"Yes," said Jake, "our manager is the same, except he hates it when we don't cuss in public."
"So you're not really the sex-maniac, drug addicted bad boy you're supposed to be?"
"Not at all," he said. "I'm as pure as the driven snow. In my spare time I like to study the scriptures and write get well cards to crippled children."
"Of course," she said with a smile. "And that story about you and cocaine-filled butt crack?"
"All to enhance the image," Jake said. "My pastor was quite shocked by it."
She laughed again, her brown eyes sparkling. "You're funny," she said.
"And cute?"
"Mildly," she said. "Kind of like an alpaca just after shearing."
This line impressed Jake. "Is that a Venezuelan insult?" he asked.
"Peruvian actually, but since it seemed to fit the situation, I borrowed it."
"You're funny too," he said.
"And cute?" she enquired, dimples forming on her face.
"Almost sickeningly cute," he allowed.
She smiled and took a sip of her wine. Jake took a sip of his rum and coke. Both realized that the other had demonstrated a little more character than had been expected, that the encounter between them was a little more pleasant than would have been thought. A silence, not quite uncomfortable but not quite comfortable either, developed.
"So seriously," she said, finally breaking it. "Did you really do it?"
"Did I really do what?"
"Snort coke out of a girl's butt crack?"
Jake had never answered this question truthfully to any other woman before except Pauline. Not even Mindy, who he had once thought he was in love with, not even his own mother, who he really was in love with, had ever gotten an admission from him on the butt-crack issue. But, for some reason, he found himself coming clean to Celia. "Yeah," he said. "I did. Guilty as charged."
"I see," she said. "That's an interesting recreational pursuit. You managed to combine the deviant sexual aspect of your image with the rampant drug use aspect with one single act. You are to be congratulated I suppose."
Jake shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"I suppose I can see the appeal of something like that to the drunken male psyche. I assume you were drunk at the time?"
"Plastered," he said. "It's kind of what we do after our shows."
"To enhance your image, right?"
"Of course," he said. "You don't think we actually enjoy doing all that, do you?"
"No," she said, laughing, "I would never think something like that."
"What do you do after your shows?" Jake asked her. "Enlighten me on the La Diferencia post-show party."
"We have a sensible dinner, share a bottle of chilled chardonnay, say our evening prayers to the Virgin Mary, and then go to bed by ten-thirty."
"Really?" he asked. She had said that with the air of utmost sincerity.
She held her serious expression for maybe six seconds before laughter came bursting out of her mouth. "No," she said. "Not really."
Jake laughed with her, finding himself enjoying it. "So what do you do then?" he asked. "Don't tell me they have a collection of male groupies meet you in the shower?"
She didn't get a chance to answer. A tall, neatly groomed man suddenly appeared beside her. He was smiling — a phony, manager type of smile if Jake had ever seen one — but his eyes were looking at Jake with unmasked suspicion and distaste.
"Hey, Bobby," Celia said cordially. "Do you know Jake Kingsley from Intemperance?"
"I've never had the pleasure," he said. "How are you doing, Jake? I'm Bobby Macintyre."
"Nice to meet you, Bobby," Jake said, holding out his right hand for a shake.
They shook. Bobby seemed to feel that the harder he squeezed a person's hand, the more respect he would garner. He was going for broke in the respect department.
"Whoa there, Bobby," Jake said, twisting his hand and removing it from the grip. "I kind of need that hand to hold a guitar pick with on occasion."
"Sorry," Bobby said, sounding anything but. He turned to Celia. "Why don't we do some more mingling? The press is starting to notice your extended discussion with Jake here. It won't be long until they start speculating about it."
"Bobby!" Celia said, a bit of that anger flashing in her eyes.
"I'm sure Jake understands the need to protect one's image," Bobby said. "Don't you, Jake?"
"Oh you bet," Jake said. "We can't have them thinking that the queen of pop and the king of raunch were having a discussion."
"You see?" Bobby asked her. "Even Jake agrees. I saw Tina Turner heading to the bathroom a minute ago. Let's get positioned so we can talk to her when she comes back out."
"We're going to stake out a bathroom?" she asked.
"I wouldn't exactly put it that way," he said.
"How would you put it?" she replied.
He shook his head, a little temper flaring in his own eyes now. "Just follow me," he told her. "And leave that wine there. How many times have I told you that you shouldn't be seen drinking alcohol in public?"
She went with him but didn't leave the wine. As they walked off she stopped and turned to Jake once more. "Nice talking to you, Jake," she said. "Good luck next week."
"The same to you," he said.
Bobby nearly jerked her away, leading her into the crowd. Jake watched her go until she was out of sight. The scent of her vanilla perfume seemed to remain behind.
Chapter 17B: Balance of Power
The twenty-seventh annual Grammy awards took place on February 26, 1985. Intemperance once again hot-boxed the limousine with marijuana smoke as they made the trip and were stoned out of their minds as they walked up the red carpet and entered the building.
In all there were three nominations associated with Intemperance. The band itself and Crow, the producer, were both nominated for Record Of The Year for Crossing The Line. Jake was nominated for Song Of The Year for writing Crossing The Line. And the band alone was nominated for Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocal for Crossing The Line.
In general, Jake found the ceremony incredibly boring and endless. For hours they sat through such mundane awards as Best Spoken Word Recording, Best Reggae Recording, Best Production and Engineering. Only the frequent trips to the restroom to improve their marijuana high kept him sane. And in the end Intemperance didn't win a single award. Though he'd known in his heart this was going to be the case, Jake was surprised to find himself on the edge of his seat when the envelope was opened during each of the awards they were nominated for. He was also surprised by the black disappointment he felt when Prince and The Revolution took the Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group, when Terry Britten and Graham Lyle took Song Of The Year, and when Tina Turner and Terry Britten took the top award of Record Of The Year for What's Love Got To Do With It?
"Fixed," said Matt, who was sitting next to him, each time they weren't announced as the winner. "This whole thing is nothing but a big fuckin' fix."
"Yep," agreed Jake.
Cyndi Lauper took the Best New Artist award, barely acing out La Diferencia and completely smashing the last hope of the members of Birmingham. La Diferencia had also been nominated for Record Of The Year and Album Of The Year. Celia Valdez had been nominated for Best Pop Vocal Performance — Female. Their songwriting team had been nominated for Song Of The Year for I Love To Dance. They walked away with nothing as well.
The two bands ran into each other after the ceremony while waiting in the queue to board their limousines. It started out civil enough when Celia and Jake greeted each other and commiserated on their mutual losses. She and Matt glared at each other but otherwise kept their comments to themselves, at least until she introduced the rest of the band.