As for the festival as a whole, he gave it four stars, citing, once again, Jake’s and Matt’s sets as the reason for such a high rating. He could not, however, give it five stars due to a few shortcomings that had nothing to do with the performers. The biggest was the lack of video screens, which made it very difficult for those sitting in the back of the venue to see the performers as anything but tiny little figures who could have been anyone. There had also been long lines at the portable toilet clusters and the concession stands. The food sold had been bland and uninspiring. And, lastly, it had been quite warm during the daylight portion of the shows, as this was the Mojave desert in autumn. Perhaps moving subsequent TSFs to November or even early December might be more comfortable?
Jake had the LA Times delivered daily to the mailbox outside his gate. He read the review the morning it came out while sipping his Jamaica Blue coffee out on the deck of his home and waiting for Elsa to bring he and Laura their breakfast. Reading the paper was awkward because he had trouble turning the pages with his right hand and there was a slight breeze blowing in off the ocean, blowing the pages about, but he got through it, smiling as he absorbed the sentiment being laid down.
“Good review?” Laura asked, watching the expression on his face.
“It is,” he said. “It even mentions you. Do you want to read it?”
“Yes, please,” she said.
He handed the paper over to her so she could see her name in print in a favorable light for once.
Meanwhile, about two hundred miles to the south, on a stretch of oceanfront property just outside of San Juan Capistrano, Matt Tisdale had just finished reading the same article out on his deck. His instinct was to be angry at the suggestion that Jake Kingsley’s performance had ‘stolen the show’ from him, but his instinct could not stand up to cold, hard reality. Jake had put on a better show. He could not even begin to deny it. And he and his band had had shitty sound and had been out of synch the first night. The reviewer was not being biased. He was speaking the truth.
At least I had the fucking Nerdlys to help us through the second night, he thought.
He had mixed emotions about that as well. He had vowed multiple times since the death of Darren Appleman that he would never speak to or share a stage with any member of Intemperance again. And he had now broken that vow twice—the first time when he had accepted a ride home from Jake after the suits at National conspired to put them together, and now by allowing Nerdly and his wife to actually take over their sound check and dial in their sound.
But goddamned if we didn’t sound good up there, he mused. The Nerdlys didn’t care about the things I’ve said in the past, the bad blood between us. They just wanted to help me sound good. They had even offered to help train up his sound team the next time he went out on tour. Matt had not agreed to that, but he also had not yet disagreed to it.
Is it maybe time to let some of this shit go? he wondered. There’s been a lot of water under the fuckin’ bridge now. Why am I still holding onto this grudge?
He did not know. And he did not want to think it about it right now. So, he did what he always did when doubt started to creep into his mind. He crunched up a couple lines of cocaine and made them disappear.
Chapter 12: Family Ties
Schweitzer Mountain, Idaho
December 2, 1996
Jake and Laura, both dressed head to toe in skiing gear, came tromping into the resort’s lodge just after four o’clock in the afternoon after spending their first full day out on the slopes without the assistance of their instructor. They were both tired and a little bit sore from the day’s adventure as well as from the previous three days of falling multiple times while learning the basics of allowing gravity to pull them down steep snow-covered slopes with a couple of slick boards strapped to their feet. In addition to the normal muscle soreness that came with overexertion, Jake had a moderate twinge in his left shoulder and a swollen right knee while Laura had a rather spectacular bruise on her right hip, pain in her tailbone whenever she sat down, and a minor sprain to her right wrist. Still, they were having a wonderful time on their first true vacation in more than a year and they were happy as they took off their jackets and found seats in front of the large picture window that looked out over the town of Sandpoint and Lake Pend Oreille far below.
Since it was a Monday afternoon early in the season the lodge was not terribly busy. There were only a dozen or so customers currently patronizing the establishment. None of them were paying attention to the famous couple in their midst—a minor miracle in and of itself. A fire was burning in the large fireplace, sending out radiating warmth and the nostalgic smell of woodsmoke. They sat close enough to feel the heat on their skin and faces, allowing it to drive away the late autumn chill in their bones. A waitress immediately approached and asked them if they would like to order drinks and/or appetizers.
“Are you done skiing for the day, hon?” Jake asked his wife.
“I am,” she confirmed. “I don’t think I’m quite up to trying night runs just yet.”
“Agreed,” Jake said with a nod. Since they would not be skiing anymore, it was time to start building up a little therapeutic alcohol level to help with the aches and pains. He turned back to the waitress. “I’ll have one of those hot buttered rums. A double if you please.”
“Of course,” she said. “Would you like that made with glacier water or the pressed Washington apple cider?”
“The cider,” Jake said. “Definitely the cider.”
“Very good, Mr. Kingsley,” she said. “And for you, Mrs. Kingsley?”
“I’ll have the same,” she said.
“I will have those right out for you,” she promised. She then headed over to the bar.
Laura leaned back in her chair and looked out the window. “It really is pretty today,” she remarked. “I see now why Steve went on and on about the view from this place.” Steve was Stephen Williams, a multimillionaire real estate developer and one of Greg’s primary investors in the Oregon golf links project. Jake had played golf at the oceanfront resort with him and Greg about a month before—right after Jake had finally been able to shed the wrist splint on his broken hand—while Jake had been in Coos Bay to help finalize the mixing and mastering of Brainwash’s latest CD. Steve was a likable enough guy (for a second-generation rich prick, anyway) and Jake had mentioned to him out on the links that he and Laura were thinking about taking up skiing as a new hobby. As chance would have it, Steve’s investment group was one of the primary owners of Schweitzer Ski Resort. He had offered to set Jake and Laura up with a complete vacation package including lessons, five-star lodging at the resort’s hotel in the ski village, any and all equipment needed, and all meals and drinks comped if Jake would just allow him to publicize the visit for advertising purposes. Jake had agreed and now, here they were, enjoying the hospitality during their break between finishing Brainwash II and starting the recording of Ben, Ted, Phil, and Lenny’s debut CD in early January.