. It�s too small to support a limo service.�

�No limo service?� Greg said, shaking his head. �Barbarians. How are we going to get around then?�

�I rented a couple of cars for us.� He pointed over to the terminal parking area, where two 1991 Lexus 400s were parked. �You and Celia can have one, I�ll take Pauline and the Nerdlys in the other.�

�Cars,� Greg said, as if he had never seen such a thing. �I guess that�ll have to do.� He looked at Jake suspiciously. �What about the hotel? Do they have decent lodging in this place?�

�I guess we�ll find out,� Jake told him. �I booked us rooms at what is reputed to be the best place in town. It�s right on the bay.�

Greg gave a sigh. �I can�t wait to see it,� he said. There was little enthusiasm in his voice.

Posted: 04.11.2022, 14:19:08

Santa Clarita, California

July 15, 1991

The headquarters (and the only physical building) of KVA Records was located in a nondescript single-story office building in the midst of hundreds in a newly developed Santa Clarita business park. The buildings were all black and gray with large tinted windows and spacious parking lots. They had all been constructed in the last two years with the intention that family doctors and dentists, personal injury lawyers, chiropractors, low-end accountants, and minor league architecture firms would be the target tenants.

Unfortunately for the real estate developers who had planned and built the complexes, the economy had taken a sharp downturn shortly after the wildly successful conclusion of the Persian Gulf War. Fully ninety-five percent of the more than one million square feet of office space in the complex stood unoccupied and with no prospects in sight. KVA Records, the lessees of three thousand square feet of rear building space at 2501 Prospect Park Lane, did not mind this at all. They had been able to sign a two-year lease on their offices for the absurdly low price of twelve dollars per square foot per year. The owners were so desperate for tenants that they had even thrown in the required sound-proofing of the studio portion of the office for ten percent less than cost.

It was ten minutes to nine o�clock in the morning when Jake pulled his BMW into a parking spot in front of the office. Already parked in their accustomed spots were a silver 1991 Mercedes S-class, and a lovingly cared for gray 1985 Honda Civic. That meant that Celia and the Nerdlys were already present and accounted for. This was typical. There was not a battered 1982 Toyota pickup or a 1988 Honda Accord currently parked in the lot, however. That meant that Ted Duncan and Ben Ping, their hired drummer and bass player, respectively, were not here yet. This too was typical. Ben always showed up exactly at nine o�clock, which was starting time. Ted tended to come rolling in at least five minutes late, sometimes as much as twenty.

Sitting next to Jake, in the passenger seat, was his mother. She was dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a white button-up blouse. Her hair was loosely tied back in a ponytail. She sipped from an insulated mug of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee that Elsa had prepared for her to take on the road. Today would be her fifth session in the studio and she was still enjoying the novelty of working with her son and his friends and learning the ins and outs of how their music was put together.

The two of them stepped out of the car and walked to the main office door. It was made of reinforced glass and was secured by an electronic lock. KVA STUDIOS LLC was printed in simple white text at eye level. He punched in the code�it was 40191, the date they had moved into the building�and the lock disengaged. He opened the door for his mother and they entered an empty reception area. There was no furniture here, no water cooler, no telephone. There was no need for a receptionist at KVA currently and no money to spare to hire one even if such a position was needed.

At the back of the reception area was another door that had no words printed on it at all. They walked through this door and into a hallway. Opposite the reception area door was a restroom that contained a simple shower area. Left from the reception area door, the hallway led to a conference room in which a simple wooden table and eight simple chairs had been placed. Here, a phone sat upon the table and, in the corner, was an IBM computer that, at the insistence of Nerdly, was hooked into a separate phone line and connected to something called CompuServe, the purpose and usefulness of which only Nerdly himself understood. Jake ignored the empty conference room and turned right instead. Here, the hallway ended in a heavy soundproof door. Beyond this door was the actual studio part of KVA Records. This door was of steel construction and was equipped with two deadbolt locks, a security bar, and was wired to a remotely monitored security system. No one gave a shit if a burglar made it into the front part of the building, but the heart and soul�not to mention a good portion of invested money from the partners�was behind the studio door.

Jake disengaged the locks with a key and they went inside. The studio was fifty feet by twenty, windowless, and featured cheap industrial gray tile flooring. The walls were bare of pictures or other decorations. The studio chairs were identical to the conference room chairs, which was to say that they were cheap office supply chairs designed for maybe two years of useful service. The recording equipment in the room was not commercial quality. It consisted of an analog sound board hooked to three amplifiers and a bank of cassette player/recorders. There was a platform just in front of the soundboard, made of treated plywood. It held Ted�s ten-piece drum set. Sitting to the left of the drum platform was Nerdly�s pride and joy: the Korg M1 digital synthesizer. To the right of it was a Yamaha electronic stage piano on a stand. Scattered haphazardly to the sides of the platform were a variety of guitar cases, extra microphone stands, extra amplifiers, and extra chairs. In racks installed on the walls were the guitars. There were seven of them. Ben�s Brogan bass hung in the center. To the left of it were Jake�s guitars: a black Les Paul that was his primary weapon, a Marshall acoustic-electric, and a Brogan Les Paul knock-off that was drop-D tuned for some of the heavier of Jake�s songs. To the right of the bass were Celia�s guitars: A Fender Grand Concert acoustic, a Brogan acoustic-electric, and a drop-D tuned Fender Stratocaster that she did not play on any of her tunes, but that she used to back-up Jake on a few of his.

Celia was sitting in a chair near her microphone stand, sipping out of a cup of coffee and leafing through a sheaf of musical scores on her stand. She held a pencil on her right hand and was scratching a few notes here and there. Sharon was at the soundboard, making notations on the switches and dials and making a few notes of her own. Nerdly was sitting in a chair behind the Korg, looking at a diagram in the manual. Cynthia was sitting in a chair behind the Yamaha piano, frowning at it. She had never played an electronic piano before and was still getting used to it.

�Good morning, everyone!� Mary greeted as she entered the room. Jake echoed the sentiment. Everyone in the room gave his or her version of a return greeting.

Mary went over to a shelf next to the guitars and opened up the case that contained her rehearsal violin. She spent a few minutes putting rosin on her bow and then carried the instrument and her tuning fork over to the chair next to Cynthia and her piano. She began to go to work, making sure her strings were in proper tune.

Jake walked over to his seat next to Celia�s, but he did not sit down. �How�s it going, C?� he enquired.

�So far, so good,� she replied.

�What do you want to work on first today?� he asked. They alternated whose songs they worked on day by day and today it was Celia�s turn.

�The Struggle,� she said. �It�s going to be my first release and I�m still not liking the way it�s coming out.�

Jake nodded in understanding. The tune was solid as a rock, with good melody, deep, meaningful lyrics, and a nice hook in the chorus, but Celia was right. The way they were putting it together just didn�t sound quite right. �We�ll get it dialed,� he told her.

�Eventually,� she sighed.

Now that he knew what song they were going to work on first, he knew which guitar to grab. He walked over to the rack and pulled down the Les Paul, which he slung over his right shoulder. He carried it over to his chair and sat down. Just in front of his chair were two effects pedals he could use to change the basic sound of the instrument before it came out of the amplifier in the rear of the room. His guitar cord was sitting next to his seat but he didn�t plug in just yet. First, he picked up his tuning fork from the music stand in front of him and went to work on his strings. They were not terribly out of tune, since this was a daily ritual, and only a minor adjustment to the G-string and the E-string were required.

Just as Jake and Mary finished up with their tuning, the studio door opened and Ben Ping walked in. Ben was Chinese, born in the city of Cixi, on the eastern coast of the country. His family emigrated to San Francisco in 1960, when Ben was only three years old. He was brought up in American schools with American friends and American values. Though his parents had always wanted him to be a doctor or an engineer at the very least, young Ben�s life-path was altered when he was fourteen years old and picked up a guitar for the first time. He fell in love with the instrument almost immediately and discovered he had a significant aptitude for it. Soon, he found himself falling in with the musician crowd, playing in various bands through his high school years, learning to smoke marijuana and go to keggers, learning to grow his hair long, and forgetting how to produce and turn in quality school work. He retained just enough of a cultural reverence for education to successfully graduate, but his final grades and GPA precluded him from getting into any institute of higher learning that was not a community college.

That was okay with Ben, if not his parents. He got a job in a low-end restaurant as a busboy and then gradually worked his way up to a waiter at a higher end chain restaurant. This allowed him to move out of his parents� house in South San Francisco and into a studio apartment in the City, where he spent much of his non-working time pursuing his musical interests with various bands that were getting together in the Bay Area. At some point along the way he came to the realization that he was pretty good with the guitar, but not great, so he made himself a little hotter of a commodity by switching to the bass, an instrument he had a little more aptitude for as it fit well with his engineering oriented mind. The band hookups came easier after this. Guitar players were a dime a dozen, but bands were always looking for a good bass player because, since it was not quite as glamorous of an instrument, there weren�t as many people playing it.

Though he was good with his instrument�Jake rated him as better than Darren had been, but still well short of Charlie�s skills�his big break never came. The closest he ever came to fame was that he had once played with a band called True, whose drummer claimed that he had once played in a band with a guy who had learned his guitar skills from a then un-discovered Neal Schon of Journey fame. It was a story that had never been verified, but he had liked to believe it was true.

After a few years of playing hundred-dollar gigs on his nights off, he decided that maybe it was time to establish a fallback position in case he did not ultimately end up being a famous recording star. He started taking classes at City College of San Francisco, focusing on general education and music. A little more mature in those days, he took his college education seriously enough to accumulate a 4.0 GPA by the time he maxed out all he could take at that level. This was enough to allow him admission to UCLA for the completion of his Bachelor of Arts in Music. And so, he packed up his meager belongings and made the move to the southern part of the state. After graduation, he picked up a teaching credential and was hired as a guitar teacher at Los Angeles Harbor College, a campus of the LA Community College district. It was not the most lucrative position in the world, but he enjoyed teaching young people the art of the guitar and it fulfilled him.

Until meeting Jake and Celia two months before, he had pretty much given up on his dream of being a recording star, but that had not kept him from playing in bands when he could. He had been playing bass for a group called Black Dog�a Led Zepplin tribute band�in a little club in the valley when Jake, Nerdly, and Sharon had wandered in one Saturday night after yet another frustrating session at their studio. The lack of a rhythm section at that point in their development had been hampering them quite badly, leaving them unable to progress much beyond the basic melodies of their tunes.

Black Dog was merely okay at what they were striving to do. The guitar player was never going to be mistaken for Jimmy Page and their singer did not have even a third of the range of Robert Plant, but they were able to put out palatable imitations that served to provide some nostalgic entertainment while one sipped on one�s drink and ate greasy bar food.

It was during their rendition of Rock and Roll when Jake began paying more than superficial attention to them. It was the drummer he pondered first. The guy was pretty good, he realized. He was not just keeping the beat, but was also hitting all the flourishes that Jon Bonham had put into the same performance, and he was hitting them exactly as they had appeared on the album. And then he noticed the bass player. He too was laying down the exact rhythm required for the tune, keeping the other musicians in time, just like a good bass player was supposed to.

Life is just not fair, Jake thought at the time. We can�t find a goddamn rhythm section to save our lives, and these fucking hackers up there managed to pull in a decent one.

He shook his head, went back to sipping from his beer, and watched as Black Dog finished up Rock and Roll and went onto the number that would close out their set: Kashmir. Again, Jake paid primary attention to the bass player and the drummer and, just as the singer began declaring he was on his way, a simple thought occurred to him. Why don�t we see if we can steal these guys from them?

He mentioned his idea to the Nerdlys, both of whom had to agree that, for their purposes, the two musicians just might be what they were looking for. They both had some concerns though.

�Isn�t it a bit unethical to steal musicians away from an established band?� Sharon had asked.

Jake simply shrugged. �It�s an unethical world,� he said. �If they want to come of their own free will, what�s it to us?�

Nerdlys concern was more practical. �We know nothing about these people,� he said. �How do we know their level of commitment? Their personalities? They may be incompatible with our basic level of camaraderie.�

Again, Jake shrugged it off. �They gotta be more compatible than what we got now,� he said.

Nerdly had to agree that this was a valid point.

And so, the three of them hung around after the set was done. Soon enough, the band began to filter out, one by one. The singer and guitar player both headed directly for a group of women hanging around at the bar. The drummer, on the other hand, came out and started working to disassemble his set. He was a big guy with a beer belly and a balding head. His face was haggard and drawn, as if he were in perpetual pain. Jake guessed his age at around fifty, although he soon found out that Ted Duncan was only forty-one.

�Hey there,� Jake greeted from the edge of the stage.

�Hey,� Duncan grunted back, not even glancing in Jake�s direction.

�That was a good set you put on,� Jake told him. �You seem to know your way around the drums.�

�Thanks,� he said plainly, continuing to unscrew wingnuts on his snare drum.

�My name is Jake Kingsley,� Jake said. �Maybe you�ve heard of me?�

That got Duncan�s attention. He turned and looked at Jake, his eyes focusing on his face. He obviously did not like what he saw. �Jake Kingsley, huh?� he said. �And my name is Jon Bonham. Nice to meet you, Jake.� With that, he went back to work.

�I really am Jake Kingsley,� Jake insisted. �I just cut my hair and grew a mustache.�

�Of course you did,� Duncan said. �Look partner, I don�t mean to be rude or anything, but I need to get this stuff taken apart and back in my truck. I have to work a shift at six in the morning and I really need to get some sleep, you know what I mean?�

�I understand,� Jake said, �but I thought that maybe I could talk to you for a minute or two. You see, I�m putting together a solo album and it just so happens that I need...�

Duncan turned back to him and gave him a dangerous glare. �Goodbye, Jake, or whatever your name is. I�ve been about as polite as I�m going to be.�

The exchange had caught the eye of one of the club�s bouncers, a large Hispanic man with tattoos that looked like they had been put there by the best goddamn tat artist in San Quentin Prison. He came over and stood next to Jake, uncomfortably close to him. �Is there a problem here?�

�No,� Jake said, holding up his hands. �No problem at all. I was just leaving.�

He walked back over to the bar, where Sharon and Nerdly were waiting.

�That did not look like it went well,� Nerdly observed.

�He doesn�t believe I�m Jake Kingsley,� Jake said.

�Unsurprising,� Nerdly said. �Your current style of grooming precludes immediate recognition. Maybe I should go try?�

Jake shook his head. �I�m not sure that�s a good idea. Here comes the bass player. Let me go talk to him instead.�

And so he had met Ben Ping. Ben took a little convincing, but soon he realized that he really was dealing with Jake Kingsley and that Kingsley really was offering him an audition to play bass for him and Celia Valdez in their rehearsal studio.

�I�ll have to leave Black Dog,� he said.

Jake nodded. �Is that a problem?�

�No, no problem at all, but I also have a full-time job as a music professor at LA Harbor. That might be a problem. They kind of like me to show up for work.�

Jake was actually impressed that the guy was a music teacher. �I see how they might like that,� he said. �Do you teach summer classes?�

�No.�

�It�s May 16^th right now,� Jake said. �How much more of the semester is left?�

�Only two weeks,� Ben said, �but I�ll need to be back in the classroom on September 3.�

�So, you�ll be available for the entire summer?�

�Well ... yes, but that can�t possibly be enough time to get two albums recorded.�

�We�re not trying to record right now,� Jake explained. �We�re just trying to put the tunes together and we�re somewhat hampered by the fact that we have no rhythm section. All I�m asking for right now is a competent bass player and a competent drummer who can help us out until it is time to hit the studio. We�ll cross the bridge of what musicians will actually record with us when we come to it. The summer should be enough for us to get things in gear.�

�I see,� Ben said. �I guess I�ll have to say that I�m in. I�ve been an Intemperance fan since you released Descent Into Nothing. It would be an honor to play with you.�

�Assuming you pass the audition,� Jake qualified.

�Naturally,� Ben said. He did not seem the least bit nervous about the prospect of playing for Jake.

Jake nodded over in the direction of the drummer. �What�s his story?� he asked. �He seems like he knows what he�s doing.�

Ben nodded. �I�ve only known him since I hooked up with Black Dog, but he�s a good drummer. He says he used to do sessions back in the day. Claims he did some studio work for Graham Nash, Sammy Hagar, Don Henley, and a few others. He�s working these days as a paramedic over in Pomona.�

�A paramedic, huh?� Jake said. �That�s interesting.�

�He�s kind of fucked up in the head, if you ask me,� Ben opined. �I think maybe he�s been doing the paramedic thing a little too long, that maybe he isn�t so good at forgetting about the shit he sees in that job.�

�Really?�

Ben nodded. �Really. He�ll tell you stories that�ll have you almost puking ... or almost crying. He�s pretty emotional.�

�But a good drummer?�

�Probably the best I�ve ever played with. He could do a lot better than this tribute band, but he seems to have lost his ambition over the years.�

�Well,� Jake said, �maybe I can get it back for him. You think you can convince him to audition for us as well?�

Ben nodded. �I�ll see what I can do.�

And he had. It took a little convincing, but both Ben and Ted came to KVA�s studio two days later and showed what they had. Jake, Nerdly, and Celia had all been impressed by both of them and had made them an offer on the spot.

�Fifty bucks an hour,� Jake told them. �We�ll work six days a week, for the most part, with Sundays off, all through the summer. Lunches will be on us. Saturday night beers will be on us as well.�

Ben had no problem accepting the offer. He was free and clear through the summer months. Ted, on the other hand, had a full-time job with Southern Medical Services and would have to put it aside in order to accept the offer. He didn�t agonize over it long. Fifty dollars an hour was nearly four times as much he was making as a medic. He applied for a leave of absence and it was granted. On May 29^th, two days after the community college district started its summer break, Ben and Ted both reported for duty. Ted was ten minutes late for his first shift.

�Good morning,� Ben greeted now, as he entered the studio for the day�s work. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a cotton pullover shirt with a picture of a bicycle on it. His hair was shoulder length and he sported a Fu Manchu goatee. He had a dangling earring in his left ear and a wedding ring on his left hand. His wife, Lisa, was a former student of his. She was now in the college�s nursing program and pregnant with their first child.

The group offered their good mornings back to him. He walked over to the rack and pulled down his bass, carrying it over to his chair on the far side of Celia�s position. He began to tune.

�We�re going to be working on The Struggle to start the day,� Celia told him.

�Sounds good,� he said with a nod. He still couldn�t believe he had actually gotten this gig, that he was really playing with Jake Kingsley and Celia Valdez. And though they had already told him they would likely be getting another bass player for the actual recording process, he was hopeful that he could impress them enough that they would keep him on for that stage of the album. True, it would mean he would have to take some sort of leave of absence from the college, but it would be worth it. He would be a recording star! His dream come true! And he could tell by the tunes they were working on that both Jake�s and Celia�s albums had high potential. The music was solid, even if it wasn�t of the genre that each were associated with.

It was ten minutes after nine when the door opened again and Ted Duncan walked in. He had the harried look on his face that was his signature when arriving late for work�which he pretty much did every morning. He was dressed in a pair of khaki cargo pants and sandals, his shirt a faded and tattered souvenir from the 1983 US Festival that was about a size and a half too small for him and served to accent his beer belly in a most unattractive manner.

�Hey, guys,� he greeted, putting the proper tone of apology in his voice. �Sorry I�m late. The damn traffic coming into the valley was pretty bad this morning.�

�Yeah,� Jake grunted. Traffic was Ted�s most frequent excuse for his tardiness, followed a close second by car trouble with his old pickup. No one mentioned that fact that all of them had taken the same route into Santa Clarita from LA proper and had found the traffic to be its normal congested but predictable self. After all, most of the morning commuters were heading into LA, not out of it. �Why don�t you grab your sticks and we�ll get started on the sound check. We�ll be working on The Struggle for the first part of the morning.�

�The Struggle, right,� Ted said, heading over to his drum set. He had a seat and pulled out a pair of sticks from the holder on his bass drum. �Good tune.�

Now that everyone was here and had tuned the instrument he or she was going to be using, they started the ritual of the sound check. Sharon fired up the sound board while Nerdly turned on the speakers and the amps. Everyone plugged in, except for Ted, who played strictly acoustic in the intimate confines of the rehearsal studio (and had to keep his beats somewhat light, at that), and Mary, who played into a microphone set in front of her seat. In deference to everyone�s hearing, the speakers and amps were not set to a performance volume. Instead, they were adjusted to just have enough output so the music could be heard well. Sharon and Nerdly then had everyone play a little piece so the input levels could be adjusted. After this, the vocal mics belonging to Jake and Celia were sound checked as well. Since Jake had convinced the Nerdlys shortly after the acquisition of the rhythm section that perfection was not really needed for this phase of the production, and since they were used to doing this every morning before getting started, the process only took about twenty minutes to accomplish. Five of those minutes were taken up by Ted, who launched into one of his paramedic stories.

�I ever tell you about the time we had this guy with a chain link support pole through his chest?� he suddenly blurted, just as Mary was checking her mic.

�Uh ... no,� Jake said. �I don�t think we heard that one. Maybe after...�

�It was over in The Ranch,� Ted said. �You know, that ritzy-ass section of Pomona near the park? It was on Village Loop, which runs along the green belt there, and the road is kind of winding through these small hills. This college age dude and his girlfriend were flying down that road in the middle of the night�drunk you know�and he lost it on one of the curves. Fuckin� car went up an embankment and goes airborne�just like something out of goddamn Dukes of Hazzard, I�m telling you�and comes down straddling this chain link fence around a water pump station. They land perfectly parallel with the fence and sever the top support pole with the front end. That broken pole went right through the goddamn windshield and through the chest of the dude driving.� He shook his head. �That was some shit to see.�

�I ... uh ... I bet,� Jake said.

�It killed him?� Cynthia asked, her eyes wide.

�Eventually,� Ted said, �but not right away. He was still talking and screaming when we got there, a goddamn three-inch aluminum pole going in through his sternum and out right between his shoulder blades and then through his seat and into the back seat. He wasn�t even bleeding. His girlfriend�talk about freaking right the fuck out�she didn�t have a scratch on her but we had to transport her for hysteria.�

�I can imagine,� Celia said, both fascinated and appalled.

�So, anyway, we had to get the fire guys to cut that pole down so we could get him out of the car. It was still attached to the fence, you know, and it was sticking through the seats in the rear. They got in there with a power saw and cut both ends. Man, that must�ve hurt like hell. That kid was screaming while they did it, sparks flying everywhere. I had to get in there with him and start a line and light him up with some morphine just to get him through it. And then, once they had him cut free, you could fuckin� see right through from one end of the pole to the other. It was freaky, dudes. One of the freakiest things I�ve ever seen. You could�ve put a water hose in that thing and it would�ve squirted out the other side.�

Everyone looked at each other for a moment, this image in their heads.

�Once we got him out of there,� Ted continued, �we took him over to the trauma center. He stayed awake through all that. They took him into surgery right away, but once they took that thing out, he crashed and died in about two minutes. The surgeon said his aorta was ripped, along with a couple of the major branches off it. The pole itself was keeping him from bleeding out, but as soon as they removed it: El gusho.�

�Wow,� Jake said after a few moments of horrified silence passed. �That�s ... an interesting story.�

�Quite gruesome,� Mary said. �Whatever in the world prompted you to tell us that?�

�Your violin,� Ted said, pointing at it.

�My violin?�

He nodded solemnly. �Yeah. You see, there was a violin in the car. Apparently, the girlfriend played it. Whenever I see you tuning it up, it always reminds me of that call. I had a therapist tell me once that I should talk about these things instead of obsessing over them.�

�Uh ... right,� Jake said. �Good advice, I suppose. So ... you�re better now?�

Ted nodded amicably. �I�m cool,� he said.

�All right then. How about we finish the sound check?�

They finished the sound check without further incident. They then began to play.

They went through The Struggle three times�which was to say they started it from the beginning eight times but only finished it three because the mothers were still not completely familiar with their parts. It was a soft-rock song with Mary providing the melody with her violin while Celia and Cynthia laid down the accompaniment to the rhythm set by Ben and Ted. Jake used his Les Paul on mild distortion to provide fills. He also had a fairly tame, easy listening type of guitar solo between the bridge and the final verse. Neither Celia or Jake was happy with the way it was coming out.

�It�s the violin,� Celia said after they finished the third run-through. �It just doesn�t ... sound right.�

Jake nodded. �I think you�re right.�

Mary was a bit taken aback. �What was wrong with it?� she asked. �I�m hitting the notes well, just like they�re written. Is it my phrasing?�

Jake and Celia were both shaking their heads before she even finished. �It�s not you, Mary,� Celia assured her. �You�re playing beautifully. It�s just that the timbre of the violin doesn�t match the feeling I�m trying to project here. It doesn�t convey the mood of the piece properly. I don�t think the violin is the right instrument for the melody.�

Mary nodded thoughtfully. �Now that you mention it, it doesn�t seem to quite be what is needed there. What did you have in mind?�

�I tried using the guitar to pick out the melodic notes before we recruited the two of you,� Jake said. �That didn�t sound right either. It was too harsh, too ... oh ... hard rock I guess.�

�I think an alto sax would sound better,� Celia suggested. �Not only that, it would free up Jake�s guitar for the fills and Mary�s violin for the accompaniment. A sax was actually what I envisioned when I first thought about putting the piece together as a recording.�

�Does anyone here actually know how to play the sax?� asked Sharon.

The two rhythm section members shook their heads, as did the two mothers. Nerdly joined the chorus of no�s. Jake gave a little shrug. �My dad used to have an alto sax in his collection when I was a kid and I played around with it a little. I never took to it much though.�

�But you�ve played one before?� Celia asked.

�That was close to twenty years ago, C. I was just a kid screwing around. I sure as hell don�t remember how to do scales on the thing now.�

�What about your old man?� asked Ted. �It was his instrument, wasn�t it? Can he play the thing?�

All eyes turned to Mary, who was shaking her head slowly. �Tom plays a pretty mean blues guitar, but he was never any good with the sax. He bought it in a secondhand store back in the early fifties, when he was still trying to make it as a musician. He thought it would increase his marketability if he could lay down some brass. He was never very good with it. He could play the notes, but he could never put ... you know ... any soul in it. He stopped playing it years before Pauline and Jake were even born. I�m not even sure where the thing is now. I don�t remember seeing it when we moved.�

Jake, who knew he had accidentally broken the instrument one day while pretending to be a hard rock marching band member, looked at the floor and said nothing.

�Well ... I guess we�re going to have to get ourselves a saxophonist, aren�t we?� Celia said.

�Just for one song?� Sharon asked. �Pauline and Greg are not going to like that.�

�It�s not just for one song,� Celia said. �I can use a sax as the primary melodic instrument in at least three of my songs, and I can envision using it for fills and solos in two or three of the others. This is actually something I�ve been meaning to bring up for some time.�

�Where in the hell are we going to find a professional level sax player?� Jake asked. �We�ve had a hard enough time just finding a rhythm section and our violin and piano players.�

Ben, who was typically the quietest, most reserved member of the group, suddenly spoke up. �Maybe I can help,� he said.

�How so?� Jake asked him. �Do you know a professional level saxophonist?�

�I used to,� he said. �Back when I was working on my graduate degree at UCLA, I played bass in the school�s jazz band. There was a girl who played the sax with us, and she was pretty good at it�a natural, if you know what I mean.�

�Is she a professional musician now?� Jake asked. �If she is, that runs us right back into our primary problem. Pros are usually committed elsewhere, or forbidden by contracts to play with someone like us.�

�She�s not a professional�or at least she wasn�t the last time I was in touch with her. She was an English major and she was working on her teaching credential. I always told her she was wasting her talent going into teaching. She had what it took to be a professional studio musician at the very least.�

�Intriguing,� Nerdly said thoughtfully.

�Agreed,� Jake said. He gave a meaningful look to Ben. �Were you and she ... you know ... tuning each other�s instruments?�

�Jake!� Mary barked at him.

�Well, sorry,� Jake said. �It�s something we need to know though. I don�t want to hire this girl if there�s going to be some ex-girlfriend drama going on between her and Ben. We�re having enough trouble keeping productivity up as it is.�

�Laura and I were only friends,� Ben assured him. �I haven�t even talked to her in almost two years. I have no idea if she�s even still playing or, if she is, if she would be willing to come play with us. I don�t even know if the phone number I have for her is current. This could all be for nothing�probably is, in fact.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said. �Go ahead and give it a try when you get home. See if she�s willing to come and audition for us.�

�Will do,� Ben promised.

�In the meantime,� Jake said, �how about we get back to work? What do you want to work on next, C?�

Santa Clarita, California

July 17, 1991

Laura came pretty close to just telling them all what they could do with their fifty dollars an hour by the time they broke for lunch the next day. No amount of money was worth this abuse, this questioning of her musical abilities.

They spent the first two hours working on The Struggle. While the tune was actually starting to grow on her a bit�it really was poignant when you considered the lyrics�she could not seem to make Celia and Kingsley happy with her rendition of the simple melody that was required.

�It�s coming out flat,� Kingsley told her bluntly. �You�re just mouthing the notes mechanically. You�re not putting any emotion into them.�

�I�ve never had any complaints about my phrasing before,� she insisted. �Especially on something as straightforward as this.�

�Well, you�re getting complaints now,� Kingsley told her. �It�s listless and flat. We can�t do anything with what you�re putting out.�

Her appeals to Celia did no good. Though she was kinder in her words than Kingsley, her opinion was no different. �I�m not feeling the expression I�m trying to convey with the tune,� she told Laura. �I�m hoping to start hearing some improvement as we go along, but we seem to be stuck in a rut here.�

�I have the notes down,� she insisted. �I don�t even have to look at the score anymore. It�s a three-chord melody for heaven�s sake. How am I supposed to phrase it any differently than I have been?�

�Phrasing is the signature of the musician,� Celia said. �It�s up to you to come up with the way to shape it.�

�Yeah,� Kingsley grunted. �And right now, that signature is being shaped by a daisy wheel printer in block letters. It�s mechanical and flat.�

They tried a few more times. The results were the same. She played the notes out perfectly, but they weren�t happy with them. And, in truth, part of her knew what they were talking about. It really was a listless rendition. She just couldn�t feel their music the way they wanted it to be felt. There was very little enthusiasm for her to put into it. That was hardly her fault, was it?

They then moved onto another tune, this one called Done With You, and things got even worse. It was an up-tempo tune and Kingsley�s electric guitar was the primary melodic instrument. It was not quite heavy metal, but it was a long way from jazz. Celia wanted her to provide fills throughout the tune with her sax and then, perhaps put in a solo.

�A solo?� she asked, surprised. �Who is going to compose it?�

�You are,� Celia told her simply.

�It is traditional for a musician to compose her own solo in rock and roll music,� Mary said.

�But ... I�m not a composer,� she protested.

�Neither am I,� Mary said, �but I�ve put together a nice little solo for Jake�s tune, Insignificance.�

She looked at her in surprise. �He has a violin solo in one of his songs?�

�Strange but true,� Kingsley told her. �She nailed it too.�

�It�s still a work in progress,� Mary said modestly. �I�ll play it for you if you think it�ll help.�

�Well ... I don�t know,� she said.

�How about we don�t worry about the solo just yet?� Kingsley suggested, his voice more than a little impatient. �We haven�t even tried her on the fills yet. Let�s work on those first.�

�Uh ... sure,� Laura said, still trying to picture how a violin would fit into one of Kingsley�s songs. What kind of atrocity were they putting together?

They ran through Done With You and Laura did not have a good opinion of it. True, it had a catchy beat, and Mary�s violin provided a flowing accompaniment over the top of the piano, and Celia�s voice carried the lyrics well, but that electric guitar noise! She couldn�t get over it. It jangled at her nerves just to hear it! And there was a synthesizer mixed in as well. How was she supposed to provide fills atop of all that?

�Okay,� Celia told her after they played the first two verses without her. �This is where we start plugging you in. You can see on the score where your fills go over the top. We want loud and strong, almost overwhelming to everything but Jake�s guitar and the backbeat. Jake, can you play the basic gist we�re shooting for here so she can hear it?�

�I can,� Kingsley said. He picked out a distorted electric version of the primary fill they wanted, his fingers pressing on the G and B strings, moving up and down through the fret boards.

The sound of it actually caused her to wince. Something that did not go unnoticed by Kingsley. �A problem, Ms. Best?� he asked her.

�No ... not at all,� she replied. �I�m just not used to that much distortion. It�s kind of ... rough.�

Kingsley nodded. �That�s why we want you to play the notes and not me,� he said. �Why don�t you give it a try. Work it up a few times and then we�ll try it with everyone in.�

She looked down at the score before her, back up at Celia, and then put the mouthpiece to her lips. She blew, working through the notes of the flourish at half speed. Even she could hear the flatness issuing forth.

�Not the sweetest sound I�ve ever heard,� Kingsley pointed out.

�It�s my first time playing it!� she barked back at him. �Give me a few run throughs before you start hating it.� She then blanched as she realized she had just yelled at a man who was not only her employer, but who had been known to beat women severely�it was said that he had even thrown one girl off a boat after raping her. �I�m ... uh ... I�m sorry,� she told him. �I�m just getting a little stressed, I think.�

�No problem,� Kingsley said, his voice calm. �And I accept your offer.�

�My offer?�

�I�ll give you a few run throughs before I start hating it. Sound good?�

She cast her eyes away from his, seething on the inside. That was when she first started thinking about just walking out.

She did not improve much on the piece as the morning went on. As with Struggle, she could play the notes without any problem but she just could not feel the music enough, could not appreciate it enough to phrase it in anything other than a mechanical fashion. She tried faking it, drawing out the notes a little here, varying the strength of them there, but it did not make Celia or Kingsley happy and, truth be told, it did not make her happy either. She knew they sounded flat. Could not deny it even to herself.

At one o�clock they broke for lunch. She was more than grateful for the interruption.

The catering company that KVA did business with brought in a tray full of sandwich makings and a variety of breads, a tub of potato salad, and an ice chest full of soda and fruit juices. Everyone went about fixing themselves plates and then they drifted over to various places to sit and eat. Talk was minimal during this, and what little there was had nothing to do with music or music production.

Laura made a small sandwich out of turkey meat and sourdough bread, spreading a little mayo, a little mustard, then throwing some lettuce and tomatoes on it. She then put a small dab of the potato salad on her plate next to it. She loved potato salad�loved anything made with potatoes really�but she knew that it would go straight to her hips and butt if she had more than a dab. Dave was always warning her not to plump up on him. He didn�t like fat women.

She went back to her seat in front of her microphone stand and began to pick at her food. She was really too stressed out to be hungry, but she knew she needed to put something in her stomach.

Celia came and sat next to her, in the chair normally reserved for Mary, but Mary was sitting next to her son over on the drum platform. They were laughing about something as if they had no care in the world. Was he telling her some tales about his drug fueled orgies, perhaps? Any mother who raised a son like Kingsley would probably be amused by such tales.

�How are you doing?� Celia asked her.

She shrugged. �I�m starting to feel like maybe this whole thing was a mistake,� she said.

Celia nodded thoughtfully. �Perhaps it was,� she allowed. �That all depends on you.�

�On me?�

�On you,� Celia said. �We all heard you play when you auditioned. You�re capable of amazing expression and phrasing with your instrument. You impressed us all greatly.�

�I�m very good at what I do,� she proclaimed firmly. �I�ve been playing this instrument since I was ten years old. I�ve been studying music theory almost as long and I�ve always worked on playing expressively.�

�No one is questioning your talent,� Celia said gently. �You�re just not displaying it when you play my tunes. And, unfortunately, that is exactly what you were hired to do.�

�I�m trying,� she insisted.

�That�s just the thing,� Celia said. �I don�t think you are�not really, anyway.�

�You heard me work more than two hours with you on The Struggle. How can you say I wasn�t trying?�

�You don�t like the song, do you?� Celia asked.

�I have nothing against it,� she said softly.

�Let�s be truthful, Laura,� Celia said. �You don�t like it much, and you like Done With You even less. Am I right?�

She shrugged. �The Struggle is starting to grow on me a little,� she said, �but you�re right, I don�t care for Done With You at all. It�s rock and roll music, with electric distorted guitars, and I just don�t care for the entire genre.�

�And, because of that, it�s hard to come up with proper phrasing because you don�t enjoy the underlying song?�

She took a deep breath. �Maybe,� she admitted. �Like I said, maybe I�m not the right girl for your little project here. The money is good, of course, but ... well ... it might be best if I just let you find someone else.�

�I don�t want someone else,� Celia told her. �I want you. I want you blowing that horn the way you did on Someone To Watch Over Me, the way you did on When the Saints Come Marching In. That talent will make my songs shine, will make people sing along with them when they hear them on the radio, make them buy the album in droves when it comes out. And, quite frankly, I don�t have anyone else. I want you to stay but I need you to find a way to get over your contempt for my music and start plugging in the way I�m sure you�re capable of.�

�But how?� Laura asked. �I can�t help the way I feel.�

�Perhaps not,� Celia said, �but you can open your mind a little, can�t you?�

�What do you mean?�

�You try to wrap your mind around the thought that maybe we don�t suck as much as you think we do, that maybe we really are capable of producing some palatable music you might actually enjoy.�

�Well...� she said doubtfully, not daring to articulate what was actually on her mind.

But Celia did not really need a full answer. �And we,� she continued, �will start working on a way to generate a little camaraderie, a little band cohesion with you. I think that is an important factor in mutual composition.�

�How are you going to do that?�

Celia smiled. �You�ll see after lunch,� she said.

She would answer no more questions about her plan. She simply went on eating her own sandwich and sipping from her diet Coke. Laura thought about asking her a few questions�primarily about how she had ended up being friends with such an unsavory character as Kingsley. She seemed to remember that a few years ago Kingsley had ended up getting in a fight with some of Celia�s band at the Grammy Awards. Obviously, they had gotten over whatever that issue had been about. Was it because Jake had come on to her, perhaps? That seemed a likely possibility. In the end, however, she kept her mouth shut. Did she really want to know any more about these people than she already did?

When the lunch break was over, both Ben and Ted went after the leftovers and began packing them up into Tupperware containers.

�You want in on the swag, Laura?� Ted asked her.

�The swag?� she asked.

�The rhythm section gets to keep the leftovers,� Ben told her. �That�s the rule they laid down when we signed on. Of course, you�re not the rhythm section, but I�m sure we can include you in the deal.�

�Hell to the yeah,� Ted said. �My goddamn refrigerator is already full. I haven�t had to buy groceries in a month.�

�Uh ... I�m okay,� she said. �You go ahead and keep the ... the swag.�

�Fair enough,� Ted said. They went back to packing up and soon, the food was neatly stowed away in ice chests that both had brought just for this purpose.

At promptly two o�clock, lunch was declared to be at an end and everyone returned to their seats.

�All right then,� Kingsley said, twirling a guitar pick in his fingers while his black Les Paul sat on his lap. �What next? Back to Done With You? Maybe try to make some headway?� He cast a sour glance at Laura as he said this�a look that implied he knew who was responsible for that lack of headway. Again, she almost wanted to call him out, say something nasty in reply, and, again, she remembered what kind of man she was dealing with. She kept quiet.

�I think,� Celia said, �that I want to try a little experiment.�

�What kind of experiment?� Kingsley asked.

�Well, it occurred to me that we need to have a little exercise in band cohesion here.�

�We have band cohesion,� Kingsley said. He then looked directly at Laura again. �For the most part anyway.�

Laura could hold her tongue no longer. �I�m sorry I don�t fit in with your little group here,� she told him. �I�ve tried, but this music you�re playing is just not ... not what I�m used to. Like I was just telling Celia, maybe this wasn�t such a good idea after all.�

�Maybe it wasn�t,� Jake agreed.

Laura opened her mouth to say something else�quite possibly something along the lines of Fine, I�ll just be on my way then, and you can stick your fifty dollars an hour up your derriere! �but Celia opened her mouth first.

�This is exactly what I�m talking about,� she said. �We need group cohesion, and the member who is feeling like she doesn�t belong here is Laura.�

�I don�t think I do belong here,� Laura said. �I�m not sure I�m ever going to feel like that.�

�It�s only been two days, Laura,� Ben told her. �You haven�t really given us much of a chance.�

�Nor have I been given much of a chance either,� she returned.

�Touch�,� Celia said. �That�s why I want to try this little exercise�a kind of a jam session, if you will.�

�A jam session?� Kingsley said. �How is that going to help anything?�

�By helping us find common ground,� Celia said. She looked at Laura. �When you were doing When the Saints Come Marching In yesterday, everyone really liked it. Ted and Ben even chimed in with the rhythm. Everyone was tapping their feet. It was a piece that all of us liked and knew, right?�

�Well,� Kingsley said, �it�s not up there with Bohemian Rhapsody or Kashmir in my book, but it�s catchy and easy to play. It�s ... fun.�

�Right!� Celia said. �Making music is supposed to be fun. We need to learn how to have fun together.� She looked at Laura. �All of us.�

Laura wanted to keep stewing in her anger and perceived lack of respect, but she forced herself to put it aside for the moment. Maybe Celia was onto something here. True, Saints was no Rhapsody for the Alto or Romeo and Juliet, but it was fun and easy to play. Something to just tear up with for the sheer enjoyment of it. That was why she had chosen it to round out her audition. It was something she could play at a whim without having to think about it and something she enjoyed, that she could phrase with some soul.

She nodded her head slowly. �Okay,� she said softly. �How do we do this?�

�Alternating melodies,� Celia said. �Ben and Ted set the rhythm up, I�ll play accompaniment on my Fender and maybe sing if the mood strikes me, and then Mary, Cindy, Jake, and Laura all take turns throwing down the melody, one by one. Each of you do your best, make it sing! Make us feel it! You know what I�m saying?�

Kingsley was now smiling, his eyes looking at Celia with clear affection. Interesting. �I know what you�re saying,� he assured her.

�Let�s do it!� Mary said enthusiastically.

�I�m in!� said Cynthia.

They all looked to Laura. She offered them the first smile of her tenure with them. �Let�s do it,� she said. �Who�s going to start?�

�You are,� Celia told her. She turned to Ted. �Four count and let�s get it on.�

�Hell to the yeah,� Ted said, grinning. He tapped his sticks together four times and they began to play.

Since it was an unrehearsed piece, and no one had any sheet music to help them remember the notes or to set the tempo or the key, Laura let them go through a couple of reps first so she could plug into the groove they were setting. She picked it up by tapping her foot in time to it. When she felt she was locked in, she began to play in the key of C major, the way she had always played that particular piece.

The music came out of her horn and it had soul. There was no doubt about it. She even began to move her shoulders back and forth as she played. After the drivel they had been making her produce, it was a true pleasure to play something she enjoyed.

�That�s the shit!� Ted shouted at her at one point.

�Agreed,� said Celia, who was strumming away at her Fender. �Let�s try it with some vocals.�

�Sing it, C!� Kingsley called out.

�Oh, when the saints,� Celia belted out, �oh when the saints. Oh, when the saints go marching innnnnn. Oh yes, I want to be in that number, when the saints go marching in. Blow it, Laura!�

Laura blew it, belting out another round of the melody. This time around, she added some style and few fills of her own, putting some more soul into it.

�Hell to the yeah!� Ted cried again, adding a little drum fill of his own. This time around, however, it did not annoy her. It added to the piece and he had struck it out with improvised precision.

�Oh, when the saints, � Celia continued. �Oh, when the saints. Oh, when the saints go marching in. Oh yes, I want to be in that number, when those saints go marching innnnnn. Hit it, Mary!�

Mary hit it, playing out the melody on her violin with an enthusiasm and style, moving her own shoulders to the rhythm. She too brought a sense of phrasing to the piece�a playful, happy outpouring of musical emotion. She went through it twice, on the second time adding a few of her own fills, drawing some of the notes out, chopping some of the others.

�Way to go, Mom,� Kingsley said with a smile, his own foot tapping on the ground before him.

Celia sang out the chorus again. This time she called out Cynthia. �Do it, Cindy!�

Cindy pounded on the piano keys of her stage instrument. Laura was impressed with her competency and her phrasing. The piano had a lot more room for adding fills to a piece and she took advantage of them well, almost erupting into a mini-solo as she closed out her turn.

�We�re smokin� now,� Celia said, and then sang out the chorus yet again. This time, she called on Kingsley. �Jake! Let�s hear what you got!�

She winced a little in advance as Kingsley took his turn on the electric guitar, hitting the notes with distorted loudness, his fingers bending and pulling at the strings to elicit the music. So prepared was she to dislike it that it took her a moment to realize that it actually was not all that bad. She wasn�t a big fan of the blues, but she certainly liked it better than rock music, and Kingsley was putting the notes down in blues style with a distinct emotion to his phrasing. He too was having a good time with the piece. She could hear that in his expression, could see in the tapping of his foot, in the sure way his fingers moved across the fretboard of his guitar.

�That�s the way!� Celia yelled when he was done. �Sing it with me, Jake!�

They sang the next chorus in harmony, their voices mixing together surprisingly well. Kingsley did not scream even once, and he had a decent sounding tenor voice that mixed well with Celia�s contralto. They went through twice and then Celia called out her next command. �Mary and Laura together! Do it!�

She hesitated a moment�double with a violin? Absurd!�but when Mary began to play the notes she dutifully stepped in and played them with her. It actually sounded much better than she would have thought. True, it was not a traditional doubling of instruments, but it worked!

�That�s badass!� Ted encouraged from behind his drum set. �Bring up the volume some!�

�Yeah,� shouted Kingsley. �Really grind it!�

Laura and Mary looked at each other for a moment and shared a nod. As they entered the next rendition, Laura blew harder, putting more strength into her notes. Mary did the same, moving the bow across her strings with a little more force, drawing louder and more authoritative sound out of the instrument.

�All right!� Celia said after finishing the next chorus. �Jake and Cindy this time. Show us what you got!�

They showed what they had. Laura was again prepared for it to be hideous, and was again pleasantly surprised to hear that it wasn�t. Kingsley laid down a solid blues track that mixed in with the piano rendition of the melody. It could not quite harmonize on the level that a sax and a violin, or a sax and a guitar could, but that was actually its strength. The notes came out in harmony but their rendition was quite different and complimentary.

�That is sweet shit,� Ted said, adding another impressive drum fill.

�Okay,� Celia said. �Final time around. All of you together! In harmony for the finish!�

�And then take us down tempo for the final sequence,� Kingsley added.

They went through it, with all four melody instruments playing in unison to the back beat. It sounded good ... deep, Laura could not help but feel. This was music they were making, turning a simple, repetitive piece into something quite more than its base melody.

�Bring it down,� Kingsley instructed after going through it twice.

Ben and Ted obediently brought the tempo down and those on melody followed them, making the final rendition march out slowly, down to almost a stop until they all let the very last note draw out and fade away.

�Hell to the yeah!� Ted said yet again. �That was bitchin�!�

�Agreed,� said Kingsley.

�That was the barest beginning of band cohesion,� Celia told Laura. �Do you get it now?�

�I get it,� Laura said. �I really do, but I still don�t know if that�s going to help me phrase on your original pieces.�

�Then we�ll keep doing this until you start to feel them,� Celia told her. �What else can we do? What else do all of us know?�

�Probably not much,� Kingsley said sourly. He turned to Laura. �Are there any rock or pop songs that you know? Some Beatles maybe? Some Elton John? Some Journey perhaps?�

Laura shook her head. �No, none of that. How about you all? Do you know any jazz? Any Charlie Parker? Any Louis Armstrong?�

Kingsley raised his eyebrows a bit. �Not much,� he said, �but there is this one...� He fiddled with the pedals on the floor before him and then flipped a switch on his guitar. He gave a quick strum and the music came out clean instead of distorted. He played a few open chords and then gripped his fretboard and began to strum out a melody in F major. She recognized it immediately.

�You know What a Wonderful World,� she said, surprised.

�Since I was a kid,� he confirmed. �It was always a good, mellow piece to play around the old campfire.� He chuckled. �Especially when there were ladies present.�

�I see,� she said doubtfully.

�I�ll play the chords,� he told her. �You play the vocal parts on the sax. Let�s see if we can make some music together.�

�Jesus Christ,� Ted said. �You�re talking elevator music here, Jake.�

�Anything for the cause,� Jake said, continuing to strum. �Jump in any time here, Laura.�

�Right,� she said, surprised to find that she was actually impressed with Kingsley�s guitar playing. It was soft and sweet, exactly at the right tempo and phrasing for the piece. And that from a guitar that had been hammering out distorted notes just a few moments before. Who would�ve thought?

The melody came around to the beginning again and she jumped in, playing a soft, mournful expression of where the vocals would be if someone were singing. The weird drummer guy was right. It was elevator music, but good elevator music, the kind that made you happy when you heard it, that made you hum along.

�Nice,� Cynthia said, smiling.

�It is, isn�t it?� said Mary.

They worked their way through the entire song, through three verses, the bridge, and three repetitions of the one-line chorus. On the final rendition of the chorus section, Kingsley sang out the words in harmony with her sax�about how he speculated in his own mind how nice the planet he lived on actually was. His tenor voice expressed the line with perfect tone, perfect expression, and she found herself actually feeling a little shiver going down her spine.

He really can sing, she thought. Amazing! Why in God�s name is he wasting that talent singing the trash he puts out?

�Bring it home, Laura,� he told her after repeating the chorus twice. �Close us out.�

She did it, going through one more, slower tempo version of the final chorus and then improvising out a drawn-out outro to end it.

She was surprised when everyone applauded. She blushed nervously.

�What do you know?� Kingsley said, giving her a smile�the first one she�d seen him display. �We really can make music together.�

�I guess so,� she said, feeling the barest beginnings of a smile touching her mouth as well.

Coos Bay, Oregon

September 24, 1991

In the bedroom of the hillside house overlooking the Pacific Ocean, Jake�s digital alarm clock clicked over to 6:30 AM and the radio began to play. The device in question sat on the oak dresser eleven feet from the bed. The radio was tuned to 88.7 on the FM dial, which was the local Catholic station that played nothing but Christian oriented music. The volume was turned up to nearly the loudest setting.

�A pleasant morning to all the righteous out there,� intoned the soft-spoken disc jockey to the nearly three hundred current listeners in the greater Coos Bay region of Oregon�s southern coast. �That was Amy Grant with Father�s Eyes�a true classic if ever there was one. And now, to get you up and moving for your day, we have Sandi Patty and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir with their rendition of What A Friend We Have in Jesus. Enjoy.�

�Oh, fuck no,� Jake said, quickly pulling the covers off and rolling to his feet. He nearly sprinted across the room and hit the off button on the alarm clock before the Mormons of the Tabernacle Choir could even hit their first high note. The strategic positioning of the alarm clock, the radio dial, and the volume setting had done their magic. Jake was awake and out of bed. Once these two things were accomplished, there would be no chance of him drifting back off.

He yawned deeply, rubbed his eyes and then stretched a little. Though his head was still fuzzy from the sudden sleep to awake transition, he did not feel badly. He had gone to bed at eleven last night after only two glasses of wine, so there was no hangover, no straining bladder, no headache. There simply was not enough time to do any serious drinking now that the recording process was in motion.

The ragtag group of musicians with no name, official or unofficial, and their sound team, had packed up and come to Coos Bay one week before and were staying as a group in a rented house. Though the house, which was costing KVA Records LLC eleven hundred dollars a week, had six bedrooms, five bathrooms and nearly 4500 square feet of living space, it was still quite crowded with nine permanent residents and eventually, though it hadn�t happened yet, four transient ones.

Nobody had to share bedrooms currently. Jake had the largest of the secondary bedrooms�the only one other than the master with its own attached bathroom. Celia had the master suite on the third floor because Greg was planning to pop in and out for a few days with some frequency during their stay. The Nerdlys had the secondary bedroom next to Jake�s�one without its own shower but they had refused to take Jake�s room when it was offered on the grounds that he was one of �the talent� and therefore their reason for being there in the first place. Cindy and Stan, the Nerdly parental units, had a smaller bedroom tucked away at the very end of the second floor hall. Laura had a tiny room that was tucked away in the rear of the first floor, just off the kitchen. Ted and Ben each had tiny little rooms located off the main entertainment room. Ted�s room had bunk beds in it, and the plan was to have the drummer and the bassist bunk together in Ted�s room when Mary came to play her pieces, or when Pauline came to take care of business (she was actually flying in this afternoon for her first visit). Phil Genkins, Laura�s roommate from Los Angeles and the latest part-time member of the band, would also be coming and going with some frequency later in the process, but Laura said he could stay in her room with her. This, of course, raised a few eyebrows among everyone�mostly the elder Archers�because everyone knew that Laura was engaged to her dentist. When she reminded everyone, however, that Phil was quite gay, the eyebrows came back down among everyone except Ted, who was a self-proclaimed homophobe.

Yes, Jake thought, things are going to get interesting as this little project floats along.

The morning air in the bedroom was brisk and damp, as Jake enjoyed sleeping with the window open so he could hear the sound of the waves rolling into shore a hundred and thirty feet below the cliffside the house sat upon. He shivered a bit and then shut the window, taking a moment to look out of it. His bedroom did not directly face the ocean, so he had to crane his head a bit if he wanted to see it. Sunrise had yet to occur, but the sky was starting to brighten with its approach. The stars were out, and could be seen, so that meant there was no marine layer this morning. That was good. He did not particularly like running in the damp morning fog that occasionally rolled in.

He turned away from the window and walked to his bathroom. After taking care of his morning business and washing up, he came back out into the bedroom and put on his loose fitting shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He donned his running socks and his battered running shoes and then made his way out of the room. The hallway was dark and the doors around him were all closed. From behind the door at the end of the hall, he could hear the rhythmic drone of Stan snoring.

He walked downstairs and made a left into the large kitchen area. Here, the light was on and Celia was standing at the sink wearing a pair of running shorts of her own, as well as a baggy T-shirt with a frog on it. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was filling her water bottle up. She looked over when she heard Jake enter and gave him a smile and a good morning.

�Good morning,� he returned, flashing a brief smile of his own. �How�s the tide?� The status of that tide would determine their running route, as there were places that were inaccessible to them when it was high.

�I haven�t looked,� she said. �My eyes aren�t even all the way open yet.�

Jake picked up a tide table that sat atop the refrigerator. He looked at it, found the day�s date and nodded. �It�s incoming, but we�re only two hours past low. High tide won�t be until just after ten.�

�We should be good for the beach then, right?�

�Right,� he confirmed. Both of them liked the route that took them along the beach for part of the way instead of the one that stuck entirely to the road. It was a better workout as well.

Jake filled up his own water bottle and they made their way out of the kitchen, through the dark entertainment room�they could hear the amazingly loud snores of Ted coming from behind his closed door, snores that were often interrupted by the jarring silence of sleep apnea, which he had proudly proclaimed to everyone he suffered from�and into the foyer. They walked out the front door and closed the door behind them. Jake opened a small lockbox installed next to the door by punching in a code. Inside was a key to the house. He used it to lock the door back up and then returned it to the box. They then walked down to the large circular driveway, where Jake�s BMW, Celia�s Mercedes, and a large white 1982 Ford van that KVA had purchased locally for its mass transportation needs, were parked.

They stretched out for a few minutes�Jake, as always, taking a moment or two to admire Celia�s magnifico pompis as she bent over to loosen up her hamstrings�and then walked out to the small, winding road that ran along this section of the coast. They could see the breakers rolling onto the small strip of exposed rocky shoreline below. Both of them were shivering slightly in the cool air.

�Shall we do this thing?� Celia asked.

�Let�s hit it,� Jake said.

They headed south down the road, going for a little more than a quarter of a mile, passing other ocean view houses, most of which were rentals, all of which were smaller and more modest than the one they were staying in. A narrow access trail intersected the road and they turned right. It was a steep, uneven trail full of switchbacks and liberally sprinkled with loose rocks. They treaded carefully here, not just because of the risk of a rolled ankle, but because if one fell in the right manner on this portion, one might find himself or herself tumbling over the cliff.

They reached the bottom without incident and were now on a strip of sand beach strewn with driftwood and sea kelp. During some of the higher tides, the water would come all the way up to the bottom of the trail, thus their need to carefully check the charts before heading out. At the moment, however, the breakers were rolling in twenty or so yards away. They jogged over to just outside the average breaker zone and turned to the south, quickly settling into a pace of about a nine-minute mile.

They spoke very little as they made their way two miles down the beach, their feet pounding into the sand, their path weaving back and forth depending on the terrain they were following. They curved along into a cove that was surrounded by even more towering cliffs. It was here that their tidal information became particularly important. During every high tide in this part of the cove, the water cut off both the north and south entrances and there were no trails out from within the cove itself. Though they probably would not drown if they found themselves here at the wrong time, they would certainly find themselves sitting on some rocks for six or seven hours until the water retreated enough to let them back out.

�This place is just so beautiful,� Celia remarked as they worked their way around rocky tidal pools and clumps of kelp. Tiny beach crabs scuttled to get out of their way. �I can see why Obie likes living here.�

�It beats the hell out of LA,� Jake had to agree. �No smog, very little traffic, not many earthquakes, just the occasional tsunami rolling in because of earthquakes somewhere else.�

�Not a bad deal,� Celia opined, �as long as your house is up out of the tsunami zone.�

�I�d like to find a place like this, but in California, within easy flight time of LA for when we�re working. Something to think about when our fortunes come rolling in.�

�You really think they�re going to?� she asked.

�I really do,� he assured her. �We�re underway now and our shit sounds good�or at least it will once the Nerdlys get their little hands on it. We only have the tedium of the recording and mixing process now.�

�And the negotiations with the labels for manufacturing, distribution, and promotion,� she reminded.

�They�re going to be fighting with each other over who gets to sign us once we present our masters to them,� Jake predicted. �Now that we got Laura playing her best and Phil on board, things are all falling into place.�

And indeed they were. It had been very touch and go with Laura for a bit, but gradually she warmed to the group, both musically and, perhaps more important, personally. And they had warmed to her as well. That band cohesion they were seeking did not appear magically overnight, but in small phases that nobody seemed to notice until they were well along. It had started with smiles. She actually had one, and it was a very pretty smile at that. They first started seeing it around the second week with her, just occasional flashes when someone noted that she was actually playing better, or when someone made a joke during the lunch breaks or during the setups. The smiles then came more frequently, became more animated and spontaneous, easier to appear.

Around that same time, they noticed her starting to converse more with them. Instead of sitting by herself during lunch, she would join in with the group, even occasionally add something to the conversation. And then, as that developed, they discovered she possessed a sense of humor as well, a dry, deliciously quick wit that caught one completely by surprise when it was displayed�the kind of thing that made one stare at her for a moment and think: Did she really just say that?

As the camaraderie and friendship developed between the pretty, square saxophonist and the rest of the band, her musical expression improved as well. Though she still proclaimed disdain with extreme prejudice for all things rock and heavy metal and most popular music, she did admit to them at one point that the music they were making with her seemed to transcend her preexisting stereotypes.

�Transcends your preexisting stereotypes?� Jake asked when she�d laid that one on them.

�It means,� she explained, utilizing that usually hidden wit of hers, �that you don�t suck quite as much as I thought you were going to.�

Everyone had looked at her in astonishment for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

�Did you really just say that?� Celia had to ask, shaking her head in amusement.

�No offense intended, of course,� she said, a smile on her own face.

�Of course,� Jake returned with a chuckle.

Whatever her personal opinions of their compositions, her phrasing got better with each repetition of each tune, until the music coming out of her instrument was just dripping with soul, was coming forth with all the talent that she had displayed when playing her favorites for them at her audition. Ben had been right all along. She was good enough to play professionally and make a decent living with her horn, and now that she was onboard with them, they were happy to have her as part of the team.

It was during this period of enlightenment that she suggested they give her roommate, Phil, a try as well. That had been during a Saturday afternoon beer bash when both Jake and Celia were complaining about their lack of suitable backup singers. True, they could double track themselves in the studio, and, true, Jake could sing some backup for Celia and Celia could sing some backup for Jake, but there were certain combinations of voices that certain of both of their tunes needed. In short, they needed someone who could sing soprano or mezzo-soprano for female backing on Celia�s Why? and Tell Me About Love, and someone who could sing baritone for male backing on Jake�s Hit the Highway and Can�t Keep Me Down.

It was the mention of the baritone that led Laura to speak up.

�My roommate, Phil is a baritone,� she said. �He�s a pretty good singer, too. He works over at Operetta While You Eat as a singing waiter.�

Everyone looked at her, perhaps wondering if this was yet another display of that dry wit. It was not.

�Operetta While You Eat?� Jake asked incredulously.

�It�s not as cheesy as it sounds,� she assured him. �The food is pretty good, and they make the waiters audition for the parts. It�s a good way for vocalists trying to break into the industry to pay the bills while they�re on their way up. Phil is actually classically trained.�

�No kidding?� Jake said, pondering that.

And so, they�d given him an audition and found that Laura was right. He really could sing, and he understood about things like keeping time and staying in key. He hesitated not in the least to take them up on their offer of fifty dollars an hour, once or twice a week, and to possibly make some trips up to Oregon once things really got rolling.

�I�m sure Laura has told you all,� he said to them after accepting the offer, �but I just want to disclose my sexual orientation to you all right now. I am gay. Hopefully you can all live with that.�

Laura had not actually told them that, but Jake didn�t give a rat�s ass if the man liked to fuck chickens while watching clown porn, as long as he could sing. Celia was actually somewhat delighted with the disclosure�she had a fondness in her heart for gay men since her brother, Eduardo, was one of them (though her family did not know this). Only Ted seemed to have an issue with the disclosure.

�Gay?� he asked. �You mean ... like you have sex with men kind of gay, or you�re just a happy motherfucker?�

�The former,� Phil told him.

�I see,� Ted replied, his face turning into a scowl.

�Is there a problem with that, Ted?� Jake asked.

�No, no problemo,� Ted assured them. He then turned his gaze upon Phil. �I just want it to be known that I am not gay, so don�t be hitting on me.�

Phil looked his morbidly obese body up and down for a moment, taking in the fat rolls and the triple chin, and then nodded. �I will try to control myself,� he promised.

�You do that,� Ted said.

After Phil had left the audition, Laura confided something to Jake. �He was kind of hoping that you might be gay, or at least bi,� she told him.

�Really?� Jake asked.

�Oh yeah,� she said. �He has the major hots for you. Always has.�

Jake nodded thoughtfully, unoffended. As a decent looking male celebrity living in Los Angeles for nearly a decade now, he was regularly hit on by gay men wherever he went. It was just part of the life. �Hmmph,� he said. �You should have told me that before you brought him here. I probably could�ve got him for thirty dollars an hour with a little flirting.�

�Probably,� she agreed. �But you know what the tradeoff would�ve had to have been, right?�

He looked at her in astonishment for a moment and then laughed. She had popped off another one.

There was one boundary, however, that Laura did not break down. She would discuss nothing about her personal life with her fianc�. She had let everyone know that she had a fianc�, that he was older than her by a considerable margin, that he was her dentist, and that no date for the nuptials had been set, but other than that, she was mute. She deflected any and all questions about her lack of an engagement ring, about if her fianc� would like to meet them all, about any plans she might have with him on her day off, or about whatever the mysterious �it�s complicated� might be. Even Phil did not know much about the good doctor, although he was able to confirm a few strong suspicions.

�I�ve met him a few times,� he told Jake once during a Jake day, when Laura wasn�t in the studio. �He usually comes over during lunchtime to boff her and then leaves right after. Every once in a while, once every two months or so, she�ll go away somewhere with him for the weekend. I�ve never once heard her tell me she was going over to his place and, unless she�s going away on a trip with him, she never spends the night away from home.�

�Interesting,� Jake said. �Married, I assume?�

�Obviously,� Phil said. �He has a goddamn wedding ring on his finger when he shows up at our place for his nooners.�

�That�s a pretty reliable sign,� Celia, who had been listening in, could not help but observe.

Phil simply shrugged. �It�s her business, and she�s made it clear to me that she doesn�t want me sticking my nose into it. I love her to death�she�s the sister I never had�but I�m not going to push her for information or judge her. I�ll just be there for her when this finally comes crashing down.�

�That�s sweet, Phil,� Celia beamed at him, patting him on the thigh.

Phil smiled at her and then went back to taking surreptitious glances at Jake�s juicy ass, pondering what it would be like to get his hands on it.

Now, as Jake and Celia reached the furthest inset of the cove and began to turn back toward the southern exit of it, Celia said: �I�ve forgotten how monotonous the recording process is. Over and over and over again with the same thing.�

�And we�ve only just begun,� Jake said. They were, in fact, still working on the first drum and bass tracks for the first song�Celia�s Playing Those Games�and they hadn�t even gotten past the first chorus yet.

�And the Nerdlys,� she said, shaking her head. �Madre de Dios, I love them and respect them, but I just might have to kill them before this is all said and done.�

Jake laughed. �You haven�t even begun to appreciate how annoying they can be,� he told her. �Wait until we start mixing.�

She groaned.

They ran on, exiting out of the cove and then going another half a mile, onto a broader beach that was part of Sunset Bay State Park. Here, was the most difficult part of their run. It was a set of steep switchback stairs that climbed two hundred and eighty feet back up to the main road. They mounted them and conversation quickly became impossible as they huffed and puffed and their legs burned with the exertion. By the time they made it to the top, the sun was now visible in the eastern sky and they were both dripping with sweat.

�That part is a killer,� Celia panted as they took up position on the left side of the road and headed back north.

�At least it�s mostly downhill from here out,� Jake said, panting as well.

And it was. Two and a half miles later, which they accomplished with an easy seven and a half minute mile pace, they were back at the rental house, both of them feeling the satisfaction of yet another day�s run being over and done with.

They walked up and down the road a few times to let themselves cool down and then went back in. They would have a little breakfast, take their showers, and then start getting ready to hit the studio.

Another day in Coos Bay had begun.

Washington DC, USA

October 29^th, 1991

Matt stood on the stage under the bright spotlights, his iconic black and white Fender Stratocaster�the only guitar he had ever played before an audience�in his hands, his fingers moving surely and steadily over the fretboard with a skill and talent nearly unequaled among current guitarists. He was alone on the stage, ten minutes into a long, drawn-out guitar solo he had composed just for his live performances. The members of his band�John Engle on bass and Steve Calhoun on the drums�were sitting backstage at the moment, waiting for the end of the solo and their cue to return for the final number before the encore break.

The cheers from the audience as he played his instrument were loud and enthusiastic, but not deafening by any means. They were certainly nowhere near the volume he�d received regularly when he�d done his requisite live solos while playing with Intemperance. A big part of that was the size of the audience. Though the arena he was playing in�the same one where the Washington Bullets played hoop for the hometown crowd�had a capacity of more than sixteen thousand for concerts, it was not even half full for tonight�s Matt Tisdale concert (with Breakdown, a new death metal band recently signed by National, opening for him). This was typical so far, at least after the first fifteen dates of the east coast leg of the tour. He had not sold out a single venue since then. The scalpers weren�t even bothering with him, as there were always tickets available at the door on show nights. According to Greg Gahn, his tour manager, the night-of-show tickets accounted for approximately twenty-five percent of all ticket sales on any given night. That was absolutely pathetic, Matt had to admit to himself. Especially when Intemperance tickets, during their prime, had been going for several hundred dollars apiece on the illicit resale market, which was arguably�since it was the free market system truly unrestrained�the best marker of how popular a band really was.

He did not let his mind think about any of this as he played. Above all else in life, he was a professional and he gave his all to the seven thousand some-odd fans out there watching him. Sweat poured down his face and onto his chest�he had removed his shirt shortly after the third song of the set. He was cold sober currently, as he refused to allow himself or his band members to engage in any intoxicating substance for at least four hours prior to any show. He played with a focus and intent that was almost supernatural, pouring out his heart and his soul into the licks coming out of the Strat. When he sang, his vocals came out powerfully and with all the emotion he could wring from them.

And he knew it wasn�t what the people wanted. That fact had been painfully driven home to him over the past three months in a variety of ways.

His album was selling dismally. Only three hundred thousand copies so far, well over two-thirds of that within the first month of release. Sales were only a trickle now, a few thousand each week at best. It was quite apparent to him that he was not even going to make Gold before the end of the year, let alone the Platinum required for him to win the wager with National Records and keep control of the post-production of his next album.

He wanted to blame the National executives for this pathetic album performance�wanted to do that with every fiber of his being, with every paranoid and suspicious bone in his body�but he just couldn�t. They had held up their end of the bargain. He knew that. They had pulled out all the stops to promote the album and push for airplay of his tracks with all of their connections across the nation. He had been monitoring their efforts during every step of the process. Uncharacteristically, they had done their best, probably, he figured now, so they could say they told him so and not be accused of trying to sabotage the deal.

Where the fuck did I go wrong? he asked himself over and over again. My shit rocks! It�s some of the best guitar work in the history of the fucking guitar! Why the fuck aren�t people buying it? Why the fuck aren�t the radio stations playing it?

Sadly, he thought he knew what the answers to these questions were, and they were all the same answer. It wasn�t Intemperance. He had inadvertently type-cast himself by playing with those fucking traitors and it was now coming back to haunt him.

The reason his initial concerts had sold out large halls was not because of Matt himself, but because National, in promoting the tour, had heavily implied�though not actually promised�that Intemperance songs would be performed as part of the set. They were not. Though Crow and the boys had begged, threatened, demanded, and begged some more for him to lay down some of the tracks he had written for Intemp, the contract Matt had signed with them gave him control over the set list and composition of any tour. And there was no way in hell that Matt was going to perform any Intemperance tunes on his fucking tour.

And so, National, being National, had employed a little innuendo and bending of the truth when announcing the tour dates in the localities they were scheduled in.

MATT TISDALE � The legendary guitarist for Intemperance performs his material LIVE IN CONCERT! read the posters, announcements, and promos done by DJs across the nation.

It only took about fourteen shows for word to spread across the nation that Matt was not, in fact, laying down any Intemp after all. There was no Who Needs Love?, no This Life I Live, no Grandeur, no The Thrill of Doing Business. Once that rumor became verified by word of mouth, ticket sales plunged into the proverbial toilet. Now, the hope that this tour�which was reasonably low budget due to the lack of any technological flourishes such as lasers, complex lighting, complex sets, or pyrotechnics�would actually turn a profit was all but dashed. They were losing upwards of thirty thousand dollars per show, sometimes more depending on the venue.

�Why?� Crow, Doolittle, and other bigwigs from National management had demanded of him when it became clear he would not be doing any of the Intemp material. �Why are you cutting your throat like this? Don�t you know that this is what they want to see?�

�They�ll get my new shit,� was Matt�s only reply. �The tour is to promote my new album, not to play a bunch of shit from a job I used to have.�

�It was that job that made you what you are!� Crow nearly screamed at him when he heard this.

But Matt did not budge an inch. He would not play so much as a single riff from any Intemperance tune. He gave the National executives no explanation. He gave the many rock media reporters who questioned him about this no explanation either. Unfortunately, however, he could not hide the explanation from himself. He knew all too well why he was not performing any Intemperance material: his voice work could not compete with Jake Kingsley�s. He had a decent singing voice and he could carry a tune with it well�that was evident enough on the tracks for Next Phase�but he could not carry those tunes the way Jake had. He knew that. He fucking knew it. And he was not going to be compared unfavorably to that traitorous asshole. Not while he was still drawing air on this Earth.

I will never sing a song that fucking Kingsley has sung before me, he vowed with the same level of zeal and determination with which he�d vowed he would never play anything onstage but his old Strat.

That old Strat was screaming now, as Matt played out the final, furious crescendo of his fourteen minute long guitar solo�the second of two such solos in the set. He let the final note fade slowly away while the crowd cheered enthusiastically in response. While they were cheering, John and Steve came back out on the stage, the former picking up his bass guitar, the latter taking a seat back behind the double bass drum set.

�You like that shit?� Matt asked the crowd.

They liked that shit�after all, anyone who had bothered to show up had to be a Matt Tisdale fanatic�and they let him know they liked it by increasing the decibel level of their cheers, standing up on their seats, and holding their lighters in the air to create an artificial starfield out in the arena.

�Fuck yeah,� Matt said. �Let�s do one more here, then I gotta get the fuck on down the road, you know what I mean?� He turned to the band. �Let�s do it, boys.�

They did it, Matt churning out the intro to Into the Pain, the only song on the album that had been played on any radio station in the Washington/Baltimore region. John and Steve chimed in to set the rhythm. The crowd went wild once again.

The tune was seven minutes and twenty-three seconds on the album. In concert, it ran nine-fifteen thanks to Matt extending two of the guitar solos and the entire band making a huge production out of the finish to the song since it was the final number of the main set. At last, however, they finished it up and left the stage. They were not done yet, of course. The crowd cheered and yelled, stamped their feet, and shouted for more.

Matt and the boys gave them more. They did a two-song encore that lasted another eighteen minutes. The first song was Coming Down Fast, an unrecorded piece that had been worked up but not included on Next Phase due to time constraints. Matt intended to put it on the next album, although he was already cringing when he thought of what those sound engineers in the studio were going to make him do to it. The final song was Stir it Up, the multi-tempoed, multi-guitar soloed final cut on Next Phase�the song that had been Matt�s favorite of them all.

At last, they put their instruments down and left the stage after taking their bows. The house lights came up, signaling to the audience that it really was over this time. As the crowd began making its way to the exits, Matt, Steve, and John headed back to the dressing room, where the requisite food trays, tubs of beer, and, of course, marijuana and cocaine, would be laid out.

�Not a bad show, guys,� Matt told his band as they each grabbed a bottle of beer out of the ice and popped them open.

�Thanks, Matt,� said Steve. �I felt like we were really clicking up there tonight.�

�Yeah,� agreed John. �Me too. We were really in the groove.�

�I guess,� Matt said with a shrug. �Of course, you are both nothing but studio hackers, remember? There is only so much groove you can actually slide into.�

�Well ... just because we worked in the studio before hooking up with you...� started Steve.

�Don�t give me that fucking shit again,� Matt said. �Granted, you�re the best of the studio hackers, but you are still, by definition, studio hackers. Ass sucking little moles employed by the biggest ass in existence. Just because you�re not shitty, don�t let that shit go to your head.�

�Right,� Steve said sourly.

John simply grunted.

�Now then,� Matt said, picking up the cocaine kit that had been placed next to the beer cooler. �Anyone want to light up their life?�

All three of them did. Matt, though not the kindest boss in the world, was at least generous. They each snorted up two lines of pure, uncut Peruvian flake. That put everyone in a better mood�or at least it did until the dressing room door opened and Greg Gahn walked in.

�What the fuck are you doing in here?� Matt demanded of him. �I thought I was very clear in my tour instructions that I wanted to see as little of your hypocritical ass as humanly possible.�

�You made it quite clear,� Greg said. He was looking a bit haggard these days as well. Greg was quite fond of the white powder himself�this despite being an allegedly devout Mormon. Unlike when he went out on other tours, however, he was not allowed to imbibe in the drug, at least not from the supply that Matt maintained for himself and his inner circle. This was not out of any concern for his health or well-being, or even his performance, but for financial reasons. Cocaine was expensive and Matt�s contract stipulated that �entertainment expenses�, i.e. the cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol that flowed each night, did not cover National management members. Though Greg was a well-paid National Records employee, he was not well paid enough to finance his own considerable habit. And so, he was currently in a clean phase, having been dumped in a rehab center just prior to the tour heading out.

�Then explain yourself,� Matt said, holding up the cocaine mirror. �Did you come to offer to suck somebody�s dick for a little hit of this shit?�

�He ain�t sucking my dick,� said Steve.

�Mine either,� put in John.

�I do not and would not engage in homosexual sex!� Greg said firmly. �Not for anything in the world. And as for the devil�s powder, I am now almost eighty days clean. Heavenly Father has, once again, guided me out of the addiction.�

Matt simply shook his head. �You�re so full of bullshit,� he said. �What do you want, Greg? Speak and get the fuck out.�

�Well ... it has to do with the upcoming tour dates,� Greg said. �It�s good news, really.�

�The upcoming tour dates?� Matt asked, alarmed. �What about them? They�re not fucking canceling us, are they? I�ll fucking kill someone!�

�No, no,� Greg said hurriedly. �It�s nothing like that. As I said, this is actually good news. There are going to be some changes of venue, that�s all.�

�Changes of venue?� Matt said. �What do you mean?�

�Well,� Greg said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the jacket of his tailored suit, �starting with the show in New York, which will be November 5, you�ll be moving to smaller arenas whenever we can make the arrangements.�

�Smaller arenas?� Matt asked. �What the fuck?�

�Yes, smaller,� Greg confirmed. �You won�t be playing Madison Square Garden in New York. Instead, you�ll be playing Queens Memorial Auditorium.

�They�re pulling me out of MSG?� Matt asked angrily, his cocaine cheer evaporating in an instant. �Why?�

�I would think that would be obvious, Matt,� Greg told him. �The decision is financial in nature. We�ve only sold seven thousand tickets for the New York show. Why would we pay to rent MSG with eighteen thousand seats when Queens Memorial, with a capacity of eight thousand, rents for half the price, even with the cancellation fee for MSG thrown in.�

�They can�t do that!� Matt nearly screamed.

�Oh, but they can and they have,� Greg countered. �Tour composition and set list are yours to do with as you please under the contract. But tour management, including venues, cities, and ticket prices are the exclusive responsibility of National Records. And they are exercising their management powers to downgrade the venues across the map. There�re nothing you can do about it, Matt.�

Matt clenched his fists nearly hard enough to draw blood in his palms. �Those motherfuckers,� he grunted.

�You�re looking at this the wrong way, Matt,� Greg told him. �As I said, this is good news.�

�How the fuck is this shit good news?�

�I would think that would be obvious,� Greg said. �With the reduced costs of venue rental, the tour may end up being profitable after all. In New York, for instance, instead of losing thirty-eight thousand dollars, we�ll be in the black by more than five thousand, and that�s without even accounting for merchandise receipts.�

�Fucking money,� Matt said in disgust. �That�s what it�s always about with you dickwads. I thought you were always spouting off about how the purpose of a tour is not to make money, but to promote the album.�

�That is true,� Greg said. �But the purpose of the tour is not to lose money hand over fist when the same promotion aspect can be accomplished at a lower cost. There is no downside to this, Matt. I don�t understand why you�re protesting so much.�

Matt was not about to explain it to the grinning freak, but he knew why he was protesting. Madison Square Garden was where top acts performed when in New York City. It was where Intemperance had performed every single time they�d visited the Big Apple. Queens Memorial�which Matt had never even fucking heard of�was a second-rate arena. It was where second-rate acts were booked. And now they had booked him there. Matt fucking Tisdale at Queens Memorial? That was humiliating! And New York was only the start. They were going to do this shit to him all across the country, moving him from top billing to second-rate status just to save a little money.

�Get the fuck out of here, Greg,� Matt told him.

�Don�t you want to go over the...�

�I don�t want to go over shit,� Matt said. �Get out of my dressing room before I decide to vent some steam by twisting your fuckin� head around and then bending you backward so you kiss your own ass.�

�But...�

�Go, Greg!� Matt barked.

�I think I would go if I were you,� Steve suggested mildly.

Greg went, shutting the door behind him.

�Assholes,� Matt said, taking a long drink of his beer.

�You all right, Matt?� John asked carefully.

�Yeah,� Matt spat, setting the cocaine mirror back down and then crunching up another two lines. �What can you do?�

�Not much, I guess,� the bassist allowed.

They ate some of the food that had been laid out for them. Matt chomped down on some ribs and potato salad, washing it down with two beers. John and Steve each made a sandwich out of the fixings. More than half of the food was still there when they were done.

�All right,� Matt said with a sigh as he tossed his latest beer bottle in the general direction of the garbage can. �I guess I�m gonna hit the shower.�

�Sounds good, Matt,� said Steve, who was loading himself up a nice bonghit from the tray.

�I�ll be in right after you,� said John, who was putting together a gin and tonic.

Before heading to the shower, Matt opened up the dressing room door. Standing outside was Brian Browning, one of the security guys. �Hey, Bri,� Matt greeted.

�What�s up, Matt?� Brian returned.

�I�m hitting the shower now. Have Jack bring the bitches back in about ten minutes.�

�Will do,� Brian said, picking up his portable radio and putting it to his mouth.

Matt hit the shower, taking off his stage clothes of jeans and a sleeveless shirt and putting them in the laundry bin. He rinsed and cleaned the sweat from his body, washed out his long hair, and then stepped out to dry off. Once dry, he put on his after-show clothes, which consisted of a pair of jeans and a sleeveless shirt.

He was still quite upset about the change of venues. When he emerged back into the dressing room and saw what Jack had brought for him and the boys, his mood did not improve.

There were four girls out there. Two were well into their thirties. The other two, while in their twenties, were not the most impressive examples of young female adulthood. The one with the fake blonde hair was at least thirty pounds overweight, her body squeezed into a denim miniskirt that was perhaps two sizes too small. It rode quite high on her chunky legs, which were covered with a pair of fishnet stockings. A roll of fat bulged out from beneath her top. The other young one was painfully skinny, her face somewhat pockmarked with acne, and she had no tits at all. Her legs were knobby little sticks that looked like they had been drawn on. Of the older two, one, though marginally cute, was clearly inebriated to the point that she was about to pass out. The other was even fatter and more inappropriately dressed than the young fatty.

�Oh my God, it�s you!� the young fatty yelled when she saw him emerge from the shower room.

�It is!� screamed the young skinny one. Is she that skinny because of fucking meth? Matt had to wonder. He strongly suspected that was the case, particularly when he saw she was missing a few teeth.

The four of them ran over to him and began telling him how much they loved him, how they were so into his music, how they would do anything he wanted them to do.

�It�s nice to meet you all,� Matt told them. �No need to tell me your names. Y�all know the rules.�

�No names!� the inebriated one squealed, delighted. �Everyone knows that Matt doesn�t wanna know your fuckin� name!�

�Just call me nameless,� said the old fatty, as she reached down and ran the back of her hand across his crotch.

�All right then,� Matt said, twisting away from her probing hand. �Why don�t you bitches grab something to drink, or...� He looked at the fatties. � ... or some grub if you want. Give me just a second.�

They practically ran to the bar and food spread and began helping themselves. Matt watched them for a second and then walked over to the door, where Jack Ferguson, head of tour security and procurer of the groupies, was standing.

�What the fuck is up with this bunch, Jack?� Matt asked him. �I don�t recall asking you to find the skankiest bitches in the arena.�

�Sorry, Matt,� he apologized, �but the pickings are a little slim. These are the best I can do.�

�Seriously?� Matt asked. While it was true that the quality of groupie on this tour was considerably less than what he had enjoyed during the Intemperance tours, Jack was usually able to come up with four to six acceptable bitches each show. What he was seeing now was bottom of the barrel shit.

�We�ve been over this before,� Jack told him. �Unlike in the Intemp days, your solo fans are mostly male. Greg tells me that eight out of every ten patrons coming through the door has a fuckin� dick swinging between their legs. And of that twenty percent that have a twat, probably five out of every six are only here because a boyfriend or a husband dragged them here. I�m telling you, it�s hard to find any groupies out in the crowd who even want to come back and entertain you and the boys, let alone pay the price they have to pay to get back here.�

�I know,� Matt sighed. �I understand all that and I appreciate what you do, Jack. You know I think of you as a brother, right?�

�I know, Matt,� Jack said.

�But these four?� Matt whispered to him, jerking his head in the direction of the women. �Is that seriously the pick of the litter?�

�For Washington, District of Columbia, it is,� Jack confirmed. �The male to female ratio in this town is higher than the average because it�s a government capital region. That eighty-twenty mix of male to female we see in the other venues was about ninety-two to eight here. We had a hell of a time even finding these four.�

Matt looked them over again, shaking his head sadly. �That�s a damn shame,� he said.

�You want me to get rid of them?� Jack asked. �Maybe you can score something a little better when we get back to the hotel.�

Matt thought it over for a few seconds. �Naw,� he said. �Let �em stay. I guess I can bag the two heifers. Hell, maybe I�ll be inspired to write a song about it like Brian May.�

�Anything can happen,� Jack said. �And if it makes you feel better, the older one sucks a mean dick.�

�Yeah?� Matt said, his interest growing a bit now.

�Yeah,� Jack assured him.

�Well, maybe there�s something to be salvaged from this night after all.�

Coos Bay, Oregon

January 1, 1992

The room was fairly bright when Jake�s eyes creaked open late in the morning of New Year�s Day, 1992. His mouth was a bit dry and had a sour taste in it�the taste of a little more wine than he was accustomed to the night before. His head throbbed with a mild headache behind his eyes and his bladder was full, straining for its contents to be released. The motley group of musicians and spouses of musicians currently inhabiting the beach house on the cliff had had themselves a little impromptu New Year�s Eve celebration the night before.

The house was completely full now, and had been for the past three weeks, since the overdubs had started. Mary and Tom, Greg and Celia, Stan and Cindy, the Nerdlys, Jake, Ben, Ted, Laura, Pauline, and even Phil were all taking up residence now. Every bed was full, every room filled to capacity. It was actually working out better than they had any right to expect�partially due to the camaraderie that had developed between them all during this long and sometimes painful process, and partially due to the set of house rules (they now numbered eighteen) that served as a guideline to keep order, or at least to reduce chaos.

The party had come together when Jake had brought home two prime rib roasts and all the fixings for the New Year�s Eve meal. Celia and Greg, who had gone shopping shortly after, had picked up a couple of cases of good wine from the Napa Valley. Mary and Cindy had then constructed a couple of impressive deserts. Ted and Tom had then pitched in for a pony keg of good beer. And so, the fourteen of them had stayed up until the turn of the year, eating, drinking, eating and drinking some more, while listening to music and gathering into groups to talk about anything and everything except the recording process.

And though everyone managed to get their drink on quite nicely�Mary, Laura and Ted had had themselves a particularly good time, Jake remembered�Rule Number 1 had been adhered to. Everything had been cleaned up and put right before everyone drifted off to bed. But there were probably going to be a few sour mouths and sore heads today.

And, alas, though it was a holiday for most of the world on this half of the International Date Line, it was not for the band with no name. Though they were allowing themselves to sleep in a bit in deference to the festivities of the night before, they had to get some work done today. They were considerably behind schedule with a few hard deadlines fast approaching. Ben�s leave of absence was over and he needed to report back to work by January 18�and even if not for that, his wife was due to have their first baby somewhere in the vicinity of February 2. That meant they needed to be sure that all of the bass work overdubs were complete for all of Jake�s and Celia�s songs before then. And Mary needed to be back to her high school orchestra by January 6, although they could still snag her back any Friday through Monday stretch that they needed her. Right now, however, they were smack in the middle of a section that featured Jake�s mother quite heavily and they needed to finish it as soon as possible before her next break.

Jake creaked his eyes open, wincing a little at the light at first, but then he quickly got used to it. He turned his head to the left, to the digital clock across the room, and saw that it was reading 9:23 AM. Not bad, he thought. A little over seven hours of sleep, give or take. Not that he had gone to bed at 2:23 AM. It had actually been closer to 1:00 or so. But he had not gone to sleep right away.

He turned his head to the right and beheld the reason for that hour and twenty-some-odd minute lag time. Laura was curled up next to him. She, like he, was naked. Her right arm was sprawled across his midsection and her right leg was intertwined with his. She was breathing softly, her eyes closed, her red hair in a tangled mess of disarray. She smelled strongly of stale alcohol and sexual musk.

They had had themselves quite the little session after hitting the sheets. Not that this was unusual. Since that first time they�d gotten naked together and engaged their compatible parts just over two months ago now, they had pretty much repeated some variation of the act every single night, and often during the morning hours as well. Jake had unleased a monster of sexual lust and desire in the saxophonist with that first orgasm�or, with those first three, to be truthful�he had pulled out of her that night. Since then, her appetite for more had been insatiable.

Jake had no problem fulfilling her desires. After more than a year and a half of nothing but meaningless one-night stands punctuated by long stretches of nothing more than his own hand and his own imagination�or the occasional porno mag�having an actual woman to care about, to form a relationship with, to call his own, and to have regular sex with was a blessing on the order of a miracle. It was amazing how such a simple thing as that could bring serenity to a troubled life, could put into perspective what had once seemed unfathomable.

I have a girlfriend again, he thought now, a little trepidatious about the thought, but mostly happy. And I will not treat her badly. I will NOT.

He rolled over, gently disentangling himself from Laura�s embrace, and put his feet on the floor. She groaned and grunted a few times and then slowly opened her own eyes.

�Bleah,� she said, sticking out her tongue. �I don�t feel so good.�

Jake chuckled and then leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. �The price you have to pay for pouring them down,� he told her. �I don�t feel so great myself.�

�What time is it?� she moaned.

�Almost nine-thirty. We all agreed to get to the studio by eleven-thirty.�

�We did?� she asked. �I don�t remember agreeing to that.�

�You were pretty drunk at the time,� he said.

�Well ... yeah,� she said, �but I remember what we did when we got up here. It was quite unforgettable, actually.�

�It was all right,� Jake said, waving his hand back and forth in a see-saw motion.

She looked at him in alarm for a moment, saw his expression and then concluded he was joking. �You�re an asshole,� she told him, not unkindly.

�I have certainly been accused of that,� he assured her.

�I didn�t do anything ... you know ... embarrassing last night, did I?�

�Other than giving my dad a lap dance, not at all,� he said.

Another startled look. Another shake of the head when she saw he was kidding. �A hemorrhoidal asshole,� she told him.

He laughed and then picked up the pitcher of water he habitually kept at bedside just for such occasions. Next to it were two glasses and a bottle of Tylenol. He poured himself a healthy glassful and then used it to wash down two of the little white pills. �You want a hit of this?� he asked Laura.

�Yeah,� she said. �I think I better.�

He set her up and then handed the glass and the pills over.

�Thanks,� she said, taking them.

�I�m gonna hit the shower,� Jake told her. �Might as well get it over with.�

�Let me go pee first,� she said, rolling over and putting her own feet on the floor. They had not yet reached the stage in their relationship where they could comfortably pee or pass gas in front of each other.

�By all means,� he told her, waving to the door.

She disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. He heard her shuffling around a bit, the faint sound of urine hitting the water in the bowl, the sound of the toilet paper roll spinning, the flush of the toilet, and then the running of the sink. She came back out, still naked, and he took a moment to admire her.

�Ugg,� she groaned. �Don�t look at me. I must look absolutely terrible.�

�Actually, you�re quite beautiful,� he said. �I never get tired of looking at you naked.�

This earned him a warm smile and a kiss on the corner of his mouth. �Go take your shower,� she told him. �I�ll be in right behind you.�

�You got it,� he said. �Just give me a few minutes to uh ... you know ... take care of a few things in there first.�

�By all means,� she said.

Jake closed and locked the bathroom door behind him and then quickly took care of the first two of the three S�s of the morning routine and then brushed his teeth. He then fired up the shower to take care of the third S. The warm spray and the metabolism of the Tylenol served to knock his headache back to a faint ache. He left the water running and then opened the door back up.

�Shower�s free,� he told Laura, who was back in the bed, a pillow over her face.

�Thanks,� her muffled voice responded.

He toweled himself off and then stepped back into the bedroom area just as Laura was heading into the bathroom. She reached out and gave his wilted penis a playful stroke as she went by. He returned the favor by giving her a little pat on her shapely rear end.

She did not bother closing the door behind her so Jake kept half an eye on her nakedness as he put on a fresh pair of underwear, a fresh pair of blue jeans, and one of his t-shirts. He was just tying his shoes when Laura shut off the water and stepped out. She quickly toweled herself dry and then wrapped her hair in a white towel.

�Better?� Jake asked her as she came back into the room

�Much,� she said. �There is one thing I could use though.�

�Oh?�

She gave him her saucy smile. �Would you be a dear, dear, and eat my pussy out for me?�

Jake raised his eyebrows. �Again?� he asked. �I just did that last night.�

�I like having my pussy eaten out,� she told him, stepping closer. �I like it a lot.� And this was true. She had never had that particular sexual act done to her until Jake had introduced it to her on their second night together. Since then, she had become quite the fan of it, particularly after one night when Jake had gone down and drawn four rapid fire orgasms from her with his skillful lips and tongue.

�I would have to brush my teeth again if I did that,� he said. �How about after we get home from the studio?�

�I don�t want to wait that long,� she said with a pout. �I really think an orgasm right now would help with this hangover.�

Jake laughed. �You�re suggesting that oral copulation to completion is medically therapeutic?� he asked.

�Shut up,� she told him, slapping at him. �Don�t use Nerdlyisms on me. I�ll tell you what. I�m not above bribery. Why don�t you stand up?�

�Why?�

�How about I make it so that both of us need to brush our teeth a second time?�

�Hmmm,� Jake said, already stiffening at the thought. �An interesting offer.�

She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him pointedly. �Do we have a deal?�

�Deal,� he said, standing quickly and turning to face her.

She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. By the time she pushed the jeans and underwear down, he was already hard, this despite the two ejaculations he had only seven hours before. She smiled as she pondered his manhood and her hand reached out to touch it. She stroked it up and down a few times and then slowly sucked it between her lips and went to work.

�Oh yeah,� Jake groaned, his hand caressing her bare shoulder as she slurped and sucked on him. Despite her relative lack of sexual experience in her life, she was actually pretty good at fellatio. Her dentist had apparently been a fan of the act and, as she had told Jake on one of their after-sex intimate discussions, so she had learned the best way to finish him off quickly. Though she had never enjoyed performing the act on the good doctor, she professed that sucking his dick was different.

�How is it different?� he�d asked her. �A dick is a dick is a dick, right?�

�No,� she replied, indignant. �A dick is not a dick is not a dick. Are you trying to say that all pussies are alike?�

�Well ... no,� he had to admit. �There are a lot of pussies I wouldn�t go within ten feet of with Matt Tisdale�s mouth, but...�

�No buts,� she said. �First of all, your dick is bigger, but that�s not the primary reason.�

�What is the primary reason?�

�It�s your dick, you idiot,� she told him. �It�s attached to your body and I�m quite hot for your body.�

He had pondered that for a moment and then nodded. �I can get behind that,� he told her.

�I thought you might,� she replied. �And I have something else you can get behind, if you�re ready.�

He hadn�t been ready, but he quickly made himself so.

Since time was a bit limited on this morning, she did all she could to make short work of him. She concentrated primarily on the head and glans with her lips and tongue while her soft hand jacked him up and down. The friction she was creating was delightful and he enjoyed it without employing any of the mental blocks he used to keep orgasm at bay under normal circumstances. Within three minutes his hand gripped her shoulder and the familiar waves of pleasure exploded throughout his body. He groaned, his legs wobbly, as he shot jet after jet of semen into her sucking mouth. She swallowed every drop and then licked her lips.

�All right,� she said eagerly, laying back on the bed and spreading her legs wide. �My turn. Get to work.�

He looked down on her, seeing the now familiar sight of her wet vagina, glistening and ready for action. She had trimmed her bush considerably since that first time, removing and maintaining the removal of all the hair save a quadrilateral patch of copper on her pubis. She had also told him that he was never to refer to her vagina, pubic hair, or any other part of her genitalia as �the fire� or any analogue of synonym of that phrase. That had been the dentist�s term for it and she never wanted to hear it again. It really was a pity. Though Jake loathed the dentist and men like him, sight unseen, calling a red-haired pussy �the fire�, as in: �I�m going into the fire� or �Let me stand next to your fire�, would actually have been kind of cool. Another reason to kick the dentist�s ass if he ever did meet him.

�Are you sure you want to do this?� Jake asked teasingly now. �You know this is illegal in some states, right?�

�No teasing!� Laura barked at him. �I fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now get your mouth down there and start eating.�

He got his mouth down there and started eating. He did not bother with a slow build up. He simply tongued her slippery lips up and down�plunging his tongue between them once in a while for good measure�until her clitoris peeked out of its hood to see what was going on. Once that happened, he slid two fingers inside of her and began to thrust them in and out while simultaneously latching his lips onto her clit and starting to suck.

�Oh sweet Lord,� Laura breathed. �That�s it! That is it!�

She came less than a minute later, her pelvis thrashing up and down on the edge of the bed, her legs tightening around his back, her left hand gripping his hair hard enough to hurt. Her right hand, meanwhile, picked up a pillow and she used it to cover her face and muffle her cries. This was due to Rule Number 17: Make every effort possible to keep audio in all forms from penetrating outside the walls of your sleeping area.

She thrashed and groaned and moaned for the better part of a minute before finally slowing down and eventually relaxing. Her legs and hand released their respective grips on him. She pulled the pillow away from her face, revealing a bright red blush of satisfaction.

�Oh my God, you are so good at that, Jake,� she breathed.

�My talents go beyond music,� he said. �Are we even?�

She nodded. �Even,� she told him. �I guess I�d better get dressed now.�

�Yeah,� Jake said, �but first, we�d better go brush those teeth.�

They went and brushed their teeth.

And so began the first day of the new year.

Coos Bay, Oregon

February 25, 1992

The Water�s View Restaurant on the west side of Coos Bay certainly lived up to its name. Perched on a cliffside over the rocky shore, its huge westward facing windows offered an impressive vista of the rolling blue ocean stretching off to eternity. And though the sky was overcast on this late winter day, there was just enough of a break in the clouds off to the west for a decent sunset to occur as the party truly got rolling.

Jake and Greg had rented out the entire top floor of the exclusive eatery for the evening. The cause for celebration was threefold. The first reason was that two days before, Greg, Celia, Pauline, and Jake had come to an agreement with Obie over manufacturing, distribution, and promotion of the two albums. This came after a lengthy series of negotiations and compromise that had stretched at times the friendly relationship they had developed with the country singer. The forty percent royalty rate, which Obie had offered in that initial meeting with Pauline on New Year�s Day, had only been the starting point for the deal, and, though that number did not change (nor was it ever suggested by either party that it should change) there were dozens of other numbers and directives that had to be presented, squabbled over, re-presented, modified, and then, one by one, agreed upon. The fact that all of that was done and a deal was in place, with contract signed by all relevant parties, was cause for celebration in and of itself.

The primary reason for the gathering, however, was to serve as the wrap party for the band with no name. As of that very afternoon, at 1:30 PM, the last overdub of the last song had been laid down. It had been a backing vocal track by Phil, Jake, Celia and Pauline singing in harmony for the outro to Jake�s tune Hit The Highway. As of the moment that Sharon and Nerdly approved of the take and committed it to the digital memory of the studio, the recording process was officially over. The band had completed their mission, although there was still at least a month of tedious post-production mixing that would start in two days, and then the final mastering after that. Only Jake, Celia, and the Nerdlys were going to be involved in post-production, however. Almost everyone else would be flying out on a chartered aircraft in the morning to head back to their respective homes and lives. That lent credence to a third aspect of the party. It was a goodbye celebration for a group that had been through quite a lot in the last five months.

Ben had already gone home in mid-January. He was now back at his gig teaching community college students the finer points of guitar playing, and staying up late at night with the infant baby girl his wife had delivered on February 10. Aside from him, however, every other member of the crew was here, seated at the long table, eating seafood or steaks (or, like Jake and Ted, both) and drinking expensive wine. Obie was here as well, having been invited by Pauline. He was not a wine drinker and was instead swilling down whiskey sours like they were going out of style.

�You know what this reminds me of?� Ted, who was sitting across from Jake and Laura, suddenly asked.

�Whatever it is, it�s probably a Rule 3 violation,� Jake told him.

�No, no,� Ted said, shaking his head. �It�s not gross at all, I promise.�

�You�ve said that before, Ted,� Laura told him. �And the stories are inevitably gross on some level, even if you think they�re not.�

�Yeah,� Ted said, �I guess I do have a different standard of what gross is than you all. But even if it is, Rule 3 doesn�t apply here. We�re all done eating, right?� And indeed they were. All the plates had been taken away by the wait staff and everyone was just enjoying their drinks at this point.

�Well ... that seems a bit of a technicality,� Laura said.

�Screw it,� Jake said. �Tell the story, Ted. We�ll stop you if it gets too gross.�

�All right,� Ted said happily. �This one is actually kind of funny, in a weird way. I was working with Maureen States this one shift. She�s a cute little redhead EMT, or at least she was cute when this happened. She got into drinking and popping pills a few years later and well ... she ended up pretty haggard once that shit started�got fired about a year ago after she passed out behind the wheel at post and they found narcotics and alcohol in her system. Last I heard, she was living with some loser dude she met in NA and collecting welfare to get by. Anyway, back then she was still straight in the head and cute as can be. Whenever I look at you, Laura, you kind of remind me of her back then.�

�Uh ... thank you,� Laura said slowly. �I think.�

�So, we get this call for a fall in a shower. A common thing, right? But usually when there�s a fall in a shower it�s some old geezer. This time, however, we get there and find this woman in her early forties, naked as the day she�s born, on her back on the floor of the shower. She was a fatty, you see. At least three and a half bills, maybe even pushing four. She had big old fat rolls, floppy titties that you could�ve wrapped around her waist if you�d wanted to, acres of cellulite, the whole bit. Not exactly someone you really want to see naked, you know what I�m saying?�

�Uh ... yeah, I know what you�re saying,� Jake said. �And you�re edging into the land of gross here.�

�Hey, at least she was clean, right?� Ted asked. �Anyway, she�s not hurt or anything, just too fuckin� big to get up out of the shower on her own. She�d been sitting on this shower chair deal because she had a hard time standing for the amount of time it takes to shower. Anyway, she fell over backwards�was being really vague about exactly what had made her fall�and that chair is all tangled up between her legs and shit. So, the first thing we do is get that chair out of there. That took a minute or two, and all the time she�s moaning about how she can�t get up. Once the chair was free, me and two of the fire guys get hold of her arms and pull on her until she�s kind of in a sitting position on the floor. We can�t get her up any further than that, though, because she�s so fuckin� big and she�s slippery�got soap and water and fuckin� baby oil all over her.�

�Eww,� Pauline said. �Do you have to go into so much detail, Ted?�

�I gotta tell things like they are,� Ted said. �That�s what makes a good story. You gotta set the scene. Anyway, we realized that someone needed to get behind her and push her from that direction while the rest of us pulled and kept her feet braced. Now it was me, three fire guys, and Maureen on the call. There wasn�t much room behind this fat chick, so Maureen had to get in the shower stall with her and get around behind her. She was the only one skinny enough for it.

�She gets into position and me and the guys take our spots. We count to three and everyone puts their asses into it. With Maureen back behind the fatty, she finally comes up to her feet. And then we hear this big thunk from underneath her.� Ted looked at them and grinned. �It was a fuckin� eight-inch vibrator that made the thunk. It had been stuffed up inside of her the whole time, but we couldn�t see it or hear it because her big old stomach rolls were covering her fuckin� hoo-haw while she was down. Once she was up, however, gravity pulled that thing right out and it landed exactly between Maureen�s work boots, and it was still buzzing away, jittering around back and forth like them little tiny magnetic football players on that old game we used to play as kids, remember that? Anyway, Mo�that�s what we called Maureen�was still holding this bitch up, but she don�t want that fuckin� dildo touching her boots. So she starts dancing around back and forth, trying to avoid it. She even screamed at one point. Me and the fire guys, meanwhile, we�re just staring at the fuckin� thing, still trying to process what we�re seeing for a minute, and then trying not to fuckin� laugh as we realize what was going on. That�s why the bitch fell in the shower. She was hammerin� herself and overbalanced when she had the big O.�

�Jesus Christ,� Jake said, grinning. He had to admit, this one was pretty funny, as promised.

�Wasn�t she embarrassed?� asked Laura, her eyes wide.

�She really wasn�t,� Ted said. �She just kind of shrugged it off and said, �oops�.�

�Wow,� Jake said. �And just looking at Laura reminds you of that?�

Ted nodded solemnly. �Almost every time,� he said.

Laura chewed on her lip a little. �I�m not sure how to feel about that,� she said.

�It�s no big,� Ted assured her. �Like I said, Mo was really cute back then, just like you are now. I�m sure you�re not going to start popping oxy and pouring vodka in your Big Gulp, right?�

�My Big Gulp?� Laura asked, her eyes flitting to Jake for a moment, her face blushing. �You�re not talking about ... you know...�

�Uh ... no,� Jake cut in, picking up on her thoughts. �That�s not what he�s talking about, hon. A Big Gulp is a drink.�

�A drink?�

�Yeah,� said Ted. �A thirty-two ouncer from 7-Eleven, to be exact. The lifeblood of a medic crew. I like a mixture of Pepsi and Dr. Pepper in mine, sometimes with just a splash of Sprite.�

�I see,� Laura said slowly. She really didn�t though.

Jake decided this was a good time to share a few things with the group. He picked up his wine glass and rapped his finger against it in the traditional manner of telling everyone it�s time to listen to me for a minute. The conversations quickly died down and everyone gave him their attention.

He stood, keeping glass in hand. �Sorry to interrupt, everyone, I just wanted to say a few words before we finish this thing up and start heading back to the house for the last time. First of all, to all of us here. It�s been a long road, full of twists and turns, but we�ve come to the end of it now. Soon, we�ll be hearing ourselves on the radio.� He held up his glass. �To success!�

�To success!� they echoed happily, everyone taking a slug from whatever they were drinking.

�And that success is coming,� Jake told them. �I can feel it. I�m proud of all of you. You all did a bang-up job on these projects. Now then, having said that, how about I discuss a few boring financials regarding the albums?�

A good-natured groan erupted.

�Oh, come now,� Jake chided. �I think some of you will find this a very interesting topic.� His eyes flitted to Greg and then Pauline, the two people who did not find what he was about to say interesting, and had, in fact, argued strenuously with Jake and Celia about implementing either all or part of it. Jake and Celia had won.

�Let me address the mothers first,� Jake said. �Mom, Cindy, you two put down some incredible tracks for us during this process, working on both albums, on nearly every cut, and without you we would not have been able to get this thing off the ground, let alone make it the success I know it is going to be.�

�Hear, hear!� said Tom, who was working on his fourth glass of wine and feeling very festive.

�Right,� Jake said. �And through this all, neither one of you have accepted any compensation for your time. We tried to pay you what we were paying Laura and Ben and Ted and Phil, but you would not hear of it.�

�We�re your mothers,� Mary said indignantly. �We don�t charge for our time.�

�No, you did not charge for your time,� Jake agreed. �But Celia and I are going to see to it that you are compensated for your efforts.�

�Jake, that�s not necessary!� Cindy told him. �Bill, tell him that we don�t need money for what we did.�

�I cannot, in good faith, tell him that, mother,� Bill said. �He�s right. You two deserve to get paid for what you did and we are going to see that you do.�

�What do you mean?� Mary asked.

�I�m talking royalties here,� Jake said. �You, Mom, and you, Cindy, are both going to collect one percent royalties on each of these albums, in perpetuity, whether you like it or not.�

�One percent royalties?� Mary asked. �Jake, that�s absurd!�

�Oh, do you want more?� Jake asked playfully. �We can negotiate on that if you want, but I don�t know if we�re going to come up any further. You see, one percent of the wholesale rate of six dollars per CD�we�re not releasing on vinyl or cassette, as we�ve mentioned�works out to six cents for each unit sold. Now I know that doesn�t sound like a lot when you say it that way, but both Celia and I plan to go Platinum at least. That is one million units of each album sold, which means two million times six cents in your pockets if we just reach our minimum goal here. That works out to ... Bill, tell them what it works out to.�

�One hundred and twenty thousand dollars for each of you,� Bill said without the slightest hesitation, �assuming that both albums reach Platinum status. In actuality, I sincerely believe we will go far beyond Platinum with both, however.�

�We are not trying to get more,� Mary cried. �We�re trying to have you not give us anything at all!�

�No deal, Mom,� Jake said. �You�re taking the money, even if we have to go behind your back to give it to you.�

�You earned it, Mary,� Celia told her. �The albums are going to sell well because of what you and Cindy did. You deserve to share in the profits.�

�A hundred and twenty thousand dollars?� asked Stan, who was obviously warming to the idea.

�That�s a low-end figure,� Bill told his father. �It will likely be at least double that in the short term, and a number that defies current estimations in the long term.�

�Well...� Mary said slowly, obviously turning that figure around in her mind as well, �if you absolutely insist.�

�We absolutely insist,� said Pauline, who had been in favor of this part, just not the next part.

�Okay then,� Mary said. �Thank you, guys. You didn�t need to do this, but the money will come in handy.�

�Money always does,� said Greg, who had been opposed to both parts of Jake and Celia�s proposal. After all, if the mothers didn�t want the money, wasn�t that their right?

�You�re more than welcome,� Jake said. �And that brings me to our other musicians and singers here. Laura, Ted, the conspicuously absent Ben, and Phil. You guys were important to these projects as well, and your contributions also made them what they are going to be. Now, all of you were paid as we went along, and paid at a fair rate, right?�

�Hell to the yeah,� Ted said. �I made more on this gig than I would�ve made in three years as a medic.�

�And I surely didn�t mind giving up the singing waiter gig for this one,� Phil added. �It pays better and will look awesome on my resume.�

�I like to think it will,� Jake told him. �In any case, we, the owners of KVA, engaged in some discussion the other day regarding what kind of bonus we were going to give you all now that your parts in the projects are complete.�

�Bonuses?� Ted asked, liking the sound of that.

�It seemed like something we should do,� Jake said. �Bonuses weren�t in the contracts you signed with us, of course, but Celia and I both wanted to add a little kicker for you anyway. Ultimately, however, when we discussed the matter with Greg and Pauline, it was decided that we would not give you simple cash bonuses after all. Sorry about that, guys.�

Ted�s face fell. So did Phil�s. Laura tried to hold hers steady, but a frown crept onto her face anyway. Jake could almost read the thoughts in her head. Why the hell did you bring up bonuses if you aren�t going to give them to us?

Jake let them dangle for a few more seconds and then smiled. �Anyway,� he said. �It was eventually decided that, in lieu of cash bonuses, we just go ahead and dial you all in on the royalties as well, the rate and linkage to the albums being tied to your participation in each.�

�Royalties?� all three of them said in near unison. Royalties for session musicians were almost unheard of. But KVA Records was not the typical record company.

�Royalties,� Jake repeated. �Ben and Ted will each get a half percent tied to both albums, since they participated heavily in both. Laura, you�ll get a half percent of Celia�s album since you were heavily involved in that, but only an eighth of a percent from mine, since you only appear on one cut there. And Phil, you contributed backup singing to both albums, but played no instruments. It was decided that a quarter percent of each album is a fair bonus for you.�

The three of them looked at Jake, mouths agape for a moment.

Jake chuckled (while Greg and Pauline frowned). �Do you want Bill to do the math for you? He will, you know.�

�No no,� Laura said, shaking her head. �I�m just trying to process this.�

�Yeah,� Phil said. �I don�t know what to say, Jake.�

�Say thank you,� Obie advised them. �They didn�t have to do this. I sure as shit wouldn�t have.�

�Thank you!� they all gushed happily.

�Happy to do it,� Jake said, smiling. �Or ... at least most of us are. Pauline will have some contracts for you all to sign with your rates and all that. The most important thing to remember is that these royalties will be reported to the good folks at the IRS and the State of California Franchise Tax Board, but KVA will not be taking taxes out as your royalty checks are issued. Be sure to account for taxes or you�ll get hosed the next year.�

�I would recommend a good accountant,� Nerdly said.

�As would I,� Jake said. �Any questions?�

There were none.

Santa Monica, California

May 16, 1992

Jake�s plane touched down gently on Runway 21 of Santa Monica Airport after the three and a half hour flight from Coos Bay. It slowed to taxi speed and then turned off onto the taxiway and made its way to the row of hangars just south of the main airport buildings, where it came to a halt in front of hangar number 37, one of the bigger ones on the grounds, a precious space that Jake paid six hundred and fifty dollars a month for. The engines shut down, the lights were turned off, and then the door opened and Jake himself stepped out onto the concrete. He stretched out a little, limbering up his legs and his lower back, which were a bit stiff from the flight. He was feeling a mix of emotions�melancholy, excitement, a little fear, and a great deal of anticipation. The project of the two albums was finally done, the tunes for both put down on masters in their final formats and mixes. He was home for good this time�or at least in what passed for home.

Jake was the only one in the plane. Celia and the Nerdlys had flown home two days before, leaving Jake behind to take care of the final details of their stay there. He�d sold the van they had used while in Coos Bay, taking an eight hundred dollar loss from the purchase price. He�d arranged to have the rental house thoroughly cleaned before it was returned to the vacation rental company. And he�d arranged to have his BMW driven back to LA. One of the studio techs they�d worked with was performing that task for him for the price of six hundred dollars and an air ticket back to Coos Bay. The car would be back in his garage by Monday, if all went as planned.

He looked at his watch�it was just after two o�clock in the afternoon of a beautiful southern California spring afternoon�and then back down the tarmac between the rows of hangar complexes. That was when he saw the car approaching. It was the old Toyota Corolla that belonged to Laura. Since it was not a school day, she had volunteered to come pick him up when he arrived. He smiled, anxious to finally see her. They had not laid eyes on each other in two and a half months, since the morning after the Dr. Dave incident.

She parked her car where Jake pointed�just next to the hangar door of number 36, well out of the way of any other aircraft that might come through. The engine had barely died when she was out of the car and rushing toward him. She was looking particularly adorable to his eyes, dressed in a green and white pullover sundress that showed off her legs and accented her breasts, her hair loose and flowing freely over her shoulders, a large anticipatory smile on her own face. They came together in an embrace and Jake relished the feel of her body against him, the whisper of her breath against his neck, the touch of her lips against his.

�Welcome home,� she breathed when their kiss finally broke and they pulled back a little to look at each other.

�That was a good welcome,� he told her, his fingers playing with a lock of her hair. �You look beautiful, hon. The best thing I�ve seen in months.�

�Thank you,� she said, flushing a bit. �I can�t wait to get home and get naked. It�s all I can do to keep from jumping you right here.�

�I know the feeling,� he said, letting his hand trail downward, sliding it slowly across her bare shoulder, over her breast, and then down the curve of her abdomen to her hip. Soon he was touching the soft skin of her thigh, just below the hem of her dress. The hungry look appeared in her eyes and he was about to slide his hands up under the skirt for a quick feel, but then another car, a Toyota pickup, suddenly turned into the row and started driving toward them.

�Hmmph,� she grunted as they took their hands off of each other and stepped apart. �Let�s gets this plane in there and go home.�

�Right,� he said, smiling at the thought that she considered his house to be home.

Jake opened the cargo compartment at the nose of the plane and unloaded his two suitcases. He carried them over and stowed them in Laura�s trunk. All of the rest of his belongings�including the four guitars he had taken to Oregon�were being brought back in his car. He grabbed the aircraft caddy out of the hangar and attached it to the nose wheel of the plane. It was electric powered and fully charged from sitting plugged in for the last six months. He used it to first pull the aircraft out in front of the door and then to push it backwards into the hangar itself. A veteran of the process, he managed to perfectly park the plane on the first try.

�Nice work,� Laura said appreciably as he leaned over to remove the caddy from the wheel. She could not resist running her hand over his ass. �Did I ever tell you how nice your butt is?�

�No,� he said, enjoying her touch on him quite a lot. �Please do.�

�It�s like ... mmmm, really nice,� she said, continuing to stroke it.

�You keep that up and we�re not going to wait until we get home,� he warned.

�Really?� she asked, interested, but also confused. �Where would we do it?�

He turned and looked at her. He was already half hard in his pants, working toward full-on boner status. He was quite unaccustomed to going two and a half months without sex that did not involve only himself. He was starting to like the idea he was having more and more. �Right here,� he told her. �In the hangar.�

She looked around for a moment, her eyes going from place to place. �There�s no bed in here, Jake,� she said.

Jake chuckled. �It is possible to fuck without a bed being involved,� he informed her.

�It is?� she asked. �How come we�ve never done that before?�

�A good question,� he allowed. �How about we do it now?�

�Are you serious?�

�I am dead serious,� he assured her. �You up for it?�

�But how would we ... I mean, where would we...�

He lifted her face and put a kiss on her lips, shutting her up. When he pulled his lips away, he waved her into the hangar. �Step inside my office,� he told her.

�Okay,� she said, walking in, stepping carefully around the left wingtip and going behind it.

Jake reached up and pulled down on the hangar door. He did not close it all the way, however. Instead, he stopped it about a foot above the ground. He then turned and made his own trip around the wingtip.

�Jake,� Laura said. �The door is still open a little.�

�It has to be,� Jake told her. �There�s no ventilation in here. If I don�t leave it cracked it�ll get hot as hell in here in about three minutes.�

�I can�t do it with a door open!� she hissed at him.

�Nobody is going to come in here, Laura,� he assured her. �And nobody is going to peek under the door. You�re just going to have to be quiet while we do this.�

�I�m sorry, Jake,� she said, shaking her head. �I can�t take off my clothes while that door is open like that.�

�Who said anything about taking off your clothes?� he asked, stepping close to her.

�Huh?� she asked, genuinely confused now.

�Let me show you how it�s done,� he whispered to her, taking her in his arms.

�Jake, I...�

Once again, he shut her up with a kiss. This time he slid his tongue into her mouth. She swirled her tongue with his, hesitantly at first, but then with growing enthusiasm. Her own arms went around his neck.

He let his hands slide downward, over her ass, which he paused to give a little squeeze, before continuing downward, onto the backs of her thighs. He then began to move the hands upward again, beneath the hem of her dress. Soon he had a double handful of her butt, his fingers feeling the lacy material of her panties. He pulled her against him, so she could feel the bulge of his erection pushing into her stomach.

�Mmmm,� she said, pulling her mouth free for a moment. �Oh God, Jake. That feels so good.�

�It does,� he confirmed, sliding his lips down to kiss and nibble at her neck. Meanwhile, he let his fingers probe under the elastic of the panties, so he was now touching her bare buttocks. He squeezed some more, enjoying the feel of her silky-smooth skin on his fingertips.

�I�m getting really hot,� Laura whispered to him, still quite cognizant of the partially open door. �How ... where ... do we do this?�

�Right here,� he said.

�Next to the airplane?�

�On the airplane,� he corrected. He pulled back from her.

�On the airplane? You mean inside of it?�

�No,� he told her. �I mean on the airplane.� He slid his hands down and grabbed the hem of her dress. He then lifted it up until it was above her waist, showing the frilly green panties she was wearing. They matched the dress perfectly. �Put your arms around my neck.�

She did this, grasping firmly. He stood up tall, lifting her feet off the ground. He carried her two steps forward and one to the right before setting her down on the wing of the plane, well clear of the retracted flap, right near where the primary flight surface attached to the fuselage. The height was just about perfect.

�Oooh,� she squealed. �This is cold on my butt.�

�It�ll get warm in a minute,� he promised, letting go of her. His hands went to the buckle on his belt. She watched him with growing lust as he opened his pants and pushed them and his underwear down to his knees, freeing his erection.

�Mmm,� she said, looking at it hungrily. �I�ve missed that so much.�

�And it missed you,� he assured her, his hands now stroking the skin of her bare thighs.

�I kind of see what you�re going to do here,� she told him. �Should I take my panties off?�

�No,� he told her, stepping a little closer and adjusting his stance. �You shouldn�t.�

She reached out to stroke his member, her fingers gripping him, feeling him, playing with him. �But how are we going to ... you know... do it, if I leave them on?�

�Like this,� he said, sliding his right hand over her thigh until his fingertips were caressing the crotch of those panties. They were damp and he could feel the outline of her lips beneath them. He caressed her in this manner for a few more seconds and then hooked his fingers beneath the elastic band and pulled the crotch to the side, exposing her swollen lips to his gaze, letting a powerful whiff of her aroused juices into his nose.

�Oh...� she said softly, her green eyes shining. �I get it now.�

�You certainly do,� he told her, pushing her hand off his straining erection. He put his left hand around her, grasping her by the ass while pushing himself forward, aiming for where he wanted to go. The head of his manhood touched warm wetness, feeling the slippery juices that had been produced. He pushed forward and slid in the tip. He then pushed a little harder and buried himself inside of her body.

�Oh ... sweet Lord!� she squealed delightfully at the intrusion.

�Shhhh,� Jake hushed her as he ground around a little, feeling her grip at him, lost in the sensation of sinking into female flesh after so long without it. �Remember the door.�

�Right,� she panted, putting her arms around his neck again. �This is so ... so ... dirty!�

�It is,� he agreed. �Do you like it?�

�I love it,� she whispered. �Now fuck me, Jake.�

�Gladly,� he said and began to thrust.

His thighs quickly became tired and threatened to cramp up on him, and his lower back wasn�t really pleased with the angle of attack, but he powered on, driving himself in and out of her body. Almost immediately he had to employ his best mental blocks to keep from firing off quickly. It felt just so damn good to be inside of her again.

She was obviously enjoying herself quite well too. She thrust back at him as much as she could, kissing his face, his neck, nibbling on his lower lip, occasionally plunging her tongue into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. Her hands kept busy too, going up and down his back, sometimes dropping to his ass to pull him harder against her, sometimes going up to his head to run her fingers through his hair.

�Come for me, baby,� Jake whispered to her when he felt his blocks starting to crumble. �Come and then I�ll shoot up inside of you.�

That did the trick. The moment these words were out of his mouth, her thrusting became erratic and her breathing grew heavier. The flush of her pale skin darkened almost alarmingly.

�That�s it,� Jake whispered, thrusting harder, giving her the little grind at the bottom of each stroke. �Come for me.�

She began to squeal and Jake had to cover her mouth with his to keep her quiet. She tightened up against him as her orgasm blasted through her body. Jake could tell it was a little more powerful than her typical one. As soon as she started to relax a little against him, he let himself go as well. A few seconds later it was he who was erratically thrusting, he who had to have his mouth covered with hers to keep the audio level outside family friendly. The exquisite pleasure exploded from his center and he poured himself out into her.

They held each other tightly, exchanging soft kisses for a bit, before he finally withdrew his wilted member from her body. A stream of their combined juices ran out and puddled on the surface of the wing. Jake saw that the side of his penis was abraded from rubbing up against the band of her panties. That was the price one had to pay for the old pull-the-panties-to-the-side trick. It was worth it.

�That was incredible,� Laura told him as he helped her back down to the floor. Her face was sweaty and still flushed.

Jake gave his signature see-saw of the hand. �It was all right,� he said.

�Fuck you,� she said, slapping at him playfully. �You know that was hot. How do you come up with ideas like that? I never would have thought of doing it on the wing of a plane.�

He shrugged and then reached down to pull up his pants. �When you think about sex as much as I do, some good ideas will inevitably form.�

She giggled a little, and then turned a little more serious. �Have you ... ever done that before?� she asked. �You know ... with someone else?�

�No,� he assured her, quite truthfully. �That was the first time I�ve ever screwed someone on the wing of my plane. Hell, I�ve never even screwed inside the plane before.�

�Hmm,� she said. �I guess we�ll have to try that one later.�

Los Angeles, California

July 2, 1992

KPID was the most listened to radio station in the Los Angeles basin. Licensed by the FCC since 1956, its format was pop music, primarily songs that were currently on the Top 100 list, with heavy emphasis on those in the Top 20. For that twenty percent of airtime in which they were not playing something from the current Top 100, they used approximately half playing songs that had been in the Top 10 in recent years but were now off the charts, and about half playing up and coming songs that were projected to hit the Top 100 soon.

KPID was but one of ninety-seven radio stations in the United States and Canada owned by the publicly traded entity known as Consolidated Radio Communications Corporation, or CRCC. Most of those stations, like KPID, focused primarily on popular music, but they owned a decent variety in other formats as well: Soft Rock, Hard Rock, Country, and even a few talk radio stations. Their headquarters was in the Library Tower Building in downtown LA, the tallest building in the United States west of the Mississippi River, where they occupied the entirety of the 66^th Floor.

It was those popular music stations owned by CRCC and that latter ten percent of airtime in which new music was played that concerned Michael Riley, not just on this day, but on every day. Mick, as he liked to be called, was an independent record promotor, though that title�which did appear in bold on his custom designed business cards�was a wee bit of a misnomer. While he did promote music, he was not really independent, per se. He was paid by and answered to the National Records Music Promotion Department, an entity that took up the entire sixth and seventh floors of the National Records Building and carried an annual budget of forty million dollars, with access to another twenty million in emergency funding if such a thing became necessary. For legal reasons, however, Mick and those like him�National contracted with at least one independent music promotor in every major market in the nation�were not allowed to actually be employed by the record company itself.

The reasoning behind this was because of little thing called payola. It was illegal under FCC rules for a record company to directly pay a radio station or a DJ or a program director or anyone else affiliated with a radio station or radio stations to play certain music. However, if the person paying the radio station or the program director to play certain tunes was an independent contractor, well, that did not technically violate the letter of the law, though it did tramp rather ruthlessly over the spirit of it.

Mick Riley, at age forty-six, had long since made peace with the ethical concerns attached to his profession. Payola would go on with or without him. It was one of those things like police corruption, political corruption, or judicial corruption, that was just never going to go away. He considered what he did to be no different than being a corporate lobbyist who influenced congress members and senators. He was simply the conduit for delivering bribes in a fashion that was technically legal. And he made a pretty good living at it too. Last year he�d cleared a quarter million in taxable income plus another eighty thousand in under the table income. And that was not to mention the all-expenses paid trips he often made on National�s behalf, trips in which he was flown first-class, put up in five-star hotels, and usually treated to a round of golf at whatever the local country club happened to be.

He pulled his 1990 Corvette C4 into the valet parking area of the seventy-seven story building and brought it to a halt. He stepped out�after a moment of struggle to unwind himself from the low-riding driver�s seat�and stood up straight, stretching out to his full five feet eight and a half inches of height. His head was balding but he displayed it without shame, not bothering with a combover or a toupee. He had learned long ago that when one made more than a quarter mil a year, it did not really matter what one looked like to the opposite sex. When he wanted to get laid�and that was quite often, actually�he got laid, balding head, bulging stomach and all.

This was not to say that he did not display a certain amount of style. After all, in his business, image was almost as important as connections. He dressed his part well. He was currently wearing a stylish, custom fit Italian suit that had cost him four grand in a Rodeo Boulevard shop�one of six such suits that he owned. His shoes were custom fit wingtips, highly polished, that had cost him three hundred dollars in a different Rodeo Boulevard shop. In his left ear was a gold stud imbedded with a diamond. And, to complete the picture, a pair of three hundred dollar Ray-Ban Aviators were perched on his nose, completely obscuring his eyes.

Mick was here often enough that the valets all knew who he was, and he knew them. Jesus, an aspiring actor (of course) who worked the day shift, came rushing over when he saw Mick get out. He knew the record promotor was a good tipper.

�Mick, my man,� Jesus greeted. �How�s it going today?�

�Like an old man who just had a prostatectomy,� Mick replied, reaching into the car and retrieving his sixteen hundred dollar Louis Vuitton briefcase.

Jesus furled his brow a bit. �Does that mean good?� he asked.

�It means good, Jesus,� Mick assured him, holding out his hand. They had a shake and then Mick asked him about his career.

�I auditioned for a deodorant commercial last week,� he said. �Still waiting to hear back.�

�Good luck on that,� Mick told him. �Many the prestigious career was launched on the back of a good deodorant commercial.�

�That�s what my agent says,� Jesus said.

�He sounds like a wise man,� Mick said. �Now take care of my car for me, huh? I�ve gotta go talk some music with some people.�

�You got it, Mick,� Jesus told him, folding himself inside the sixty thousand dollar car. He fired it up and roared off toward the parking area beneath the building.

Mick walked to the large doors and into the spacious lobby of the building, going past the row of shops, the restaurant, and the main kiosk. He came to the primary bank of elevators. An armed security guard behind a desk guarded access here. He too knew Mick by sight.

�Welcome, Mick,� the guard greeted. �Heading up to sixty-six?�

�You know it, Jeff,� Mick returned. �I have a ten o�clock up there with Larry Justice.�

�Here you go,� Jeff said, handing him the keycard pass that would allow him into the elevators.

�Thanks,� Mick told him.

He used his keycard to call one of the express elevators and, two minutes later, he was on the sixty-sixth floor. The offices of CRCC were tastefully decorated, using primarily blacks and whites and shades of gray, the furniture and the artwork modern and incorporating the same basic color scheme. He checked in with the receptionist at the main desk�her name was Julie and, though she was friendly to him, she had rejected every offer he�d ever made to go out with him�and barely had time to sit down in one of the chairs before he was called into the office of Lawrence Justice III, the head of the music promotion department.

LJ3 was one of the higher ups in the CRCC hierarchy. Mick wasn�t sure what kind of coin he was pulling in, but he knew it had to be at least in the low seven figure range. He was a fit man in his late forties, the holder of a master�s degree in Business and Accounting and a card carrying CPA. He was also a former musician, having supplemented his family income through school by playing sessions on the drums at both National Records� and Aristocrat Records� studios.

There was no trace of that former drummer in his appearance now. He looked like something straight out of a Republican Party recruiting poster. His dark hair was immaculately styled and held in place by enough hair spray to constitute an explosive hazard. His suit was dark and he made a point to keep his jacket on whenever meeting with someone. The pictures on his desk were of his trophy wife and their two trophy children. It was common knowledge, however, that he was actually a fan of young men in their late teens�or maybe even a little younger?�who were willing let him into their back doors for a little game of may-I-push-in-your-stool?

�Mick,� LJ3 greeted from behind his twelve thousand dollar oak desk. �It�s good to see you.�

�Glad you had time to squeeze me in today, Larry,� Mick returned, reaching out and taking the offered hand for the obligatory shake. He then sat down in the leather chair across the desk and set his briefcase down on the Berber carpet.

�Hey now,� Larry said. �It�s you and your fellow IMPs who are the lifeblood of this industry called radio. And National is one of the bigger music producers we play at CRCC. You bet your mutual fund I�ll always make time to see you.�

Right, Mick thought cynically. It�s actually the two and a half million dollars a year I transfer from National�s promotion budget account to CRCC�s general fund that keeps that door open for me and lets me call you Larry. If it wasn�t for that, they wouldn�t let me sweep the floors in this place. Of course, he would never actually say anything like that, or even hint at it. The game here was that they had to pretend that Mick was just suggesting new music and they were just considering and then ultimately accepting those suggestions. That deuce and a half in �incidental promotion costs� had nothing to do with anything.

�I have some new material being released soon that National thinks you might be interested in,� Mick told him.

�Always happy to hear new releases from National,� Larry said with a smile. �What do you have?�

Mick opened his briefcase and pulled out four CD cases, all of which had printed papers with very specific promotional instructions and information attached to them.

�These first two,� he said, �are a couple of new acts that National has signed and that they�re getting ready to release debuts on.� He slid one of the cases across�a mostly black case with a human skull the primary feature on the front. �This is Primal Fire, a thrash metal group out of Albuquerque. Bailey over in the NAD department is really excited about this one and the promo boys are telling me that we�ve got two solid radio friendly cuts on there they would like to see given saturation airplay�assuming, of course, that you folks like the cuts.�

�Of course,� Larry said, looking at the cover with a bit of distaste. �I�m guessing this would be for our hard rock stations?�

�Correct,� Mick said. �They�re radio friendly for that genre only. We�re talking about the cut Born to Die as the first promoted and then Cut Your Wings as the second. If we get enough airplay with those two, the album sales should be good and everyone is happy.�

�Sounds reasonable,� Larry said, pushing the CD and the paper off to the side.

�This next one,� Mick said, handing him a case with a barely concealed naked woman riding a black unicorn as the featured photo, �is Immaculate Conscription. They�re an all-female pop group aimed at the eighteen to thirty-fours ostensibly, but what National is really shooting for are the teens.�

�Ahhh,� Larry said knowingly. �So, they�re a bit too edgy to officially be a teen targeted group, but you anticipate they will be the primary audience anyway.�

�Exactly,� Mick agreed. �They�re a bunch of anorexic mid-twenties chicks that look like concentration camp survivors if you see them in real life, but look like hotness personified on camera when they�re all made-up and constructed. They do a lot of four-part harmony backed by dance beat and synthesizer tracks. The lyrics are simplistic, but full of heavy sexual innuendo that will appeal to the primary demographic, both male and female. Their videos are pushing up against the very boundary of obscenity. Fucking parents are going to hate them.�

�That is never a bad thing when you�re shooting for that demographic,� Larry said.

�It is not,� Mick agreed. �The teen guys are all going to be pumping their pythons to the videos and the promo pics, and the teen girls are all going to want to be them.�

�I like them already,� Larry said. �Would you suggest playing them heavily on the pop stations during the two to seven period?�

�It�s like you read my mind,� Mick said. The 2:00 PM to 7:00 PM was the time period when the twelve to eighteen male and female demographics were most likely to be listening�a sharp contrast from the 6:00 AM to 10:00 AM slot, which was when the eighteen to thirty-fours were most likely. �The first cut we would suggest promoting is In the Park, which is suggestive about furtive sex in a car while out on a date. The second cut to be promoted should then be Go Downtown, which is suggestive about male to female oral sex.�

�Only suggestive, right?� Radio executives nationwide lived in constant fear of actually having a song legally declared obscene on some level that would set a precedent.

�Naturally,� Mick assured him. �The lyricists that penned the tunes for these chicks are some of National�s best. Everyone will know what they�re really talking about, but the verses are ambiguous enough and symbolic enough for plausible deniability.�

�Very good,� Larry said. �We�ll give them a listen and see what we can do. What else do you have?�

�These next two kind of go together in a strange way,� Mick said, picking up the last two CD cases. �They�re not really new artists at all, but members of former top-selling groups that are now solo.�

�Oh?�

�Celia Valdez and Jake Kingsley are both releasing solo albums in the next two weeks.�

�Really?� Larry said, taking the CDs in hand and looking at them. �I�ve heard some rumors floating around about that.�

�The rumors are true.�

�They�re not on National�s label,� Larry said, seeing the KVA Records emblem on the back.

�That�s correct. They�ve gone independent and they signed with National for MD&P, therefore they fall under my umbrella for this region. They come as a package deal with some very specific ... uh... suggestions for how their music should be promoted.�

�Is that a fact?� Larry said, raising his eyebrows a bit.

�It�s a fact. National agrees strongly with their suggestions and would request that they be followed, if you can accommodate, of course.� This was the polite way of saying that CRCC needed to follow the instructions carefully or their income string could take a hit.

�We will certainly accommodate you if we can,� Larry said, which was the face-saving way of saying he would make it so. He then flipped the CDs back over and looked at the covers.

As a primary homosexual�though he was confident that no one knew about this�his eyes were drawn to Kingsley�s cover first. Can�t Keep Me Down was the title of the album. There was a glossy photo of Kingsley sitting on a stool with a battered looking acoustic guitar in his hands, as if he were playing it. He was wearing a pair of ripped and faded blue jeans and a sleeveless black shirt that displayed the tattoos on his upper arms. His face looked pretty much as it always had, perhaps a bit older than his cover photo for Lines On the Map, the last Intemperance album, but still unmistakably Jake Kingsley. He still had the shoulder length hair and the slight scruff of whiskers on his face. Larry did not suspect in the least that the scruff had been put in by photographic effects over the image of a clean-shaven face and that the hair itself was a carefully matched and styled wig that Kingsley had worn just for the photo shoot.

A little old for me, Larry thought, but I�d still hit that in a hot minute.

�I assume we should play this on the hard rocks?� he asked Mick.

�Well ... yes, naturally,� Mick said, �but it is also thought that there will be some significant crossover into the pop genre among the entire eighteen to forty-nine spectrum for both sexes.�

Larry raised his eyebrows. That was a very bold statement. �Really now?�

Mick nodded seriously. �It�s not quite of the Intemp genre,� he said. �It�s rock music, have no doubt about that, but it�s not heavy metal at all. Some of the stuff in there doesn�t even have electric guitar in it.�

�You�re putting me on,� Larry said.

�I wouldn�t do that,� Mick assured him. �Kingsley�s gone experimental. He�s come up with some pretty cool stuff. National thinks it will appeal to more than just the hard rock demo.�

�It sounds a bit risky. You understand that we do have to maintain our primary goal of keeping ears on our stations, right?�

�I understand,� Mick assured him. Again, they were discussing the unwritten rules and understandings of the relationship between record company, radio executive, and promotor. CRCC was obligated to promote the music as suggested if they wanted to keep receiving their funding from National. But if that music turned out to be unappealing to the music consumer and CRCC could show that people were actually turning their radios to other stations in large numbers when one of the songs they were being paid to promote was played, they were free to stop playing that song without penalty. This was exactly what had happened with Matt Tisdale�s tunes and Larry was undoubtedly thinking about that. �National does not expect you to lose advertising revenue if the tunes turn out to be unpopular. They just ask that you give them their fair shake and let the consumers and the listeners be the judge.�

�Fair enough,� Larry said with a shrug. He then picked up the Celia Valdez CD. The Struggle was the title of album. The cover showed a full color side profile shot of Valdez that had apparently been taken in the recording studio. Her dark hair was spilling across her shoulders and a pair of studio headphones�cans, as they were called�were covering her ears. Her hands were on the outer part of the earphones and her mouth was open, showing impossibly white teeth, as she sang into a ceiling mounted voice microphone. The side profile was the perfect angle to show the side swell of her left breast in a tight maroon sweater. Though Larry wasn�t really into that sort of thing, he had enough heterosexuality and artistic appreciation within him to recognize how alluring the shot made those fabulous boobs of hers look. Celia really was an attractive representation of femininity. The profile shot was the only part of the cover that was in color. Blended into the rest of the cover was a background, in black and white, of a grove of fruit trees in full blossom stretching off to the horizon. Rising above that horizon, also in black and white, were menacing looking thunderheads that seemed to threaten Valdez with their approach.

�Good photo effects on that cover, huh?� Mick asked.

Larry nodded with genuine appreciation. �I�m impressed,� he said. �It looks like she�s recording in the middle of a dark orchard and about to get hit by lightning, and that juicy tit of hers almost looks like you could reach out and touch it.�

�That�s exactly the effect they were going for.�

�How�s the music though?� Larry asked. �I seem to remember that La Diff�s last two albums were varying degrees of failure.�

Mick smiled. He had listened to The Struggle (the album, as well as the song) several times now, and though it didn�t happen often in his business dealings, he now spoke the complete truth. �This album is going to blow people away,� he said. �She has ten extremely solid cuts here that are going to appeal to the entire spectrum from pop to hard rock and across the entire teen to sixty-five range.�

Larry looked at him in disbelief. �You almost sound as if you believe that bullshit,� he said.

Mick�s expression did not change. �I�m not bullshitting, Larry,� he said. �This album is a once in a decade piece, I�m telling you. The combination of her voice, the lyrics, and the musical composition is just ... I can�t even describe it. You�ll see what I�m saying when you give it a listen.�

�If you say so,� Larry told him. �We�ll certainly give it enough airplay for the people to let their opinions be known. After that ... well ... as long as our ears on the other side of the airwaves aren�t turning the station whenever she comes on, we�ll keep it up.�

�I don�t think you�re going to have to worry about that,� Mick assured him. �Now ... how about we go over the specifics of how we ... uh ... that is National, wants these albums promoted?�

Larry gave a little frown. �Aren�t the suggestions written on the promo sheets like always?� he asked.

�They are. And for Primal Fire and Immaculate Conscription, I�ll just let you read those sheets and do your thing. With Valdez and Kingsley, however, the suggestions are a bit more than the normal play this and then play that in this demographic kind of thing. National wanted to make sure I went over the plan in detail with you so you can draft specific directions in your memos to your affiliate stations around the country.�

�All right,� Larry said with a sigh. �Lay it on me.�

�Okay� Mick said. �The albums are going to hit the shelves on Tuesday, the 14^th of July. Naturally, National wants to start getting some exposure to the initial release cuts before that date to build up a little familiarity in advance.�

�Nothing unusual about that,� Larry said.

�No, but hang with me for a few. They want Valdez�s initial cut to be The Struggle, the title cut of the album, and Kingsley�s to be The Easy Way. They want both of them played across the entire eighteen to fifty-four demo, with heavy concentration on the morning and evening peaks. They want no other cuts from either album to be played at all until the initials start to catch and chart.�

�Assuming that happens,� Larry said.

�Assuming that happens,� Mick agreed. �Now, for Struggle, it will only be on the pops, and they want universal mentions of the artist name by your jocks whenever the cut is played, but only after it has played. They want no artist ID beforehand during the pre-release period.�

Larry raised his eyebrows up. �You want me to tell all of the DJs in sixty-plus stations not to say the artist before they spin Struggle?�

�Correct,� Mick confirmed. �That means the cut cannot be played at the beginning of a set or in the middle, only at the end. Until the CD reaches the shelves, artist name announced every single time after the song is over. Once the release date comes, you can start going back to the normal scheduling, but always have the jock say that Valdez is the artist until the cut starts to chart.�

�Okay,� Larry said slowly.

�Now for Easy,� Mick continued, �things are a bit more complex.�

�More complex than what you just told me?�

�Correct,� Mick said. �Easy is to be heavily played on both the hard rocks and the pops. On the hard rock stations, always announce Kingsley as the artist prior to playing the cut, never after. On the pop stations, however, use the same rule as Valdez. Put the cut at the end of a set and then announce artist consistently after it has played, never before. This is to be kept up, not just until the release date, but until the cut starts to chart.�

Larry was shaking his head. �I don�t understand the purpose of all this.�

Mick gave a shrug. �It seems the plan for Valdez and for Kingsley on the pops is to let the listeners hear the song and connect with it before they know who is singing it. This will hopefully avoid having station switch occur just on name alone. On the hard rocks, however, they want listeners to know that a new Jake Kingsley tune is about to be played. That way the Intemp fans will hang around and give the tune a listen just because it�s Jake Kingsley.�

Another raise of the eyebrows by Larry. �I believe that somebody over at National is overthinking things a bit.�

�Perhaps,� Mick allowed, �but they are very insistent upon these suggestions.�

He gave a little shake of the head and an eye roll. �I�ll make it happen. Is there anything else?�

�There is,� Mick said. �There is to be no mention that Kingsley and Valdez have gone independent. Most of the listeners won�t even know what that means anyway, but for those that do, just let them go on thinking that a major label is behind the albums until they buy the CD and see the KVA logo.�

�What is the point of that?� Larry asked.

�National does not want Kingsley and Valdez to be associated with each other. They want the general public to assume that these two albums have absolutely nothing to do with each other.�

�What about when people buy the CDs and see the KVA label on both? Surely, if National thinks these things are going to appeal to a broad spectrum of the demographic, there will be people who buy both, right? Won�t that clue them in?�

�Not your average music consumer,� Larry said. �If anyone notices the KVA label at all, they�ll just assume it�s another record company out of LA. They�ll have no way of knowing that Valdez and Kingsley are the only two artists on the label.�

�I suppose,� Larry said.

�Your jocks, however, might notice something like that. That�s fine and dandy as long as they keep those speculations and suppositions off the air. No mention of KVA Records on air. No pondering of the relationship between Kingsley and Valdez.�

�Just what is that relationship anyway?� Larry had to ask. �Are they boning each other?�

�Undoubtedly,� Mick said, �but that stays privileged information. National would be very upset if one of your jocks started spouting off about it.�

�I will see to it that they are instructed to avoid any on-air speculations,� Larry promised. �What are you going to do about the independent stations though? My word doesn�t cut any shit with them.�

�Don�t worry about the indies,� Mick said. �You will not be held in any way accountable for what they do or say or play. Not under your control.�

Larry nodded. �Fair enough,� he said. �Is there anything else?�

�Not at this time,� Mick told him. �Once the initial promos start to chart, however, I�ll have more suggestions about what to release next and how to promote it.�

�I can�t wait to hear them,� Larry said, hardly even bothering to sound sincere.

The term �with a bullet� had been coined for songs like Celia Valdez�s first single release as a solo artist, The Struggle. After only three weeks of saturation airplay on the popular music stations throughout the United States and Canada, Struggle debuted on the Hot 100 chart at sixty-seven. The next week, as the airplay continued unabated, it was at thirty-three. The week after that, it broached the top 20 at number eighteen. The week after that, it was in the Top 10 at number six. From there, it spent the next two weeks climbing to the number one position, neatly dislodging End of the Road by Boyz II Men like an infantry squad occupying a hill. Once in the number one spot, Struggle would remain there for another five weeks before being dislodged in turn by one of the masters herself: Whitney Houston and I Will Always Love You.

As Jake had predicted, the song was popular across the entire eighteen to sixty-four demographic, as it was neither a rock and roll song or a formulistic pop song. It resonated with people from all walks of life, all age groups with its universal message of love gone bad and spiraling to its death, sung out by Celia�s glorious contralto voice and accompanied by Laura�s mournful saxophone melody.

Jake�s debut effort, The Easy Way, did not fare as well, but it still put in a respectable performance. It was played quite regularly on both the hard rock stations and the pop stations, and research showed that people who enjoyed the tune and kept the station dial in place when it came on outnumbered those who switched by a considerable margin. The song moved slowly but steadily upward on the chart, reaching its peak at number eight the same week that Struggle started to fall downward. Easy held onto number eight for two more weeks and then it too began to drop slowly back down, week by week, falling faster than Struggle, which kept a tenacious grip on the Top 40.

In these days of CDs, where there was no longer any such thing as forty-five RPM records with their two songs for sale for a dollar, simply having hit tunes did not translate into any direct income for KVA Records. The only way they would make money would be to sell the actual full CDs. And people did not tend to buy a complete CD, which would run then around ten dollars at retail rate, based on a single hit song. In the time period between July 14^th, 1992, the release date for the albums, and December 2, 1992, when both Struggle and Easy began to fall from the charts, only fifty-five thousand copies of The Struggle, the CD, and thirty-three thousand copies of Can�t Keep Me Down, the CD, were purchased. These numbers were alarming to Greg Oldfellow, Jill the accountant, and Pauline the manager as they meant that KVA was still operating deep in the red.

Jake, Celia, the Nerdlys, and Obie, however, were not worried. They knew that once two hit songs were getting airplay and starting to chart, the album sales would start to pick up. It was time to put Phase Two of his marketing plan into action.

On December 5, Jake arranged a meeting with Obie, who just happened to be in LA at the moment. He had noticed that Obie was spending a lot of time in LA of late, flying down from Oregon nearly every weekend even though he and the Nerdlys were hard at work on the recording of his own upcoming album, but he didn�t think too much of it. He certainly did not suspect that Obie was coming down to visit his sister so the two of them could play hide the bratwurst in Obie�s hotel room or Pauline�s house. Greg and Celia were invited to the meeting as well, and, since it was in her house, Pauline would be in attendance too. Jake brought along Laura, knowing she could use a little relaxation time. Since it was a Saturday, they decided to have a barbeque after they talked business. Jake brought some New York steaks he�d picked up at a local meat market while Pauline provided some potatoes and zucchini she�d picked up at a local farmer�s market. Celia and Greg brought a few bottles of good red wine they�d picked up at a specialty store in Beverly Hills.

They discussed business first, the six of them finding seats in Pauline�s entertainment room. Since Obie was present at the meeting, the usual rule of no alcohol was thrown out for the day. Obie refused to have a meeting without a nice glass of whiskey in some form in his hand, and he refused to drink alone.

�To success!� Obie toasted to open the discussion.

�Success!� they all echoed, drinking from whatever they had concocted at the bar. In Jake�s case it was a tall, pale rum and coke�which was still his favorite potable for general drinking.

�All right then,� Obie said. �I assume y�all want to talk about the next step in the promotion process for the albums?�

�You assume correctly,� Jake said. �It�s time to get those second songs on the air so we can start picking up some album sales.�

�That�s what those suits down at National keep telling me as well,� Obie said. �They�ve been hounding my ass for a month now about getting the release authority for the next ones. They think you�re waiting too long.�

�Are they seriously afraid that the public will forget about us over four weeks?� Celia asked.

�Especially after she just spent five weeks at number one?� put in Greg.

�You�re not exactly dealing with the most reasonable people when you�re dealing with those suits over in that building,� Obie said. �They act like the fate of the whole goddamn free world rests on putting out the next tune.�

�What tunes are they suggesting we put out?� Jake asked, curious, knowing it probably would not be what he thought they should release next.

�For Celia they want Why? as they next one,� Obie said.

�That figures,� Jake said. �They want to wring the album for all it�s worth as quickly as they can.�

�And if they can score another number one hit before the end of the year, they�ll have a little something to show their stockholders when the royalties start rolling in,� said Obie. �Not a bad strategy, really.�

�I disagree,� Jake said.

�How come?� asked Pauline. �You�ve said a dozen times that Why? is probably going to be the best-charting cut on the whole album.�

�It will be,� Jake said. �All of the tunes on Struggle are good, but Why? is a masterpiece�a work of art that is still going to be played fifty years from now. The melodic guitar work and the violin melody mixed with Celia�s and Paulie�s voices in duet. Exquisite shit. The public is going to eat it up. That�s why we don�t release it for play yet. We hold it in reserve and bring it out only after some of the other tunes have charted and peaked.�

�Okay,� Obie said slowly, nodding his head a little. �I suppose I can see the logic in that.�

�What song of mine do they want to release next?� Jake asked.

�The title cut,� Obie told him. �They want it on all the hard rocks like yesterday.�

�That figures as well,� Jake said with a shake of the head. �They want me to try to pick up some of the hard rock cred I lost.�

�The hard rock cred?� asked Laura.

�Can�t Keep Me Down is the hardest rocking tune on the album,� Jake explained. �A lot of the hard rock fans that associate me with Intemperance didn�t care too much for Easy. You should read some of the letters I got. Sellout is the kindest thing I�m being accused of.�

�Easy was still rock and roll though,� Laura said. �If a different artist had put it out, they would�ve loved it. I don�t understand why they think you�re a sellout.�

�Because I switched to a more popular genre of music and because that music is being played on pop stations and enjoyed by people who did not like Intemperance. In their eyes, that makes me a sellout.� He shrugged. �Maybe I am, in a way, but I didn�t set out to deliberately make pop music. I just put down what I composed and it came out that way.�

�And National is happy with that,� Obie said. �Believe me, they aren�t complaining about Easy�s popularity or thinking it�s bad that you might be a sellout. They fuckin� live for sellouts. That is a not a bad thing to be termed in their minds, you understand? Still, they think that if they release Down and play it exclusively on the hard rocks, you�ll get some of that credibility back with the Intemp crowd and maybe start to pick up some album sales from them.�

�If only things were that simple,� Jake said with a sigh.

�You don�t think the argument is valid?� asked Pauline.

�Down is a hard rocker, but it�s still well short of the heavy metal genre that Intemperance is associated with. The hard core rockers are not going to like it any more than they liked Easy. Down will be released eventually, and it will appeal to a good section of the hard rock demographic, but now is not the time to put it out there.�

�What tunes do you want put out next?� Obie asked.

�For me, Insignificance needs to be the next tune promoted,� Jake said.

Obie looked at him pointedly. �The mellow guitar and violin piece? The one that don�t have no electric guitar or drums in it at all?�

�That�s the one,� Jake said. �It needs to start getting saturation play on both the pops and the hard rocks.�

�The pops will eat it up,� Obie said. �I�m not so sure about the hard rocks, however.�

�I�m not so sure about them either, but we have to at least try, right? Hopefully the fact that I�m Jake Kingsley will get people to at least listen to it on the hard rocks. And, though it�s a ballad level piece, I think it has enough appeal that the rockers will like it. I honestly think that�s one of the best tunes I�ve ever composed and recorded.�

�I agree,� said Celia. �I love that song.�

�Whether or not the hard rocks keep playing it will have to be determined,� Jake said, �but I think it�s going to chart like mad on the pops�maybe not as fast and furious as Struggle did, and certainly nowhere near what Why? is eventually going to do, but it�ll be the biggest hit on my album, undoubtedly. And, once it charts�once people know there are at least two good songs on the CD, album sales will start to pick up as well.�

�Okay then,� Obie said. �It�s your show, I�m just the one who makes it happen. We release Insig next with heavy airplay on the pops and the hards.�

�Correct,� Jake said. �And I want them to mention whenever feasible that it is me playing the acoustic guitar and my mother playing the violin.�

�You want them to know your mother is playing the violin?� Obie asked, surprised.

�Damn right,� he said. �In the first place, my mom did a fantastic job on that tune. Her violin is a huge part of what makes that song what it is. I damn sure want her to get credit for it. In the second place, I think that having people know that my mother is the violinist will actually make the tune appeal to them a little more. They�ll pay more attention to it. It�ll grow on them a little faster. It will be a conversation piece when people talk about the tune with other people.�

Obie nodded thoughtfully. �An interesting theory,� he said.

�Jake, that is so sweet,� Laura said, beaming at him.

Jake shrugged. �Like I said, she deserves the recognition. She�s a wonderful musician. She didn�t get that gig just because she�s my mother, she got it because she�s badass. I want people to know that.�

�Okay,� Obie said, setting down his whiskey glass to scribble out a few notes. �That takes care of Jake�s next release. What about Miss Celia?�

�Well, it�s Celia�s album,� Jake said, �so I can only make suggestions on her behalf, but I would say that we should put Playing Those Games out next.�

�Games?� Celia asked, surprised. �The hard rock tune?�

�Exactly,� Jake said. �It�s time to establish Celia Valdez as someone who knows how to fucking rock. That tune grinds. We need to get it on the hard rocks first and then start playing it on the pops as well.�

�For what purpose?� asked Obie. �Do you really think it�s going to chart that well?�

�It�ll chart,� Jake said, �but it won�t chart as fast or as high as Struggle did or Why? is going to. That doesn�t matter though. Remember, the goal here is to sell CDs, not singles. Once people hear Games on the radio, once they realize it�s Celia Valdez throwing that shit down, they�re going to start snatching up the CD in droves, both in the hard rock and in the pop demographics.�

Obie looked over at Celia. �Sound reasonable to you, darlin�?� he asked her.

�I�ve trusted Jake this far,� Celia said. �He hasn�t steered me wrong yet. I say we go with what he suggests.�

�Good enough,� Obie said. �What kind of particulars are we talking about with Games?�

�A couple of things,� Jake said. �On the hards, you need to instruct them to not announce artist name until after the song has played�at least not for the first two weeks after release. On the pops, the opposite. Consistently announce artist before the song is played. The same reasoning as when I did it with Easy, just in reverse. We want the hard rock listeners to hear and appreciate the song before they know who it is, and we want the pop listeners to know who they�re listening to before the tune starts. That should serve to keep those sacred ears tuned in.�

Obie nodded. �It worked before,� he said. �I�m guessing it�ll work again. Anything else?�

�Yes,� Jake said. �This is very important. No mention of who is playing the guitar for Celia on Games. I�m not credited on the album cover, of course, but there are people who know or can guess that I�m actually her guitarist. Discourage any speculation or discussion by DJs about who may or may not be putting down the licks on the tune. Let everyone assume it�s just some studio guitarist playing for her.�

�You�ve mentioned this before, Jake,� Celia said, �but I have to ask you again. Are you sure you don�t want credit for Games at the very least? Like you said about Mary, you did an awesome job on the tune and your guitar playing is what is going to make it a success. You deserve the credit for it.�

�And in addition to the credit,� said Greg, �don�t you think that having people know you�re the guitar player might actually enhance popularity of the tune and increase album sales? Especially if they knew you were playing lead on all of the tunes that have an electric guitar in them?�

Jake was shaking his head. �I think that acknowledging that I�m the guitarist on any of the cuts, but especially on Games, would do nothing but distract people from the tunes, not draw them to it. There would be so many comparisons between my playing and Matt Tisdale�s, so many disparaging words about how I�m not half the guitarist that he is, that nobody would pay attention to the music itself. This is the same reason I didn�t credit myself as the lead guitarist on my CD. This is the same reason I don�t have any classic guitar solos in any of my tunes. The music needs to stand on its own, not be judged on the individual talents of the guitarists.�

Obie was looking at him. �I think you make some valid points there, Jake, and I will, of course, follow your directions, but ... well ... I�m a man who likes to talk plain and say what�s on my mind.�

�Really?� Jake said with a chuckle. �I never noticed that about you, Obie.�

Obie chuckled in return. �Yeah, well, what I�m trying to say here is that I think maybe you have a bit of a misguided opinion of your own electric guitar skills. You play well, boy. Really well. That solo you laid down in Games is top-notch, sends fuckin� chills down my spine when I hear it.�

�Thanks, Obie,� Jake said. �And I do know that I can play guitar with the best of them, it�s just that Matt Tisdale is the best of the best of them. He�s an asshole and I have at least half a stomach ulcer with his name on it, but nobody currently slinging a guitar can even approach him when it comes to riffs and solos�not Kirk Hammett, not Dimebag Darrel, not that new guy Mike McCready that plays with Pearl Jam, and certainly not me. I�m a realist, not someone with a self-esteem problem, and I know that having my name on that solo will only distract from the tune, not enhance it. The information that it�s me playing guitar for Celia will undoubtedly come out someday, but that someday needs to be in the future, not while the song and the album are making their initial run.�

Celia, Greg, and Obie all looked at each other for a moment and then exchanged a group shrug. �Fair enough,� Obie said. �We�ll play it your way, Jake.�

Santa Clarita, California

April 12, 1993

As a limited liability company, KVA Records was not required by law to have a governing board in order to conduct business. Under the terms of the operating agreement that had been drawn up back in the beginning, Celia, Jake, Bill, and Pauline were the official members of the company and each had equal say in the decisions that were made and would share equally in any profit that was enjoyed. They were not a board, as much as Greg (who officially held no power in the company even though it had been his money that had funded Celia�s share) would have liked to have called them that.

�Can we at least call this a board meeting?� he pleaded as the four official members, two spouses who held a considerable interest in what occurred here, and Jill the accountant all sat down at the conference room table in the KVA Studios building.

�Sure, Greg,� Pauline said soothingly. �We can call it a board meeting if you�d like.�

�And use Roberts Rules of Order to conduct it?� he asked hopefully as well.

�Well...�

�No Roberts Rules of Order,� Jake vetoed, shaking his head. �We�re all friends here, right?�

�We are,� Pauline said.

�Then we should just be able to talk like friends, right?� Jake asked.

�You�re no fun,� Greg said with a pout.

Jake chuckled, knowing the actor was not serious. Greg was actually in a decent mood these days. His wife�s album was selling like wildfire and was currently one of the most popular albums in the nation. She was getting tons of airplay and was frequently in the media. All of this attention had brought Greg himself back into the public consciousness as something other than the star of the miserably failed The Northern Jungle flick. A few movie offers had actually trickled in over the past month�invitations to audition for up and coming projects that were not spoofs or slapstick. So far, none of those offers had interested him, but it was nice to be asked.

�All right,� said Jill once everyone was seated and settled in. �How about we get started here?� Jill herself looked pretty much the same as she�d always looked. As a full-blooded Japanese woman, she possessed those magical genes for longevity and agelessness that her race was known for. Though she was exactly the same age as Jake�they had been born on the same day and had always jokingly referred to each other as twins�she looked to be in her early twenties instead of almost thirty-three. Her black hair was cut short, falling well above her shoulders and she had a pair of thick glasses on her face. Her clothing was a conservative pantsuit and arm-covering blouse, both in dark colors. She had a leather briefcase open before her. Though she was not one of KVA�s members, they paid her family�s CPA firm in Heritage, California quite handsomely for Jill to be their full-time accountant and financial manager.

�Let�s do it,� Jake said.

�I�m ready,� agreed Celia, who sat next to Greg and across from Jake and the Nerdlys.

�She really should have a gavel to bang for this part,� Greg said.

�I have a little bit of a hangover today,� Pauline said sourly. �I�d just as soon there be no gaveling, if it�s all the same to you.�

�Prude,� Jake told her.

�I am not,� she countered.

�Then perhaps you�d care to describe the details of your most provocative sexual encounters with Obie?� said Nerdly. He too was in a good mood of late. They had finally finished Obie�s new album and he and Sharon had been released from their semi-indentured servitude.

�In your dreams, Bill,� Pauline told him.

�I believe you might be correct in that assumption, Pauline,� Sharon said. �It is my understanding that Bill has always had a sexual attraction to you and I sometimes suspect that when he awakens in the night with an erection and wants to engage in marital relations with me, that he has, in fact, been dreaming of you.�

�That is not true on every occasion that phenomenon occurs,� Nerdly told his wife.

�All right now...� Pauline started, her face blushing.

�Now wait a minute here,� Celia suddenly spoke up. �Are you saying that you�re okay with him fantasizing about Pauline, Sharon?�

�I am indeed saying that,� Sharon confirmed. �After all, I reap the benefits of it, do I not? Besides...� She looked at Pauline with a shy smile. � ... Pauline is sexually appealing on several levels. While I�ve never really desired a sexual encounter with a female and do not consider myself bisexual, I do have this underlying attraction for Pauline specifically.�

�No kidding?� Greg asked, his interest perking up considerably.

�I would not lie about something like that,� Sharon said.

�You�re saying you�d get it on with Pauline if the opportunity presented itself?� Jake asked, fascinated by this side track as well.

�It would depend on the circumstances and the mood at the time, of course,� Sharon said. �And it couldn�t be just me and her together. Bill would have to be there as well.�

�I believe I would consent to such an encounter,� Nerdly said in all seriousness.

They both looked at Pauline, who was no longer blushing, but was smiling in amusement. �Well now,� she said. �Perhaps you should have spoken to me about this a year or so ago, before I hooked up with Obie. Now we�d have to include him in the fun as well.�

Bill was shaking his head. �Sorry,� he said. �I don�t think I could perform adequately if there were another man in the room during the encounter.�

�Are you kidding me right now, Nerdly?� Jake put in. �Remember those nights out on the road before you and Sharon got together? You had no problem whipping out the old John Thomas and plowing through a two by two while we cheered you on.�

�What�s a two by two?� asked Greg, interest clearly in his eyes.

�It�s when you get two groupies and...� Jake started.

�All right then,� Jill suddenly cut in. She seemed quite flustered by the turn the discussion had taken. �How about we talk some business now?�

�Prude,� Pauline accused.

�Yes,� Jill agreed, �and quite comfortable with my prudidity, thank you very much. Shall we move onto good news now?�

�I think the fact that a man�s wife is willing to have a threesome with another chick qualifies as good news,� Jake said.

�Hear, hear,� Greg put in, raising his water glass in salute and earning himself a playful slap on the shoulder by his wife.

�Financial good news,� Jill said, glaring at Jake.

Jake gave a mock sigh. �If you must,� he said.

Jill shook her head a few times in consternation. It was certainly interesting working for this bunch, that was true. And profitable as well. �All right,� she told them. �In a nutshell, here it is. I�ve gone over the numbers from the first quarter of 1993 and KVA Records is officially operating well in the black now.�

A cheer erupted from the table as everyone basked in this announcement.

�We�ve recouped our investment then?� asked Greg.

�That and a considerable amount more,� Jill replied. �Let me pass out copies of the financial statement for you all.� With that, she pulled a sheaf of paperwork from her briefcase. They were three pages each and each set had a staple placed at a precise forty-five degree angle exactly one quarter inch from the upper left corner. �Just like back in school. Take one and pass them down.�

They obeyed, passing the pile around the table until everyone had a sheet before them. Pauline, Greg and Sharon all opened theirs and began to look at it. Jake, Nerdly and Celia just let them sit there.

�Okay then,� Jill said. �Let�s start with the basics here. As of the close of business hours in the Eastern Time Zone on March 31, 1993, the end of the first quarter, Celia�s album, The Struggle, has sold one million, four hundred and ninety-seven thousand, six hundred and twelve copies during said quarter. Jake�s album, Can�t Keep Me Down, has sold one million, one hundred and twelve thousand, sixty-seven copies during the quarter. As you can see in the table there on page 1 of the document, that means that Celia has brought in ... uh...� She looked at Jake, who was raising his hand and waving it. �Yes, Jake?�

�Sorry to interrupt,� Jake said. �Good presentation, really it is, but ... well ... we all have the exact figures here in front of us, right?�

�Uh ... right,� she said.

�For the sake of brevity, could you maybe just round your numbers to the nearest hundred thousand or so during the discussion?�

�Uh ... well ... I suppose,� she said. �If everyone wants that?�

�Is that cool with everyone?� Jake asked the table. Everyone gave some version of a nod. �Everyone is cool with it. Proceed please.�

�Right,� Jill said, thrown off stride a bit. She quickly recovered however. �Anyway, as I was saying. Celia has sold nearly 1.5 million copies. Jake has sold 1.1 million. The wholesale rate we are paid for these copies is six dollars apiece. That means Celia has brought in approximately 9 million dollars in sales and Jake has brought in approximately 6.6 million, for an approximate total of 15.6 million dollars in revenue.�

�Not bad at all,� Jake said approvingly.

�Especially for a has-been, huh?� Celia added with a smile.

Jake held out his hand across the table to her and they engaged in a brief high-five.

�All right,� Jill said. �Before we get too excited here, let�s remember what the definition of �revenue� is. It�s the income received from selling goods or services before the expenses of operation and production are deducted. And the expenses and production of these two albums were considerable.�

�Accountants are such downers,� Jake whispered to Sharon, who giggled a little at his words.

�Be that as it may,� Jill said, �I will now review the expenses of KVA during the quarter. Our primary expense set against that 15.6 million in revenue are the royalties KVA is responsible for paying out. By far, the largest chunk of royalties goes to Blake Family Records and Blake Studios. The label itself pulls in forty percent royalties on each album sold while the studio pulls in an additional three percent, which, when totaled, means that Oren Blake II pulls forty-three percent of that revenue right off the top.�

�I still think that is an outrageous amount,� said Greg.

�When you think of it out of context, perhaps,� said Nerdly. �Keep in mind, however, that when Intemperance and La Diferencia were selling millions of albums for National Records and Aristocrat Records respectively, we, the musicians and composers of the product, were only being compensated at a rate of ten percent of the gross revenue.�

�And that�s the industry standard,� Jake said. �I�ll take what we�re getting as far as percentage goes. We all knew what it would be going in.�

�I suppose,� Greg said.

�In any case, Blake Records and Blake Family Studios are only the most significant royalty payee that KVA is responsible for compensating. Don�t forget about the musicians, however. Mary Kingsley and Cynthia Archer each get one percent of both albums. Ben Ping and Theodore Duncan each get one half of a percent of both albums. Phillip Genkins receives one quarter of a percent of both albums. Laura Best receives one half of a percent of Celia�s album and one eighth of a percent of Jake�s. This all adds up to a grand total of 46.75 percent total royalties being paid out on The Struggle and 46.38 percent royalties being paid out for Can�t Keep Me Down.�

�Which leaves 53.25 and 53.62 percent gross revenue after royalties respectively, correct?� said Nerdly after only the briefest pause to do arithmetic times two in his head.

�Uh ... correct,� Jill said, a little bit impressed by his math skills. She could not do that that fast, after all.

�So, how much total royalties are we paying out for the quarter?� asked Celia.

�If you�ll look on page two of the document,� Jill said, �the total is listed.�

Everyone turned to page two and spent a moment scanning. Jake whistled appreciably when he saw the figure. �Seven million, three hundred and forty-six thousand, four hundred and sixteen dollars and forty-eight cents,� he recited. �Which means we get to keep this amount...� He put his finger on the paper and recited it. �Eight million, two hundred and fifty-three thousand, five hundred and eighty-three dollars and fifty-four cents?�

�That is correct,� Jill said.

�Not bad at all, eh?� Jake said with a nod.

�And that�s just this quarter,� Nerdly said. �Both albums show every sign of selling at least another million or so in the current quarter.�

�Hell to the yeah,� said Jake.

�Please stop saying that,� Pauline requested.

�Sorry,� Jake said. �I�m getting better.�

�Before we get too far ahead of ourselves here,� said Jill, �I should remind you that the royalties are only the primary expense. There are several others.�

�Well ... naturally,� Jake said. �There�s the rent on this office we�re sitting in and your firm�s fees.�

�Right,� Jill said. �Rent on this building cost KVA nine thousand dollars during the first quarter. Fees to the firm of Yamashito, Yamashito, and Yamashito equaled twenty-five thousand dollars plus travel expenses equaling another four thousand six hundred and eighty-three. Utilities and maintenance fees on the building ran one thousand eight hundred and forty-two. City and state fees related to the operation of a business ran six hundred and nineteen. Catering and entertainment expenses were pretty light this quarter since you�re not practicing in here yet: only two hundred and eighteen dollars so far.�

�That all sounds pretty much like chump change when stood up against the royalties we pay out,� said Jake.

�Perhaps,� said Jill. �But chump change needs to be counted to the penny as well as non-chump change. And chump change can add up.�

�I suppose,� Jake said with a shrug. He pointed to a spot on the third page of the sheet. �This appears to be the bottom line, right?�

�That is the total profits for the quarter,� Jill said.

Everyone turned to that figure. It was $8,212,221.54.

�That�s the money we have to play with for the quarter then?� Jake asked.

�Correct,� Jill said. �In addition, we have six hundred and forty-three thousand, three hundred and eight from the previous quarter still sitting in our account, along with the one hundred and eighteen thousand, one hundred and eleven left over from the original investment money. That gives KVA a total of eight million, nine hundred and seventy-three thousand, six hundred and forty dollars and forty-six cents as of the close of the first quarter of 1993. Now, the question is what would you all like to do with it?�

�Party our asses off!� Jake said enthusiastically.

�Well ... yes, I�m sure you will want to do that,� Jill said. �But aside from that, how should we distribute this profit?�

�We divide it up equally,� said Greg. �That�s what is spelled out in our operating agreement, is it not?�

�Yes, that is an option,� Jill said. �I was never suggesting that we divide up any distributions in anything other than an equal manner. What I want to know is how much do you want to distribute?�

�We don�t want to distribute it all?� asked Greg. �After all, there will be a similar amount coming in next quarter, right?�

�In all likelihood,� Jill agreed. �But it would be my suggestion that you leave a considerable amount in the LLC�s accounts to secure further operations. Jake and Celia both plan to put out another record, right?�

�I do,� Jake agreed.

�So do I,� said Celia.

�It seems likely then that production of two further albums will cost at least as much as it took to produce the two you already have, if not more. The figure of what these two albums cost is on page two of the document.�

They all turned there and saw that the composition, production, manufacturing, and distribution of The Struggle and Can�t Keep Me Down cost KVA Records a grand total of four million, eight hundred and twenty-six thousand, four hundred and eighteen dollars and ninety-three cents. And that figure would continue to go up as they paid for more manufacturing and distribution as the CDs sold. Promotion costs, of course, were accounted differently as they were covered by the royalties being paid to Obie.

�I don�t think further CDs will cost quite that much,� Pauline said.

�No?� Jill asked.

�No,� Pauline said. �A lot of that expense was first time start up expense that will not need to be repeated. In addition, now that KVA has put out two best-selling albums, we�ll be able to negotiate from a position of strength on our next efforts. We should be able to negotiate a royalty rate of around twenty-five to thirty percent with National if we agree to sign with them for the next round.�

�We sign with them?� asked Jake. �What about Obie?�

�Obie was a great help getting the deal we have now because we were an unknown risk,� Pauline said. �He was able to use his influence and reputation to get us that forty percent we now enjoy and he is profiting from the deal quite well. I doubt, however, that he would be able to offer us a lower rate than what the major labels would offer now that we�re hot commodity.�

Jake looked at his sister sharply. �You would just dump Obie, just like that?�

�I would let him attempt to match or beat whatever the best offer was,� she said. �But if he did not or could not ... hell yes I would dump him. This is business. Our personal relationship has nothing to do with it. I�m sure Obie understands that as well.�

Damn, that�s cold, Jake thought, but did not say.

�What are you saying then, Pauline?� Greg asked. �Do you think we�d be able to get two more albums recorded and mastered for three million?�

�I think that sounds like a reasonable figure,� Pauline said.

�Then you think we should leave three million in the KVA accounts and distribute the rest?� asked Celia.

�I�ll vote for that,� Nerdly said. �That would allow us to recoup our original investment and our secondary investment and still have a reasonably significant capital gain for the quarter.�

�Sounds cool to me,� Jake said with a shrug. �After all, we�ll have another eight or nine mil coming in this quarter.�

�What about taxes?� Greg asked.

�You have to pay them,� Jake said. �I�ve found, in my experience, that Uncle Sam and Aunt California absolutely insist upon that.�

Greg rolled his eyes. �Of course we have to pay taxes,� he said. �I pay enough to have my own F-14 fighter. What I mean, is does the LLC have to pay taxes on that three million we�re leaving in the account?�

�You all have to pay taxes on that,� Jill said.

�Even though it�s for reinvestment in the company?� asked Pauline.

�It�s part of the profit made by the LLC,� Jill explained. �Do you remember the reason we set you up as an LLC in the first place? It was to protect your personal finances from liability and set up distribution of the income from the investment. Taxes are still very much part of the picture, however. A limited liability company utilizes pass-through taxation. That means that the company itself is not taxed, but the members in it are taxed on the profits and must account for those earnings on their personal tax returns. You will be responsible at the end of the year for all of the profits you earn as members of this venture whether you leave some of it in the KVA account or not. Once you start spending that three million in the account on the next albums, you�ll be able to deduct those expenses against the profits that were made from that investment. Does that make sense?�

Everyone nodded, even Jake. �That makes sense,� he said.

Jill smiled and looked at her most lucrative client directly. �That means you should not spend all the money you pull in, Jake,� she told him. �I would hold off on buying any new houses, any new airplanes, any new land, until you�ve taken care of your personal tax liabilities.�

Jake smiled at her. �I will take your words under consideration,� he told her.

She shook her head a little. She knew what he meant when he said something like that.

�All right then,� Pauline said. �Are we all in agreement here? Distribute all but three million dollars among the four members?�

Greg mumbled a little, but they were all in agreement.

And so, the quarterly meeting of KVA Records� members�if not their board of directors�came to a close.

�Good meeting,� Jake said. �Does anyone want to go out and grab a little lunch? It�s getting to be that time.�

�I�m in,� Pauline said.

�Sharon and I are actually going on a date to the tar pits,� said Nerdly. �They�re having a presentation in the museum at one o�clock regarding the microfossils and mollusks that were trapped in the tar.�

�They�re going to have displays of the fossils that are not usually shared with the public!� Sharon said excitedly.

�If anyone would like to go with us, you�re more than welcome,� Nerdly added.

�Uh ... well ... yeah,� said Jake. �As fascinating as that sounds, I think I�ll take a pass and just go do some lunch.� He turned to Celia and Greg. �How about you two? We can hit that new place over on Alvarado?�

�Have we heard any reviews on the quality of the establishment yet?� asked Greg.

�We have not,� said Jake. �They�ve only been open a few weeks.�

�Well...� Greg started.

�We�d love to go,� said Celia, overruling him. �I�m starving.�

Greg sighed. �I guess we�re in,� he said.

�Didn�t you have breakfast, Celia?� asked Pauline.

�If you can call it that,� she said sourly. �I ate half a grapefruit and half a cup of cottage cheese.�

�That does not sound particularly appealing,� Jake said.

�Are you on a diet?� asked Sharon.

�Kind of,� Celia said with a shrug. �I haven�t been able to get my runs in as much as I like to lately and ... well ... I put on a few pounds.�

�You did?� asked Jake, looking her up and down. �Where did you put them?�

She smiled. �It was just a few, but it means I�m moving in the wrong direction. My trainer suggested this grapefruit and cottage cheese diet for breakfast and a low carbohydrate diet for the rest of my meals.�

�That�s what you�re eating every morning now?� Pauline asked.

�Yeah, kind of boring, huh? I�ve been doing it for about two weeks now. I used to like grapefruit and cottage cheese.� She shook her head. �Not anymore.�

�Did you talk to your doctor about this diet before you started it?� Pauline asked.

�No,� she said. �Why would I do that?�

�Well, I�ve heard that grapefruit juice sometimes interacts with certain medications and makes them inactive.�

�I�m not taking any medications,� Celia said. �Except my birth control, of course.�

�Birth control is one of those medications I heard can be inactivated by grapefruit juice,� Pauline told her.

�Really?� Celia asked, her eyebrows going up with a bit of alarm.

�That�s what I heard,� Pauline said.

�I believe that is a myth,� said Sharon.

�A myth?� asked Pauline.

�It is my understanding that certain antibiotics and other medications can be degraded in effectiveness by the consumption of grapefruit juice, but that standard progesterone-based birth control pills are not one of them. It can lead to increased side effects from the pills, but should not cause ineffectiveness as long as the dosing schedule is followed.�

�Well ... that�s a relief,� Celia said. �Kind of, anyway. I was hoping for an excuse to stop eating the grapefruit.�

�I am not a doctor, however,� Sharon said. �I would still check with yours regarding your diet.�

�I�ll do that,� Celia promised.

However, by the time they made it to the restaurant and sat down for lunch, she�d forgotten all about the conversation.

Oakland, California

May 21, 1993

Jam-On Productions Studios sat on Martin Luther King Junior Way, just a little north of 18^th Street, in one of the worst neighborhoods in Oakland�a city that was quite notorious for bad neighborhoods. The single-story building was very much like a fortress. It had no windows and the doors were reinforced steel similar to that on a bank vault. The entire property was surrounded by a twelve foot high chain link fence topped with razor wire. Security cameras peered out from every corner of the building.

Inside the building, however, all was clean, sterile, and professional. There were two complete studios that a host of independent rap and hip-hop artists from all over the west coast paid premium dollar to record, mix, and master their music in for distribution.

Gordon Paladay, i.e. Bigg G, had rented three hundred hours of studio time from Jam-On for the price of six hundred dollars an hour. On this day in late May, he was one hundred and ninety-six hours into that allotment and running more or less on schedule.

Jake Kingsley sat on a stool in the isolation room of Studio B, a pair of cans on his ears, his Yamaha acoustic guitar in his hands. He and the Nerdlys had flown up two days before so Jake could record his part of the song Step In, Gordon�s experimental piece he planned as his second release on the new album. Gordon had put the three of them up in a hotel in Jack London Square and had paid all of their travel expenses. Other than that, however, neither Jake nor the Nerdlys were asking for any kind of compensation for their efforts.

�All right, Jake,� said the voice of High-Top, the young engineer who was running the sound board for this session (Jake did not know his real name, and suspected that Gordon didn�t either). �We�re going to do take twelve of Step In, starting with the bridge melody. The band will pick up from the start of the second chorus section and you just fall in with them.�

Jake did not answer verbally, as no one would have heard him. Instead, he raised his left hand up and gave a big thumbs-up.

�All right,� High-Top said. �Let�s do it. Fire when ready, brothers.�

Outside, in the main studio, the drummer and the bass player began to play. The DJ began to twist his turntables back and forth, eliciting the secondary melody. Gordon himself, who was closed into the second isolation room, began to sing out the lyrics of the second chorus. Jake took a moment to orient himself to his place in the tune and then began to play, his left fingers pushing on the fret board, his right hand strumming the strings.

�Can�t you step into his mind, try to see what he been through?� sang Gordon, his voice a rich baritone that sounded vastly different than it did when he was simply rapping.

�Can�t you leave your hate behind, what if that was happening to you?

�Won�t you step into his mind, find a way to see him through?�

�Step into his mind ... yes, step into his mind.�

The bridge of the song started and Jake changed both the tempo and the melody to fit it. He began to strum out the chords while Gordon sang out a rapid-fire series of lyrics that was edging back into the land of straight rap. He sang of brothers in jail and sisters on the welfare, about kids joining gangs and ending up in the morgue, about those who try to save themselves and are called Uncle Tom, about rich motherfuckers who forgot where they come from, about how we should just step into each other�s minds, and try to see things from their different points of view.

Jake enjoyed the song a lot, both the melody and harsh realism of the lyrics. Working with Gordon on the tune had been a lot of fun and had increased his musical respect for the rapper considerably. He played his guitar with all the emotion and feeling that the song deserved, making it all the way through the bridge section and then onto a brief acoustic guitar solo backed by only the DJ. It was just as he began the transition back to the primary melody that High-Top�s voice interrupted.

�All right, homeys,� he said. �Let�s pull it in right here.�

The musicians all stopped, bringing a jangling halt to the music playing in Jake�s headphones.

�What�s the word?� asked Gordon from his booth. �It sounded pretty tight to me.�

�It was,� High-Top said. �That was a great job, Jake. Nerdly and I both think we�ll be able to use the whole take right up to where the solo ended, but as you started the transition back, you edged out of tempo a bit.�

Jake looked at the window into the studio and mouthed �How much?� in exaggerated speech, so they could read his lips.

�Just a little,� High-Top told him. �About as little as a white guy�s dick in the locker room, if you can relate to that shit.�

Jake chuckled and held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart.

�Maybe not even that much,� High-Top told him. �Truth be told, I probably would�ve let it go, but Mr. Nerdly here winced, and G told me that when Mr. Nerdly winces, that means another take is in order.�

Jake nodded and then mimed the act of strumming his guitar.

�That�s right,� High-Top told him. �We�ll do it again. This time picking up from the beginning of the solo. Sound good?�

Jake gave him the thumbs up. A minute later, they did it again.

By some miracle of fate and the Gods of Music (and the fact that the Nerdlys were just advisers in the process and did not actually have veto power), they managed to successfully record all of Jake�s guitar parts in the tune to the satisfaction of High-Top by four o�clock that afternoon without anyone directing any actual violence toward Bill or Sharon. In truth, the Jam-On team seemed somewhat impressed by their anal retentiveness and their ear for music. Particularly as it related to recording acoustic instruments.

�All right then,� Gordon said as Jake emerged from the isolation room, guitar in hand. �Damn good playing in there, Jake.�

�Thanks,� Jake told him. �I�m glad we were able to finish it up today.�

�Will you be able to come back for the overdubs and for any final tweaks before we mix?� Gordon asked.

�You bet your ass,� Jake assured him. �Just tell me when you need me and I�ll fly up.�

�Once we�ve laid down the rest of the tracks for Step we�ll be done with the basics,� Gordon said. �Hopefully that won�t take more than few days or so. After that, I�ll give you a call and we�ll work on polishing Step whenever is convenient for you. I�m thinking we should be able to pound out any additionals from you in one day.�

�Sounds reasonable,� Jake said. �And don�t worry much about my schedule. Celia and I are going to start hitting the rehearsal studio soon to start putting our new material together, but we won�t be as tight as we were for the first albums. Struggle and Down are both still selling pretty well and getting a lot of airplay, so there�s no real rush.�

�I feel you, my man,� Gordon told him. �And I appreciate all you�ve done for me. Step is going to be badass and your guitar playing is what�s gonna put that bad in that ass. Now ... how about we go out and celebrate this collaboration? Drinks are on me.�

�I�d love to, G,� Jake said, �but I really need to get home. There�s a seven o�clock out of Oakland to LAX and I want to be on it.�

�What�s the rush?�

�I talked to Laura on the phone last night,� he said, �and ... well ... she said she had something important she needs to talk to me about. She wouldn�t say what it was, just that she needed to speak to me in person as soon as possible. She sounded a little weird, not herself.�

�No shit?� Gordon asked.

�No shit,� he confirmed. �I found that when someone says something like that to you, you should go find out what�s up as soon as you can.�

Gordon nodded his head. �I can appreciate that shit,� he said. �All right then. We�ll get you to your hotel so you can grab your stuff and then get you off to the airport.�

�Thanks, G,� Jake said.

�What about you two though?� the rapper asked Bill and Sharon. �Do y�all need to go rushing back tonight?�

�Uh ... well ... no, not really,� Nerdly said. �We have no previously arranged commitments until Jake and Celia begin their rehearsal projects.�

�Then how about y�all come out and party with me tonight?� he asked them. �Drinks on me. I know a premium club over on MacArthur Avenue and MLK that we can close down. I�ll send a limo for Neesh and we�ll get hammered in style.�

�MacArthur and MLK,� Nerdly said slowly. �That�s a ... well ... kind of a rough neighborhood, isn�t it?�

�Y�all will undoubtedly be the only whities in the club,� Gordon said. �Is that a problem?�

�Uh ... will we be safe?� Sharon asked.

�Maybe not if you strolled in there on your own,� Gordon said, �but you�ll be with me. I�m known there and I carry some weight. Nobody will bother you. I guarantee it.�

�Well...� Nerdly said, looking at his wife for a moment. She shrugged. �I guess we�ll go then.�

�Beautiful,� Gordon said. �And trust me when I say, the brothers there are going to love you.�

�You think so?� Bill asked.

�I fuckin� know so,� Gordon said. �All you gotta do is start talking about your theories on space and time and the evolution of the sand flea and all that shit that you normally talk about. They�re gonna eat that shit up, homey.�

�Are you sure?� Nerdly ask.

�I guarantee it,� Gordon assured him.

Los Angeles, California

June 5, 1993

The Waterloo Club was a trendy venue on the west side of LA, known for featuring up and coming rock and roll bands on Saturday nights. Van Halen played the Waterloo multiple times back in the day, as had Motley Crue, Guns N� Roses, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Rage Against the Machine, and a multitude of other southern California acts over the years�some of whom went on to fame, most of whom did not.

Tonight�s featured act was a group called Weezer. Jake, Pauline, Nerdly, and Celia arrived at the venue at 6:00 PM, two hours before Weezer was scheduled to play. They had not come to see Weezer. Of the four of them, Pauline was the only one who had even heard of the group. Her information was that they had been signed to Geffen Records�one of the smaller, newer labels�and had just finished recording a debut album, but it had not been released yet. Geffen, it seemed, was a little more liberal about allowing its artists to play gigs prior to an album release than National had been for Intemperance.

The band opening for Weezer was called Lighthouse. It was they the three musicians and their manager had come to see and they were also the reason Lighthouse had gotten such a good gig in the first place. The band featured Ben Ping on bass guitar (and sometimes on acoustic rhythm guitar), Ted Duncan on drums, Phil Genkins laying down the lead vocals, and a man named Lenny Harris on lead guitar. Lenny, like Ben himself, was a lifelong guitar player who, not having made the big time, had gone into teaching the instrument. He was the lead instructor and primary driving force of the guitar program at Thomas Jefferson High School in the valley. The band had been in existence for a little over nine months now and was just starting to pick up some local popularity in the clubs. Whether this was because they were actually good, or because it was known that three of the four members had been the musicians on both Celia Valdez�s and Jake Kingsley�s hit albums, was the subject of endless debate.

The club was moderately crowded as they entered and, within thirty seconds of walking through the door, everyone knew that Jake and Celia (oh ... and Nerdly too) were in the house. The manager of the club, a man named Lou Pinkerton, met them personally at the bar, told them they were not allowed to pay for a single drink during their stay, and then set up a little VIP section for them near the front of the stage.

�Thanks,� Jake told him as they took their seats.

�What can I get for you all?� asked a young waitress with a nose piercing and a tattoo of a snake on her left thigh. She introduced herself as Samantha. She seemed quite starstruck by their presence.

�Captain and Coke,� Jake said.

�I�ll have a glass of the house chardonnay,� said Celia.

�I�ll have an appletini,� said Nerdly.

�An appletini?� asked Samantha, thinking she had misheard him.

�That is kind of gay, Nerdly,� Jake told him.

�Is it?� Nerdly asked.

�Not that there�s anything wrong with that,� Celia put in.

�All right,� Nerdly said. �I wouldn�t want to be accused of consuming a drink associated with male homosexuality. How about an Absolute vodka and cranberry juice on the rocks?�

�Uh ... Absolute and cranberry ... sure,� Samantha said.

�Yeah,� Jake said with a little shake of the head. �That�s a lot more manly there, Nerdly,�.

�Good,� Nerdly said. �I would not want to present a negative public perception regarding my sexuality.�

Samantha then turned to Pauline, the one person she did not recognize in the group. �And you, ma�am?� she asked.

�A Sprite,� Pauline said sourly.

�Sprite?� Samantha asked, raising her eyebrows a bit. �Just a Sprite?�

�Just a Sprite,� she said, her tone turning even more sour.

�All right then,� the waitress said. �I�ll get those right out for you.�

�Thanks,� Jake told her.

While she headed off to the bar to fill their order, Celia turned to Pauline. �Are you sure it�s a good idea for you to be in here, Paulie?� she asked. �All this cigarette smoke is probably not the best thing for your little bundle.�

�Well, I�m not going to make a habit of visiting places like this,� Pauline told her, �but I think we�ll get by with just a few hours.�

�Her developing fetus should remain unaffected,� Nerdly said. �There have been no studies that have conclusively shown passive secondhand smoke in short exposures to be a teratogen. Long term exposure, on the other hand, has been linked by correlation in some studies I�ve read, although, as I�m sure you�re aware, correlation does not equal causation.�

Pauline looked at him. �You read studies about the effects of secondhand smoke on developing fetuses?� she asked.

�Of course,� Nerdly said. �Doesn�t everyone?�

Before Samantha could bring their drinks over, a mob of patrons of the establishment came over and began striking up conversations, asking for autographs from Jake and/or Celia (but never Nerdly) and occasionally asking to have their pictures taken with the two celebrities. Jake and Celia accommodated them with good humor.

�Hey, Jake,� a long-haired, tattooed man in his thirties spoke up, �where�s Laura at? I heard she went out to tour with Bobby Z.� That piece of news had been reported in the entertainment rags several times in the past week.

�Uh ... yeah,� said Jake. �That is true, and that�s where she is. In Pittsburgh getting ready to tour with Bobby Z.�

�She�s a hot piece,� the man told him. �A lot hotter than that fat chick you used to go out with. You know, the pilot chick?�

�Uh ... yeah, I remember the pilot chick,� Jake said. �Although I wouldn�t say she was fat.�

�Yeah, she was fat,� the man said in a matter-of-fact manner, as if his opinion carried the same weight as a law of physics. �She did have some big old fuckin� titties though.�

�I never really noticed,� Jake said dismissively. He then turned to talk to someone else�a skinny blonde woman wearing a denim miniskirt. She had just asked him if he needed someone to keep him company while Laura was away. �I think I�ll be able to get by,� he told her.

�I�ll be around all night if you change your mind,� she assured him.

�I don�t think I will, but I appreciate the offer,� Jake said.

Celia, meanwhile, was being told by a butch lesbian in leather how deep and meaningful her song Why? was (Why? was currently topping the charts across the United States, three weeks at Number 1 so far) and how it always elicited an emotional response when she heard it.

�I love everything on the album,� the woman told her, �but Why? just gets me right where I live. I play that song over and over again, sometimes thirty times in a row.�

�That�s quite a lot of playing,� Celia told her.

�Yeah,� she said dreamily. She then gave Celia a smoldering look. �So ... where�s your husband? That Greg guy?�

�Greg�s not a big fan of going out to clubs,� Celia told her.

�That�s too bad,� she said. �Tell me ... you ever gotten together with another woman?�

�Uh ... no, I never have,� Celia said.

�Ever thought about it?�

She smiled. �Of course I�ve thought about it,� she said saucily. �But, alas, I am married. I don�t think Greg would approve.�

�Who says he needs to know about it?� the woman asked.

Celia laughed a little and said lightly, �You�re funny.� She then turned and began talking to someone else.

When their drinks finally came, Lou Pinkerton showed up at the table with two large bouncers in tow. They chased everyone away from the table, telling them to leave the special guests alone and let them enjoy the show. There was some grumbling of displeasure but nobody wanted to challenge the bouncers. They all wandered a respectful distance away but stayed as close as they could get away with, in a loosely defined perimeter.

�Thanks for the drinks, Lou,� Jake said, dropping a ten dollar bill on Samantha�s tray.

�Tipping is not necessary, Jake,� Lou told him. �Your presence is gratuity enough, right Sam?�

�Uh...� Samantha started.

Jake shook his head. �I would not dream of not tipping someone who brings drinks to me,� he said. �Especially when the drinks are on the house.�

�Well ... okay, I suppose,� Pinkerton said.

�Thank you,� Jake said. �And thank you as well, Samantha.�

�You�re very welcome, Jake,� she said with a flirtatious smile.

She retreated to other duties and Lou headed backstage. One of the bouncers stayed nearby, to make sure that perimeter around the celebrities stayed intact. They settled in and sipped from their drinks, Pauline making a sour face every time she sipped from her Sprite.

�Tell me again why you needed to drag me here?� Pauline asked Jake as she looked around at everyone staring at them.

�You are the managerial face of KVA Records,� Jake told her. �If these guys agree to sign back up with us for the next two albums, they�re going to need to hear some management shit.�

�They will be just as well compensated for their work on the next two albums as they were on the first one,� Pauline said. �I cannot conceive of musicians of their present stature trying to squeeze out a better deal than what we gave them last time. In fact, we could have just done all of this over the phone and I wouldn�t have to be sitting here pregnant in a smoky bar and Celia wouldn�t have to fend off propositions from bull dykes.�

�Yes, that was quite blatant, wasn�t it?� Celia said with a little shake of her head. �And she really has no chance with me�the poor thing. If I was going to do it with a woman, it would have to be a feminine one. Otherwise, what would be the point?�

�I�m with you there, sister,� Pauline said. She turned back to Jake. �Anyway, those are my feelings on the matter.�

Jake shrugged (still pondering the thought of Celia getting it on with another woman�not exactly an unpleasant mental picture). �I kind of wanted to see how these guys play,� he said. �Ben told me this guy they got on guitar is pretty good with it, and he�s a songwriter. They�ve got like six original tunes in their set.�

Pauline sighed and took another sip of her Sprite. �Okay then,� she said. �We�ll check them out. But can we leave after we talk to them? I really have no interest in seeing Weezer get up there and hack away.�

�Deal,� Jake said with a nod. In truth, he didn�t really want to see the headliner play either. Though he would have declared with a straight face that he was not one to judge a band on its name alone, he privately thought that any group who called themselves Weezer could not possibly be any good.

�We should�ve invited Coop to come here with us,� Nerdly said. �He probably would�ve liked to get out ... you know ... since the whole debacle with Veteran.�

�I�m not sure Coop would have really wanted to see us negotiating with musicians for an upcoming album now that he�s in contract lock,� Pauline said. �Nor am I particularly fond of being reminded of that whole mess.�

Veteran, the supergroup Pauline had been managing and had profited quite nicely from, had had themselves a little meltdown just as they finished up their North American tour. The strife between the band members and the drunken, coked out, stoned performances had become too much for Coop. He resigned from the band and was now back in Los Angeles, riding out the rest of his contract and living off the royalties from Veteran and Intemperance. The band had recruited another drummer but were having endless difficulties putting together material for the follow-up album they were contractually obligated to make. At some point along the way the remaining members decided that their problems were all Pauline�s fault and told her she was fired. She could have fought the firing�after all, she had signed on as their manager for the entire duration of their contract with Aristocrat (four periods) and they really did not have the legal right to fire her�but, tired of dealing with them, she had gone quietly. She would still collect royalties in perpetuity for their debut album�which had recently passed triple platinum and was still selling upwards of twenty thousand copies a month�but anything they sold from here out would go into the pocket of Ronald Shaver, who had swooped in and snatched them up before the ink had even been dry on the severance paperwork between Pauline and Veteran.

�I suppose you have a point there,� Nerdly admitted.

�Veteran�s next album is going to bomb,� Jake predicted. �If they even manage to put one together.�

�Well ... far be it from me to wish ill upon them,� Pauline said, �but ill is what I wish them. Except for Coop, they were nothing but a pain in my ass from day one.�

�Everything in life is a lesson, right?� asked Celia.

�Right,� Pauline said. �And I�m putting the lesson of �don�t sign up to manage a band full of egotistical druggies� right up there with �vasectomies are not a completely reliable method of birth control�.�

Jake nodded respectfully. �Well said, Paulie,� he told her.

�Fuck off,� she returned.

Jake managed to get two more Captain and cokes into his stomach before the house lights went down and Lighthouse took the stage. The crowd cheered enthusiastically for them, especially after Pinkerton told them that the key members of the band had been the musicians backing both Jake Kingsley and Celia Valdez on their recent hit albums and that Jake and Celia (oh, and Nerdly too) were currently in the audience to watch their prot�g�s in action.

The band put on a decent enough performance and Jake was impressed with them. It was obvious that they had put in a lot of rehearsal time. They opened up with a cover of Del Shannon�s Runaway, playing it with an almost heavy metal style, including a nicely done guitar solo after the second verse. The only real issue was that Phil, with his baritone voice, was unable to quite hit the high notes in the chorus as Del had back in the day. After Runaway, they stepped neatly into a cover of Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones, again adding a little heavy metal flair to the tune. Then, after a little between song banter by Phil, they launched into two of their original tunes.

The originals were a stark contrast to their covers. The first one�which was apparently entitled The Lost Times�was performed with both Lenny and Ben playing acoustic guitars and only a gentle backbeat from Ted on the drums. The lyrics were a concise and thought-provoking examination of a failing relationship that kept plodding along anyway. The second one, titled The Firing Line, did feature Lenny on the distorted electric and Ben back on the bass, but the tempo was slow and the distortion was not heavy. Essentially a song about taking a chance and trying to change a desperate situation, it played out rather nicely and included a good, mellow guitar solo and some nice vocal work by Phil.

In all, they did all six of their original tunes and four covers, closing out with a pleasant version of While My Guitar Gently Weeps that was played more or less as true to form, as if the Beatles themselves had been up there laying it down. The crowd cheered enthusiastically as Phil thanked them for coming and told them to enjoy Weezer, who would be taking the stage in forty-five minutes.

�Not bad, huh?� Jake asked as the lights came back up and the crowd began to move toward the bar or the restrooms.

�I enjoyed it,� Celia said. �Particularly the last number. I�ve always loved that song.�

�I thought their original material was decently arranged,� Nerdly said. �They really should have someone work on their sound mixing, however.�

�Not everyone can have a Nerdly working their sound, Bill,� Jake told him.

�True,� Nerdly agreed. �What did you think, Pauline?�

She shrugged. �They weren�t painful to listen to,� she offered. �And at least they�re keeping in practice for us.�

It took the members of Lighthouse about fifteen minutes to clear all their equipment from the stage. Once that was done, Jake and the others were led through a small door into the backstage area by Pinkerton himself. As had been the case when he�d gone back to meet the group Brainwash in Boston after Celia�s wedding and the little aircraft incident that had compelled him to stay an extra day (I wonder how Brainwash is doing these days? Jake took a moment to wonder. Are they still together? Still touring?) an overwhelming rush of nostalgia for his own club days washed over him. Everything reminded him of those chump-change sessions they had done for more than a year in Heritage: the smell of sour sweat and cigarette smoke, the tubs of beer on ice, the tiny, cramped accommodations, the instrument cases and amps stacked in a corner, even the filthy, undersized bathroom that smelled like stale urine and had a perpetually running tank.

�Jake! Celia! Nerdly!� greeted Ted as he saw them come in. �Oh ... and Pauline too. Welcome!�

At his voice, the other members of the band offered their greetings as well. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged. Everyone was introduced to Lenny, the guitar player and songwriter.

�Nice work up there, Lenny,� Jake complimented. �Both in playing and composition.�

�Thanks, Jake,� Lenny said, pleased with the praise. �I have to say that I�m having a lot of fun with this group.�

�I hear you�re a guitar teacher like Ben,� Celia said. �At one of the high schools?�

�That�s right,� Lenny replied. �That�s how Ben and I met. We were both at one of the music instructor seminars we were taking for continuing education credits on our teaching credentials. We were the only two guitar players there.�

�That was a stupid class,� Ben said with a shake of the head.

�It was,� Lenny agreed. �Absolutely nothing said there applied to teaching guitar in any way.� He shrugged. �It was eight CEUs though.�

�True,� Ben said. �And they did have that cool bar just down the street from the complex.�

�Hell to the yeah,� Lenny said. �I don�t think the instructors appreciated much that we hit that bar up during the lunch hour.�

They shared a laugh over this.

�Anyway,� Ben said, �Len and I kind of bonded during that class and we got together a few times after it, then we kind of lost touch a bit when I started working with you guys on the albums. When it came time to put Lighthouse together and we needed a guitarist, Len was the first one I thought of. I gave him a call and we got together. It�s kind of a bonus that he�s a songwriter as well.�

�I�m trying to be, anyway,� Lenny said shyly.

�I think you�ve succeeded,� Jake told him. �I enjoyed the original tunes you laid down out there. Good work.�

�Really?� Lenny said, his eyes looking at Jake carefully, as if to see if he were being jerked off.

�Really,� Jake assured him. �I don�t give false praise.�

�I thought you did a good job as well,� Celia added.

�You really should work on your sound mixing a bit though,� Nerdly put in.

A look passed between the members of Lighthouse, a look that Jake was not quite sure how to interpret.

�You really liked us?� Phil asked.

�We really did,� Jake assured them.

�That�s very good to hear,� Ben said. He hesitated for a moment and then said, �You see ... we were kind of hoping that maybe Pauline might be interested in ... you know ... managing us.�

�Managing you?� Pauline said. �You mean like ... as your manager?�

�That�s right,� Ben said. �The way you do Jake and Celia and Veteran.�

�I don�t manage Veteran anymore,� she said. �They fired me.�

�Man, that�s fucked up,� Ted said, shaking his head. �But that means you have an opening then?�

�Well...�

�We�d be really grateful, Pauline,� Phil put in quickly. �I honestly think we have what it takes to make it in the industry once we come up with a few more tunes.�

�Hell to the yeah,� Ted said. �And with your connections, we can get better gigs and get our name out there. Once our name is out there, I�m sure you can get us a recording contract, right?�

�Uh ... well...� Pauline said, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

�Or maybe we could sign with KVA?� Phil suggested. �That would be my preference, actually.�

�Mine too,� said Ben. �I remember hearing your horror stories about signing with the majors, Jake.�

�Uh...� Jake said, and then could think of nothing to follow it up with. This conversation had turned awkward quickly.

�That�s ... well ... a very interesting proposal, guys,� Pauline said, �but ... honestly, I�m not sure it�s feasible at this particular moment in time.�

Their faces all fell a few notches as they heard her words.

�Not feasible?� Ted said. �What do you mean? Why not?�

�Well ... primarily is the reason we actually came to see you,� Pauline said.

�What reason is that?� asked Ben.

�We came to see if you�re ready to start working on Jake and Celia�s next album,� she told them. �They�ve got some tunes they want to start putting together.�

�The next albums,� Phil said slowly. �That�s why you�re here?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �We would offer the same deal as before. Fifty dollars an hour for the sessions, including the recording time, and royalties on the completed projects.�

They all looked at each other for a moment and then back at Jake. �Uh ... well, we certainly appreciate you thinking of us again,� Ben finally said. �But ... well ... I don�t really think that I�ll be able to do it.�

�You won�t?� Pauline asked, raising her brows a bit.

�Me either, to tell the truth,� said Ted.

Jake had not been expecting this answer from them. After all, they had cleaned up quite nicely on the last albums, each of them pulling in handsome hourlies from KVA Records and, now that Struggle had gone well past double platinum and Down was fast approaching it, were raking in a respectable amount of royalty pay each quarter. �Why not?� he asked them.

�There is no way the college is going to grant me another leave of absence,� said Ben. �That�s the big reason.�

�Me either,� added Ted. �I used up all my favors and strings to pull taking that last LOA. I�d have to quit to commit to you for the next round, or at least drop to part-time and do some really complicated scheduling to meet my minimums.�

�Oh ... I see,� Jake said. That the work conflict might be a problem had honestly not occurred to him.

�I�m really sorry, guys,� Ben said. �I had a blast playing with you the last time�it was the time of my life, to tell you the truth�but now I�ve got a baby at home and a wife who needs to work as well and ... I just can�t commit to the same thing this time around. It won�t work.�

�I see,� Pauline said. It was obvious she had not been expecting this answer either. She turned to Phil. �What about you?� she asked him. �You�ve been doing some vocal sessions over at the studios, right?�

�That�s how I�m getting by these days,� Phil confirmed. �It�s thin pickings at times, I won�t lie about that. The royalty checks from KVA and the money I banked recording with you the first time are what is keeping my head above water most months.�

�Would you be able to commit to being our baritone backup singer once we get to the studio?� Jake asked him. �That won�t be for a few months at least, of course. We can work the tunes up without you but we would need you for the recording process.�

Phil swallowed. �Uh ... well...� He looked at his bandmates for a moment and then back at Jake. �The truth of the matter is ... uh...� He faded out.

�What is the truth of the matter, Phil?� Pauline asked him.

Ben answered for him. �I said that work scheduling was one of the reasons we can�t do it,� he said. �The other is that ... well ... we�re kind of committed to making Lighthouse into a success. We all think we�re making a lot of progress with that. That�s why we were excited to have you come see us.�

�Yeah,� said Ted. �We wanted to show you what we got.�

�You showed us what you have,� Celia said. �And we were impressed.�

�That was our goal,� Ben said. �To impress you and hopefully have you manage us, Pauline.�

�Even if I did manage you,� Pauline said, �and was able to secure a recording contract for you, wouldn�t the work issue still be there? Wouldn�t you still have a baby at home, Ben? Wouldn�t you still have to quit or drop to part-time, Ted?�

�Yes, of course,� said Ben, �but then we�d be getting paid by whatever record company you got us signed with. We would have permanent income to replace our job income and not just a temporary influx of money that is going to end at some point.�

�And actually, we were really hoping that KVA would be the label to sign us,� Ted said. �You guys are badass.�

�Thank you,� Pauline said, �but, unfortunately, there are several things wrong with that scenario. In the first place, KVA is not financially in a position to sign any other acts to the label. It costs about a million and a half or so to get an album into production. We would have to lay out that money in advance, long before any revenue came in from the album itself. With Jake and Celia, we know they�re going to sell enough to cover that and produce profit. With Lighthouse however ... well ... I don�t quite know how to say this, but ... you�re an unknown variable, especially at this point in your evolution. We have no idea if your music is marketable. And even if it is, you would have to tour to promote it, something KVA really can�t afford to finance. We simply cannot risk the unknown like that.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �We have a Japanese accountant and a certain character actor who would ream our asses out if we even considered such a thing.�

They all nodded solemnly at this, but they weren�t giving up quite yet. �What about another label?� asked Ben. �You could still manage us, Pauline, and maybe get us signed to one of the other record labels, couldn�t you?�

She was shaking her head. �I�m sorry guys, but it just won�t work. I�m not a highly connected music manager in the industry. I have some connections, of course, but I�m not well thought of. The best I could ever hope for would be to get someone to at least listen to a demo tape of you, but even if they agreed to sign you, they would push one of those first-time contracts on you. Jake has told you about those contracts, hasn�t he?�

�Yes,� Ben said slowly. �He did talk about the Intemperance contract a few times.�

�It�s a contract that virtually guarantees you will not make any actual money,� Jake said. �To put it kindly, you would be signing on to get raped in the ass with a sandpaper dildo.�

�Without sufficient lubrication on said artificial phallus,� put in Nerdly.

�And I absolutely will not have any part of signing anyone to a contract such as that,� Pauline said. �I would be the most awful hypocrite if I did, and I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror.�

�But couldn�t you negotiate us something better?� asked Ted. �You know, at least something like the second contract between Intemperance and National?�

�Hey now,� Jake said seriously. �No one ever said there was a second contract between Intemperance and National. That is nothing but speculation.�

�That�s right,� Pauline said. �But let�s talk theoretically for a moment here. If there was a second Intemperance contract�something that made sure the band at least made money for their efforts and removed the sandpaper from the dildo and allowed a little lube to be in place�there is no way in hell that any major label would agree to such a thing for an unknown band represented by me. It just wouldn�t fly. They wouldn�t even listen to me about it. I would quite literally be laughed out of any exec�s office for even suggesting such a thing.�

Lenny spoke up for the first time. �You don�t seem to be very confident in your abilities as a band manager,� he said.

She turned and locked eyes onto him. �I am an outstanding band manager,� she said, �and I have every confidence in my abilities. Part of what makes me effective in this role is my self-honesty. I am not blowing smoke up your ass, my friend. I do not do that. I am giving you a completely realistic assessment of that which you are proposing. The music industry is a brutal game with no clear set of rules. Unknown bands are chewed up and spit out by the industry on a daily basis�and those are the few that are even lucky enough to make it into the mouth to be chewed on. There is no way in hell that the four of you are going to be able to walk into any kind of profitable recording contract right now. Your odds of even getting screwed are pretty steep at this point. I�m sorry if that�s not what you want to hear, but that is the situation as I see it.�

�Damn,� Ted said, shaking his head. �What a bummer.�

�It is a bummer,� Jake had to agree. �It took us almost three years and two best selling albums just to get in a position where we could even think of negotiating with those fucks. And even after that, it was like pulling teeth for every step forward.�

�So ... you�re rejecting us then?� Lennie asked Pauline. �You won�t manage us?�

�I simply can�t be a part of even trying to set you up for exploitation,� she said. �I�m sorry. I wish it was otherwise.�

�How about if you just agreed to manage us for the club scene then?� asked Phil.

�How�s that?� Pauline asked.

�I still think you can help us,� Phil said. �Leave the recording contracts out of it. How about if you sign up to manage us and just use your influence to get us gigs in the clubs here in So-Cal?�

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. �I don�t have any connections in the clubs,� she said.

�You wouldn�t really have to,� Phil said. �We got this gig here today simply because we were part of Jake and Celia�s band on their album. If you just called up some of the more exclusive clubs in the region and told them you were Jake and Celia�s manager and were now representing us, they would probably at least give us auditions. I think we�re good enough that they would accept us if they heard us. We would pay your standard rate, of course.�

�Of course,� she said slowly. �And tell me, what did they pay you for this gig?�

�Uh ... well ... three hundred dollars,� Phil said.

�Three hundred dollars,� Pauline said. �My standard rate is twenty percent. So, let�s say I could get you gigs at other clubs for similar compensation. That means I would be making sixty dollars a gig, right?�

�Well ... I know it�s not much,� Phil admitted, �but our gig money would go up as we got more popular, right?�

�Especially if you�re in there negotiating for us,� added Ted.

�A good point,� Pauline said. �After a few months of doing this I might expect to start getting as much as a hundred dollars a gig for using my valuable time in this manner.�

�Uh ... well ... when you put it like that,� Ted said, �I guess it really doesn�t sound like much, does it?�

�It does not,� Pauline said.

�I have an idea,� Jake said.

�What�s that?� Pauline asked.

�Maybe there�s room for a deal here, a compromise of sorts.�

�Yeah?� Ted asked.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �We each have something the other wants. You need a manager to help you get better gigs and more exposure, right?�

�Right,� Ben said.

�And we need some professional level musicians to help us put two albums worth of songs together.�

�Right,� Ben said again. �We still have the problem of not being able to get leaves of absence to help you out with that though.�

�Summer is now here,� Jake said. �Ben, you�re off during the summer, correct?�

�I am,� he said.

�And Ted, you said there was a possibility of dropping to part-time and only working occasionally. Is that something you could do in the next two weeks?�

�Well ... they wouldn�t like it, but I could probably get them to agree to it.�

�And Phil, you�re pretty much wide open, right?�

�Pretty much,� he said. �They wouldn�t miss me too much down at the studios. But what about the band?�

�I�m getting there,� Jake said. �My proposal is that you come work with us through the summer in the KVA studios. Help us get our shit together until it�s time to go back to school. We�ll pay you the same rate as we did before and work the same hours. And then, when the summer is done, Pauline will sign on as your manager for the purpose of getting you club gigs around the region.�