"Look, guys," he said. "We're rock stars, right? And not just any rock stars, but among the top five acts in the nation right now. We make badass music and we sell millions of records and singles. We sell out every auditorium we're booked in. Scalpers are charging eighty to a hundred dollars a ticket and people are paying that just to see us. Don't you think we deserve to get our fair share of that money? Aren't you tired of living in condos provided to us by the record company, waiting for your weekly allowance so you can go fishing or go out to the clubs? Wouldn't it be nice to buy your own house, hire your own servants, buy your own fishing boat perhaps?"
"My own fishing boat," Matt said, pondering that thought.
"Wouldn't it also be nice to have some say in what tunes we put on the albums? In how the tunes are mixed and mastered? Wouldn't it be nice to have some say in what our live show is going to look like? Or how about our music videos? We could stop letting that faggot producer make videos of what he thinks our songs are about and start making them about what they really are all about."
"How about our concert sound?" asked Bill. "Would we be able to make them let me be in charge of it?"
"Anything is possible," Jake said. "It would be a complete re-negotiation of the contract."
"The rewards would be great," Matt said.
"Yes," agreed Bill. "I must say he makes an intriguing argument."
"So what do you think?" asked Jake.
"Let's do it," said Matt. "Let's cross the line."
"Yeah," said Bill. "It's time for action."
Chapter 14B: The Core
They put in their normal jam sessions on Tuesday and Wednesday, with none of the core members speaking of the conspiracy they were hatching to Darren or to Coop. Not that it was likely to matter if they did. The drummer and the bassist were both so strung out on what Matt, Jake, and Bill were increasingly coming to suspect was heroin that it was chore enough just to keep them focused on their musical tasks. On Wednesday, Coop actually fell asleep a few times — nodded off you might say — during some of the longer discussion periods of the jam.
"If this scheme of yours actually works," said Matt when they finally wound up and got ready to depart the warehouse to start their Thanksgiving break, "the first change we make is to put band member discipline back in our hands."
"Agreed," said Jake, watching as Darren and Coop stumbled and staggered their way into their limousine.
Jake and Bill climbed into a limo of their own, their suitcases already loaded into the trunk by the driver. They were driven to LAX where they waited for an hour in the first class lounge before boarding a 737 bound for Heritage County Airport. They landed at 7:10 PM and were off the plane, luggage in hand by 7:25. A small mob formed around them as they were recognized in the terminal and they spent another fifteen minutes signing autographs, deflecting questions, and ignoring caustic remarks about Satanism and sexism.
When they were finally able to break free they parted company. Bill went with his mother and Jake went with his father. They would not see each other again until the Archer family arrived at the Kingsley house late the next morning for the annual Thanksgiving feast.
Jake gave his dad a hug when they finally made it through the mob and out into the relative sanctuary of the airport parking garage. As before, the emotion of actually seeing a family member, a familiar face that did not belong to someone who lived in Hollywood, was intense and he found himself near tears. His dad seemed equally glad to see him alive and safe. They made small talk until they climbed into the car. It was then that Tom Kingsley turned to him and asked, "How are you doing, Jake? Really?"
Jake knew this question entailed a lot more than a simple enquiry into his health and well-being. They had not seen each other since The Thrill Of Doing Business tour had made a single stop in Heritage a month and a half ago, and even then it had only been for a few minutes during the chaos of the post-show backstage area. He had spoken to his parents a few times on the phone during the last week but that had only been to make arrangements for coming home. He had not sat down in the same room and actually talked to them since that chaotic visit with Mindy more than a year ago.
His parents worried about him incessantly — with good reason he had to admit. Since Intemperance was the first musical act from Heritage to gain national fame, virtually everything their son did or was involved in ended up splashed across the headlines of The Heritage Register. When Jake and the rest of the band were busted in New York City, charged with possession of cocaine and lewd behavior, every detail had been reported, including the police reports themselves. When Darren had been blown off the stage in Austin, everything about that incident had been reported as well, including the fact that Darren was reported to be "under the influence of alcohol and cocaine".
"I'm doing fine, Dad," Jake said. "Really, I am."
"Are you sure?" he asked, probing a little, his voice flirting with disbelief.
Jake gave a reassuring smile. "Well, we're still locked into a crappy contract that keeps us from making any actual money..."
"Yes. Pauline told us about that. You really should have had her look that over before you signed it."
Jake gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Anyway, we're having some problems with that but hopefully we'll be working them out soon."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we have a little weight to swing now. We're thinking that maybe its time to start swinging it."
"I see," Tom said thoughtfully. "And what about the drugs?"
Jake looked down at his feet, uncomfortable. "What about them?"
They had reached the parking kiosk. Tom stopped before the closed crossing gate and handed a longhaired attendant his ticket. The attendant — who was listening to track three of The Thrill Of Doing Business album on a boom box — took it and ran it. He named his price and Tom paid it. As the attendant took the money he peered closely in the car at the passenger.
"Hey, dude," he said. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like Jake Kingsley?"
Jake shook his head. "Naw," he said. "No one's ever said that."
"It's true, dude," the attendant assured him. "You're dead on him. You could totally score some babes lookin' like that."
"I'll keep that in mind," Jake said.
Tom drove away, ending the conversation. He turned down the access road that led to the freeway and continued his conversation. "Look," he said, "your mother and I know you're an adult now and you make your own choices. But we're also still your parents and we always will be. Parents don't like to open the newspaper and read that their son was busted in a New York City hotel room with cocaine in his possession and an orgy in progress."
"It wasn't really an orgy per se," Jake said.
"The definition of an orgy is a bit dependent upon the interpretation of the participants and the observers," Tom allowed.
"Exactly," Jake said.
"But the definition of cocaine is not."
"We were set up, Dad," Jake said. "They threw out the case and made the police commissioner apologize to us."
"Yes, I read the details on that. It was perhaps the most flagrant falsification of probable cause I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot of trumped up probable cause writs."
"Damn right," Jake said. "They made everything up."
"But there was cocaine in the room, wasn't there?"
"Well... uh... yeah," Jake admitted.
"About eight grams of it if I remember correctly." He turned his head and stared hard at his son. "That's a lot of blow, Jake. A hell of a lot of blow."