Where did he even get these musicians? Matt wondered bitterly. He recognized Pauline as one of the backup singers, but he had no idea whatsoever who everyone else was. But goddamn if they couldn’t play. The dude on the lead guitar—Jake was apparently too pussy to play out his own solos and riffs—was talented, laying down the licks with mechanical precision and artistry. The bass player was solid as well, keeping the rhythm perfectly and transitioning seamlessly through the tempo changes. And the fat guy on the drums! He was pounding out some complex shit up there. Where the fuck had he been when Matt was looking for a percussionist? Who were these people and where had Jake found them?
Put Me Out There ended in a finale of distorted guitar riffs by Jake, a wind-down solo by the lead guitarist, and a flurry of pounding beats by the drummer. The crowd cheered again, the sound of it a physical thing that Matt could feel in his chest. When it began to die down a bit, Jake stoked it by stepping to his microphone and introducing the lead guitarist.
“Lenny Harris on the Telecaster!” Jake shouted. “Lenny Harris. Give it up for him!”
They gave it up. Matt still had no idea who the guitarist was. The name Lenny Harris meant absolutely nothing to him.
A stagehand that Matt now recognized from the last Intemperance tour trotted out on the stage and gave Jake back his black and white Les Paul in exchange for the drop-D tuned sunburst. The drummer gave another four-count and they launched into The Easy Way, which was the very first song that Jake had released and promoted in his solo career; the song with the heavy synthesizer melody, the one Matt had not thought much of upon first hearing it but that had grown on him considerably since (much to his chagrin). It still received fairly frequent airplay on the rock and pop stations, usually in the afternoons, early evenings, and early morning hours. They played through the slow intro part and then went up-tempo after the first verse, adding in the distorted drop-D guitar atop the synthesizer and Jake’s three-chord melody. But mostly what carried the tune was Jake’s most valuable weapon: his voice and the range he was capable of reaching with it. It was arguably the best voice currently singing in rock and roll and Jake knew how to use it. The crowd once again began to dance and sing along with the tune. To his surprise and near-horror, Matt actually found himself swaying his shoulders and singing along with the first chorus. He snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he was doing.
What the fuck is the matter with me? he thought, shaking his head at himself. I need to get the fuck out of here and start prepping for my own show. But he did not move from his spot. And, a few minutes later, during the bridge to final chorus transition, his shoulders started swaying once again and he began singing along with the lyrics, not even realizing he was doing it.
After Easy, Jake and his band raised the mellow meter once again, performing Nothing is Different Now, which used the piano for the primary melody and Jake’s Les Paul in the clean configuration for the rhythm guitar. The lead guitarist played only fills on the in-betweens and the drumming was a soft, repetitive beat that one barely noticed—a stark contrast to the earlier drumbeats. Still, the song was one of Jake’s more popular ones and the crowd enjoyed it. Matt spent the whole tune trying to figure out just who Jake was singing about. Was it Helen? Or that Mindy Snow bitch? Probably Mindy Snow, he figured. Jake always did have this weird habit of getting too emotionally involved with the bitches he fucked. The dumb shit had actually even married one of them. Fucking married! Matt certainly did not understand that.
Different ended and they dialed things up again. They played the song Domain of Eminence, from the latest CD, a tune that was just starting to get airplay across the nation. It seemed to be about greedy real estate developers using their shady connections on municipal councils to forcibly take land from people who had held it for generations just so they could slap down more tract homes, roads, and strip malls. The song hit a little bit home for Matt as he was someone who had recently lost one of his homes to The Man, not by eminent domain, but by tax arrears. Still, he could appreciate the emotion that Jake sung about in the verses and chorus.
When the applause from that song died down, the stagehand reappeared and Jake changed out his Les Paul for the Fender acoustic-electric again. The violinist and the lead guitarist left the stage. Jake walked up to his microphone and began to speak to the crowd again.
“Do you all mind if I introduce you to someone very special to me?” he asked them.
They cheered out their approval of this plan.
“All right,” Jake said, nodding. “I’d like to introduce my wife, Laura Kingsley. Come on out here, Laura!”
Another round of applause, louder this time, erupted as Jake’s bitch emerged from the backstage area, a straight soprano sax in her hands. Matt looked her up and down appreciatively. Yeah, her tits were kind of small, but she really was a hot piece of ass, all considered. He could see why Jake liked fucking her. She had a sweet, innocent face and a petite, rocking body. She was what was known in male circles as a spinner. He wondered if there was any truth to those entertainment rag stories about how she dyked out with female groupies out on tour. After a moment’s thought, however, he decided there probably wasn’t. A bitch that cute and innocent looking probably did not munch muff. And she certainly wouldn’t take it up the ass. Would she even slurp schlong? His instinct said no, but he had to figure that Jake wouldn’t marry any bitch unless she would suck cock and suck it well.
The ginger bitch came and stood next to Jake, a shy, nervous smile on her face. Jake used his right arm to give her a hug. She returned it and then they broke apart. Jake returned to the microphone. Laura continued to stand next to him, looking out over the crowd.
“Some of you may know this,” Jake told them, “and some of you may not, but Laura is a saxophonist. She plays on Celia Valdez’s first and third releases and has just come off a long tour playing for her in North America and Europe. In fact, she flew in from Poland just last night so she could be here to help me out with this next tune.”
Another round of cheers. Matt pondered this information. Yes, he knew that Kingsley’s bitch was that Mexican bitch’s sax player and had been touring with her. After all, the tabloid rags and the entertainment shows had been going on about the whole Celia Valdez and Laura Kingsley lesbian sex scandals for the past few months (Matt could kind of picture Celia Valdez sticking her face in some muff—and the mental picture was not unpleasant at all). But had he just said that she had flown in from Poland? And that she was going to perform with him right now? How the fuck was that possible? That would mean that they had had no rehearsal time for the tune they were about to play (it had to be South Island Blur, Matt realized. That was the only Jake Kingsley tune that had any sax in it at all. And it was soprano sax, the same instrument his bitch was now holding in her hands). Was the moment of Kingsley’s downfall now here? They seriously could not think that they could just step up and pull off a tune like that without prior rehearsal, did they? Even if they were already intimately familiar with the piece, shit like that just could not be done—not outside of a cheesy Hollywood movie or TV show anyway.