“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Are you at your desk right now?”
“I am,” she said. “I was just going through some emails.”
“Get on the internet and bring up Music Alive’s site. Hopple says that the press release is there.”
“Okay,” she said. “Hang on a minute. Let me close out the email and bring up Yahoo.” He heard the sound of her tapping on the keyboard and clicking the mouse. “It’s coming up now. I really love this DSL modem you had them put in. It’s so much faster than the dial-up.”
“It had to be,” Matt said. “It took forever to download a fucking porn video with the dial-up. Even the pictures took like fifteen minutes apiece. You can’t jack off at that pace.”
“I suppose that’s as good a reason as any,” she said. “Okay, here we go. Music Alive ... Music Alive ... where are you? I wish the damn search engine would give me the relevant fucking sites I’m looking for and not a bunch of articles about past concerts and speculation about whether or not music is still alive.”
“Yeah, that is a bitch, isn’t it?” Matt said. “Especially when you’re looking for porn.” Which was the only reason Matt ever used the search engine, or indeed the computer. “I was looking for some once and put in ‘great tits’ and do you know what it came up with at the top of the list? Pictures of fucking birds!”
“Birds?” she asked.
“Yeah. Apparently, there is some bird somewhere that is called a great tit. As if that is what anyone typing in ‘great tits’ is looking for.”
“Huh,” Kim said. “A bird called a great tit. Who would’ve thought? Well, hopefully, somebody somewhere is working on a better search engine. They’ll be able to dominate the market if they can come up with one. Here we are ... Music Alive Incorporated. Clicking the link now.” A pause. “Okay, here’s a link for the Tsunami Sound Festival. Loading ... Loading ... ahh, there it is. The lineup for both nights. Hopple was right. You’re listed as the headliner on both nights. Jake Kingsley is listed as the second-to-last act on both nights.”
“Motherfucker,” Matt said angrily.
“There’s even a teaser line here saying that this will be the first time that Matt Tisdale and Jake Kingsley have appeared together since the breakup of Intemperance.”
“Fuck me!” he barked. “Even if I would allow myself to step onto the same stage where Kingsley just fucking played—which I will not—we weren’t going to be playing together. Those fucking record people and their goddamn lies.”
“I’m sure they prefer to call it innuendo,” Kim offered.
“I’m sure they do,” he said. “Get in my rolodex and get me that fuckhead Stillson’s phone number. I need to give his ass a call.”
“All right, hang on.”
A minute later, the number was written down and Matt was making yet another international phone call. This time Jerry Stillson’s secretary tried to refuse to accept the international charge on the grounds that Mr. Stillson was unavailable to speak to Mr. Tisdale currently.
“You’d better make his ass available and do it now,” Matt cut in. “If he’s not talking to me on this phone in the next thirty seconds, he can take his fuckin’ Tsunami Sound Festival and shove it up his ass!”
“Uh ... well ... in that case ... uh ... let me see what I can do,” she stammered.
“Then you will accept the charge from the United Kingdom?” the operator enquired again, her voice still monotone and bored.
“Yes,” the secretary said. “I will accept the charge.”
“Thank you,” the operator said. She then promptly clicked off the line.
“I’m going to put you on hold, Mr. Tisdale and see if I can track down Mr. Stillson.”
“Thirty seconds,” Matt warned. “That’s all you got.”
“I will try,” she promised.
The phone clicked and the on-hold music began. It was classical music. Mozart’s Serenade No. 13 in G-major. Matt did not know that was the name of it, but he recognized it instantly because one of his favorite porno flicks had an awesome lesbian shower scene that was set to the piece.
Twenty-seven seconds later, the phone clicked in his ear, cutting off the Mozart. It was Stillson on the line. “Matt!” he said, his voice glad-handed and smooth. “Gloria came and got me out of a meeting. She said you had something of importance to discuss?”
“That’s right, Stillson,” Matt told him. “I just found out that you got fucking Kingsley set to open for me on both nights of the TSF.”
“Uh ... well ... yes, that is correct,” Stillson said.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were going after Kingsley before?” he demanded.
“Well ... the fact of the matter is, we just signed Mr. Kingsley a week or so ago. Until then, we weren’t sure he was going to be performing.”
“But you’ve been talking to him about this shit since long before then, haven’t you?”
“Well ... yes, we did approach Jake several months ago about the possibility of performing.”
“So, in other words, you didn’t tell me about that then because you knew it would fucking piss me off. And you didn’t tell me about it when he signed because you thought maybe I wouldn’t hear about it over here in Europe, right?”
“Matt,” Stillson said soothingly, “I think you’re reading too much into this. There was no conspiracy to withhold the truth from anyone.”
“Did Kingsley know I was going to be the headliner when he agreed to play?”
“Not at first,” Stillson admitted. “Of course, when we offered the gig to him initially, we had not even approached you yet.”
“But he knows about it now?”
“It did come to his attention,” Stillson said.
“And he still agreed to play?” Matt asked angrily. “Knowing that he would be opening for me?”
“I will admit that when he first found out that you were to be the headliner, he initially withdrew his verbal commitment to play. But then, a few days later, Pauline Kingsley called us up to tell us that he had changed his mind.”
“Really?” Matt asked. “Why the fuck would he do that?”
“He did not explain himself to us,” Stillson said. “Nor did we ask for an explanation.”
“Well, I’m going to explain myself to you,” Matt told him. “I will not play on the same stage as Jake Kingsley. Drop him from the lineup or drop me. The choice is yours.”
“We cannot drop Jake from the lineup at this point,” Stillson said. “We have signed a contract with him.”
“Then I guess you’re going to have to drop me. Good luck finding another headliner.”
“Matt, we have signed a contract with you as well,” Stillson reminded him.
“I don’t give a fuck about that contract,” Matt said. “You can shove it up your fuckin’ ass! Keep your million-four! I don’t fucking need it!”
“Matt, you need to be reasonable on this,” Stillson said. “And you need to consider the ramifications.”
“What ramifications?”
“We’ve already laid down a significant amount of money to National Records to obtain the performance rights for your music. That money is nonrefundable. That is the first thing.”
“Sue me then,” Matt challenged.
“Don’t you understand, Matt,” Stillson said, “that is exactly what you will be forcing us to do if you back out of this contract at this point in time. We have already publicly announced that you are the headliner for both nights of the TSF. People are already buying tickets for the event based on that information. We have already invested money and time into the event. If you back out without just cause—and the fact that you do not wish to have Jake Kingsley open for you is not just cause—you will be liable for all expenses related to your withdrawal and may be subject to punitive damages on top of that.”
“Do your fuckin’ worst,” Matt told him. “I’m giving you an ultimatum. Kingsley goes or I do. Make your choice.”