Jake, watching all this, recharged fairly quickly. In fact, by the time Alisha asked if she could eat her, his cock was swollen and straining. He looked around and saw a glass tray full of lambskin condoms, provided, no doubt, by Roberto once he'd been informed Alisha would be coming upstairs with them. He tore one open and safed his weapon. Just as Mindy finished her first orgasm, he slid into Alisha's body from behind, his hands going to her breasts as he thrust in and out of her. She moaned her enthusiastic approval at this action.
There wasn't much talk the next day as the Lear Jet cruised at forty-four thousand feet on its way back to Heritage. All four of them were quite hung-over, their bodies tired, wasted, satiated. Bill was sleeping in his seat, soft snores coming from his mouth with each exhalation. He had worked his way through three hookers and two casino employees and had finally called it a night around five in the morning.
Mindy and Jake sat snuggled together on the couch, her resting her head on his shoulder, he with his arm around her.
"Did I make it up to you?" she asked him.
"Yeah," he told her, kissing her forehead. "I think we'll call it even for the time being."
They both looked over at Pauline, who was looking out the window at the scenery far below, a blank expression on her face. She had been the quietest of them, not having said more than a dozen words since breakfast. Jake was worried that she was having regrets about her trip to Sin City now that she had sobered up.
"Pauline?" he asked her.
She looked over at him. "Yeah?"
"Are you... uh... doing okay?"
She gave a weak smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're not... you know... embarrassed about what happened last night, are you?" Mindy asked her.
"Embarrassed?" she asked. "Not in the least."
"Are you sure?" Jake asked.
She chuckled a little. "I'm not quite the prude you think I am, little brother," she said.
"No," he agreed. "I guess you're not. So what's eating you? Is it the hangover?"
She shook her head. "I've had worse," she said. "I guess its kind of a depression of sorts."
"Depression?" Mindy asked. "You just got laid. What's there to be depressed about?"
"It's the lifestyle I've just been exposed to," she told them. "I've just gotten a taste of what its like to be filthy, stinking rich."
"And that's depressing?" Jake asked, not following her.
"It's depressing because it's only a taste," she said. "Tomorrow I go back to my normal life. I'll file briefs and research contracts. I'll work sixty-hour weeks and get paid a relative pittance. I won't be able to fly off to Las Vegas and live like a pagan whenever I want to."
"Is that what's bothering you?" Mindy asked. "That's no problem. We'll go again. Whenever you want."
"No, you don't understand," she said. "I don't want to have to rely on Jake's girlfriend to show me that life. I want it for myself. I want it for myself and there's no way I'm going to get it for myself."
Mindy opened her mouth to say something but Jake beat her to it. "Don't be so sure about that, sis."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
He gave her a conspiratorial look. "Just an idea I have."
"What is it?"
"It's not the time right now," he said. "But I don't want to have to rely on others to get me into the high-roller section either — no offense Mindy. And I think you'll be a great help when its time to make that move towards independence."
She hounded him about what he was talking about for the next twenty minutes. Mindy — her curiosity piqued — hounded him as well. But he would say no further on the subject. The vague plan he held in his head was only starting to form. It was enough to know that Pauline would be open to helping him with it. He sure as hell was going to need her.
Chapter 12A: On The Road Again
February 24, 1984
Los Angeles, California
"God I hate these fucking leather pants," Matt barked as they emerged from the makeshift dressing room and made their way towards the back-stage area of the rehearsal warehouse.
"That ain't no shit," Jake agreed, pulling at his for the twentieth time to keep it from constricting his testicles. "I forgot how hot and uncomfortable these get-ups are."
This grumbling was met by more grumbling from the rest of the band. Coop complained about the goddamn kamikaze headband and the dark shades. Bill complained about the preppie button-up shirt and the pocket protector — complete with pens and a protractor — he was wearing. Darren complained loudest of all. They had him dressed up like a Chippendale dancer, with gray leather shorts, spiked leather boots, and no shirt at all.
"What are you talking about?" asked Greg Gahn, who had been assigned once again to the role of tour manager. "You guys look great. This is the look your fans are expecting of you."
No one answered him, which was the usual response to any statements made by him.
There were no fans out in the audience today, at least not in the strict sense of the word. This was a dress rehearsal, the first of six such events scheduled before they headed for Miami and the first date of the The Thrill of Doing Business tour. There was a small audience out there that consisted of a half dozen National Records executives, some cronies these executives had brought along so they could be impressed by the up-close look at the band, and Mindy, who had brought Georgette and a small entourage of publicists and photographers who planned to further enhance the young actress's evolving image by releasing a story about her attending her boyfriend's concert. In all, Intemperance would be performing their set for about thirty people this first time, not including the roadies and the techies who ran the show. It wasn't much of an audience but it was enough to give Jake the familiar pre-show jitters and worries that were as much a part of performing as applause and sweat.
They entered the stage left portion of the warehouse. It was larger than it had been in their previous tour, with almost twice as many roadies moving about from place to place, putting the final touches on a performance that would be considerably more complex than their previous shows. The stage itself was larger, with more area for the three guitar players — Jake, Darren, and Matt — to move about in. Coop's drum set had also been expanded with more snare and trap drums, more cymbals, and even a set of bongos which would be used for a short time on Lost in the Silence, one of the ballads on the new album. Bill's grand piano had also become grander as well. He was now sporting the largest and most expensive model available from the Caldwell Piano Corporation.
Most of the additional personnel were technicians who were needed to run some of the more high-tech additions to the show. There were sixteen additional lighting techs to go with the more than two hundred stage lights that hung from movable scaffolding suspended above the stage. There were the laser technicians who would set up and control the laser show that took place behind the band during various numbers throughout the set. There was also the pyrotechnic crew, headed by a somewhat frightening man named Dave Warden.
"Okay," Greg said, waving to the band to sit down on the packing boxes well out of the way. "Fifteen minutes to show time. Everyone do a final wardrobe check."
The band did a variety of eye rolling and then dutifully looked each other up and down, looking for torn leather, unsightly stains, or anything else that was out of place.
"You know something, Jake?" Matt asked as Jake held his arms up and turned slowly around.
"What's that?"
"Your ass looks really juicy in that leather." He reached forward and gave Jake's left cheek a squeeze.
Jake and the rest of the band laughed while Greg blanched in disgust.
"In the name of Heavenly Father," Greg barked. "Be careful doing things like that!"
"We're just joking around, Greg," Matt said. "You know? Camaraderie? You ever heard of it?"