They played the song out well—the lead guitarist playing the solo for this one—and then finished up with a final flurry of guitar and drums that lasted nearly thirty seconds. Once the last note faded out, the crowd once again gave a standing O after Jake thanked them and told them good night. The entire band put down their instruments and stepped to the front of the stage. Kingsley’s bitch trotted out from backstage to join them. They linked arms and took a few bows before heading off the stage. The crowd called for an encore, but that was not to be. The show was on a timeline and Matt, as the headliner, was the only one who was allowed to give an encore.
Matt waited until the applause and cheers died down—it took nearly three minutes—and then turned and walked into the narrow corridor that led back to guarded access gate for the SVIP section. The guards looked at the all-access pass around his neck, gave him a nod, and he started walking back to the trailer he and his band had been assigned to. He was troubled as he made the journey.
That asshole just put on one fuck of a show, he kept thinking. Did I really think he was going to step up there and bomb? Yes, he really had. How painfully naïve that thought seemed now. This was Jake Kingsley, after all. Jake always had been the master of planning out performances, had been the driving force behind what had made Intemperance’s live shows so appealing to crowds with his witchlike sense of how to play to their emotions and psychology. He had been doing it ever since their days playing the clubs in Heritage, had perfected the art once the band had been given back control of their sets after the renegotiation of their contract granted them the power to use him in that role once again. How in the hell did I forget that? Did I think he just lost that when Intemperance broke up?
The most unsettling thought, however, was: How can I compete with what he just did? Me, with my standard set we’ve been playing all along, a set we haven’t played or rehearsed in more than three weeks now, and with a sound team that aren’t worthy to suck Nerdly’s dick?
The answer to that, he feared, was that he could not.
He entered the trailer to find his band extremely anxious and agitated.
“Jesus Christ, Matt!” Austin said. “Where the fuck have you been? We have to report to the stage in ten fucking minutes!”
“And you’re not even dressed yet!” added Corban.
Matt simply shrugged. “I was just out wandering around and checking out the gash,” he said.
“Checking out the gash?” Austin cried. “Now?”
“Yep,” Matt said simply. “I’m gonna get changed. Should only take me a few minutes.”
Corban was looking at him with concern. “Are you okay, Matt?” he asked carefully.
“Yeah,” Matt said with a nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jake’s band was elated and enthusiastic as they made their way back to their trailer after the show. They had nailed their performance and they knew it. High fives were exchanged spontaneously. G taught a few elaborate handshakes. With the exception of Laura, they were all drenched in sweat and parched, drinking from bottles of Gatorade to rehydrate as they made the walk.
“Did you hear that fucking crowd cheering us?” asked Ted, a huge smile on his face.
“I heard them,” Jake said, feeling quite fine himself. They had exceeded even his most optimistic expectations and this knowledge was giving him a dopamine rush that not even the finest cocaine, the most pungent greenbud could hope to compete with. After all the rehearsals and planning, after all the agonizing over the set list and what musicians he would end up with, they had pulled off their first show with style, absolutely wowing the crowd of ninety-five thousand at a festival they were said not to belong in.
“That was hell to the badass!” Ted said. “They gave us a standing O! Twice!”
“You absolutely nailed your solos in High, Jake,” Lenny said. “I am in fucking awe of you! I mean, I already was before we even started playing together, but that was ... that was ... I can’t even describe it.”
“That’s what lots of rehearsal and a badass sound team gets you,” Jake told him.
“Sure, that’s a big part of it,” Lenny said. “But rehearsal and a good sound team don’t mean shit if you don’t have the talent to take advantage of it. And you do. You shined out there, Jake. Absolutely fucking shined. I am so incredibly stoked that I was able to be a part of it.”
“You were pretty badass yourself,” Jake told him. “All of you were. That wasn’t just me up there, it was us, and we carried this off to perfection.”
“Beyond perfection, I think,” G said. “That was sublime, homies. Fucking sublime!”
Another round of high-fives and elaborate G handshakes were exchanged. This carried them all the way to their trailer, where the door was open and the party had already begun, partially spilling out into chairs that had been set up on the desert floor. Obie and Celia were there with Ben’s wife, Ted’s paramedic friends, Mark the pilot, the Rabbi Levenstein and his wife, and all the other specially invited friends and family. Beer, wine, and mixed drinks were flowing freely. Everyone greeted Jake and the band enthusiastically as they made their way into the circle, shaking hands and giving more high-fives and telling everyone how fucking badass that show had been. Nobody seemed to be faking or even exaggerating their enthusiasm. It all seemed quite sincere.
Jake was still feeling a little dehydrated, so he grabbed another quart bottle of Gatorade—the green kind was his favorite—and opened it up. He sat down on the couch and took a few healthy slugs of it, soothing his tired throat. Celia came and sat next to him. She had a glass of red wine in her hands.
“That was an amazing performance, Jake,” she told him. “I have never seen anything like that before.”
“Thanks,” he said, feeling another burst of pride at her praise. Celia, after all, was a professional performer who put on a damn good show herself. Her approval stood a few steps above pretty much anyone else’s. “We put a lot of work into that and there was some definite chemistry between us. Everything just clicked up there tonight. Hopefully, we can do it again tomorrow.”
“I have no doubt that you will,” she said. She raised her glass to him. “To chemistry. It can be a good thing.”
“Chemistry,” he repeated, tapping his Gatorade against her glass. They drank.
“And guess who was hanging out in the SVIP with us, watching your show?” Celia said slyly.
“Who?”
“Matt Tisdale,” she said with a smile.
“Matt was there?” he asked, quite surprised. “No shit?”
“No shit,” she said. “Obie and I both saw him. He stayed for the entire performance.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you about that,” she said. “Not only did he stay for the whole thing, but I saw him actually enjoying it. He was tapping his feet, nodding his head, and sometimes even singing along.”
Jake had a hard time believing this. “Are you sure it was Matt?” he asked.
“I am absolutely positive,” she said. “I once called Matt a cabron. If I call someone that, I will remember their face forever. It was Matt Tisdale, and he was getting down with your show.”
“Wow,” Jake said. “I wonder what brought that on?”