PLAYING WEDNESDAY, 9-23, the sign read, INTEMPERANCE. There was a notation in smaller print that The Stevedores, a group of hackers with even less talent then The Boozehounds, would be opening the show, but no one gave a shit about that. Tiny Tim could have been opening for all the crowd cared. It was Intemperance they had come to see.
It had been just over a year since Jake and Matt and the boys had done their first live performance at D Street West. By now they were doing at least three shows a week-Friday and Saturday nights at D Street West and Wednesdays at Willie's Roadhouse. Often they would pick up a Thursday or a Tuesday night performance at one of the other local venues. They were a household name in the greater Heritage area, even among those who disliked rock and roll music and those who never set foot in clubs. The Boozehounds, who had enjoyed a long reign as best local band, could hardly find a gig anymore, especially since they refused to degrade themselves by opening for Intemperance-the band who had kicked their asses so soundly out of the number one slot. Michaels, Hathaway, and the others had actually had to go out and find real jobs for the first time in their lives. Michaels was working at a UPS warehouse unloading trucks. Hathaway was flipping burgers on the night shift at a truck stop just outside of town.
One night after hearing this news, Matt and Jake, done up quite nicely on cocaine and beer supplied by O'Donnell after a particularly rousing performance, had driven out to the truck stop and parked themselves at the counter in direct view of the guitarist turned truck stop chef.
"Hey," Matt had yelled at him, a smirk firmly upon his face. "That's a nice hat you got there, Hathaway. It goes pretty good with the hairnet."
Hathaway had fumed at them as they'd chortled and snickered but had refused to entertain them with a reply. At least not then.
The counter waitress-a young, bleached blonde girl of about nineteen-was an Intemperance fan and was quite enthralled to find herself in the presence of the lead singer and the lead guitarist. She went on and on for a while about how "awesome" they were and about how she'd seen them play a dozen or more times and how they sounded "more awesome" every time.
"Thanks, hon," Matt told her, his eyes unabashedly looking her up and down and liking what they saw. "You gonna be at the show tomorrow night?"
"I'm supposed to work," she said sadly.
"Call in sick," Matt said, reaching out and stroking the side of her hand with his finger. "Come to the show and hang out with us after it's over, you know what I mean?"
She knew what he meant. The smile on her face said so. "I'll be there," she told him. "Count on it."
Matt ran his hand a little higher up her arm, to her shoulder, sliding it slowly down over the top of her breast before finally withdrawing it. "I'll be looking forward to it," he said, kissing the tip of his finger.
This exchange between waitress and guitar player made Hathaway turn even redder, made his hands clench into fists. It was quite obvious that he had his own, unrealized romantic interests in the young waitress. Matt chuckled again, relishing the effect he was causing.
"What can I get you guys?" the flustered waitress asked them.
"I'll have the Chef's Burger," Jake said.
"Fuckin' A," Matt said, laughing out loud this time. "Hit me up with the same. I heard the chef makes a damn good burger. Is that true, Hathaway?"
Hathaway didn't say a word. He simply turned and threw a couple of patties on the grill.
When the burgers were set before them ten minutes later, Matt poked and prodded at his for a moment, examining it from all angles like it was a used car he was thinking about purchasing. Finally he picked it up and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully for an extended time before swallowing. He took a drink of his water and then seesawed his hand back and forth.
"That's a pretty second-rate burger," he finally said. "I could do it a lot better."
This pushed Hathaway over the breaking point. He threw his spatula down, whipped off his tall white hat and his hairnet, and stormed over to the counter. "You and me," he said, pointing an angry finger at Matt. "Outside, right fuckin now!"
Matt simply grinned and shrugged. "If that's the way you want it, hacker," he said. "But I think you're making a mistake."
"Now, pussy!" Hathaway screamed. "Come on! I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass!"
They got up and headed for the door. A couple of truckers that had been watching the confrontation followed them out to watch the festivities. The fight didn't last long. Hathaway took a swing at Matt and Matt ducked easily under it. He then countered with an uppercut that took Hathaway right on the chin, stunning him long enough for Matt to drive a right cross across the side of his face. Hathaway fell to the pavement in a heap, where he lay there, moaning in pain.
Matt, who had not even broken a sweat, cracked his knuckles and then walked back inside. "Here ya go, hon," he said, dropping a twenty-dollar bill before the transfixed waitress. "Keep the change."
"Uh... thanks," she said numbly.
"See ya tomorrow night?"
She nodded. "You know it."
And he did. She had come to the club dressed in a denim mini-skirt about six inches shorter than what was currently considered tasteful. She approached them after the show, two of her girlfriends in tow, and asked shyly if they remembered her.
"Of course we do," Matt had said, putting his arm around her and drawing her close. "How could I forget the sexiest damn waitress I've ever met?"
She giggled and introduced her two friends, both of whom were equally attractive and dressed in an equally slutty manner. She then informed them that Hathaway had called the police on Matt shortly after they'd left that night but, thanks to the statements of herself and the two truckers, they had basically told him to go pound some sand.
"Don't let your mouth write checks your body can't cash," had been their parting advice.
Matt ended up fucking the waitress in his van less than an hour later. Coop and Darren ended up fucking her friends at about the same time, doing it side by side in the backstage area of the club. In other words, it was a fairly typical end of set party at D Street West.
A similar party was going on now inside Willie's Roadhouse. The Wednesday night set had ended less than an hour before and most of the band members were mingling with the remaining crowd, evaluating the girls who fawned all over them and deciding which ones were going to be invited to the inevitable post-set gathering at Matt's house. It was there that the true action took place.
As Matt had prophesized before their first performance all those months ago, there was a seemingly endless supply of women and girls willing and able to do just about anything physically possible with the members of Intemperance simply because they were members of Intemperance. These girls hung around the band in hoards, sidling shamelessly up to any member they could find and making no bones about their willingness to be bedded.
"Sluts!" Matt called them with delight, sometimes right to their giggling faces. "They're all a bunch of fuckin' sluts. God bless and keep 'em!"
Even Bill-whom the rest of the band would have sworn at one time was going to die a virgin-got laid by their second gig at D Street West. It had been a little brunette groupie with a leather mini-skirt and black, calf-length boots who had taken Nerdly's cherry at the after-gig party that night. She had enticed him into Matt's spare bedroom, sat him on the corner of the bed, made him take out his cock, and then demonstrated her lack of underwear beneath the skirt by sitting on him and grinding until he blasted off inside of her. Since then, Bill had been insatiable, his appetite geared towards the most exotically dressed and attractive groupies he could find-the more out of his former persona's league, the better.