"Uh... yes," said Shaver, his eyes clouding a bit.
"Our contract with National," said Jake, "the one we signed with your assistance, the one that bound us to you, well... it's no longer in effect. It has been superceded by the new contract. So that means we are free to sign a contract with another manager now."
Shaver stopped in mid-chop. "Oh, I see," he said. "You're here to renegotiate your terms with me."
"No, not really," Jake said. "We've already got ourselves another manager."
Shaver shook his head. "What's he charging you? Let's talk about this, guys. I'm open to negotiation. I would be willing to go down as low as fifteen percent for you."
"She is charging us twenty percent and we're glad to pay it," Jake said. "You see, we know she's not going to screw us like you did."
"She?" he asked. "A woman? A woman wants to be your manager?"
"Is our manager," Matt said. "It's Jake's sister, Pauline. The bad-ass bitch who helped us score this new contract, who fuckin' fought for us and lost her job for us and stood by us."
"But she doesn't know anything about managing a band!" Shaver said. "You'll sink if you don't have me!"
"You never did shit for us, Shaver," Matt said.
"I got you that first contract!" Shaver yelled. "If it wasn't for me you'd still be playing at those shitty clubs in Heritage!"
"That is true," Jake allowed, "and we are grateful to you for giving us that first break, but you also screwed us. We don't take kindly to being screwed. I think the several million dollars you've collected on our behalf is more than compensation for you getting us into the business."
"Besides, you'll still be making money off us," Matt said bitterly. "You'll still be collecting twenty percent of our royalties for the first two albums."
"Jake, Matt," Shaver said, "we can work this out, can't we? You don't want an inexperienced manager. You need me."
"We don't need shit," said Matt. "Now, if you don't mind, I will now put in writing the official severance of our relationship with each other."
"What?" asked Shaver. "Writing? What are you talking about?"
Matt didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and took two steps towards the wall. He unbuttoned his jeans and took out his penis. He began to piss, the urine coming out an unnaturally bright, almost fluorescent orange color. It sprayed over Shaver's white wall, staining everything it touched. Matt began to move up and down, back and forth, forming words with the stream of orange urine. When he was done, the message showed up clearly: UR FIRED.
Chapter 17C: Balance of Power
Two days later, Jake was sitting in his living room, sipping a rum and coke and flipping through a collection of apartment brochures that had been sent to him. Manny was already gone, his fate unknown to Jake and uncared about. Jake himself had thirty days to find new lodging.
He now had $79,780 in his bank account, his share of the $500,000 advance minus Pauline's twenty percent and the amount he'd spent on groceries for himself and the monthly insurance payment for his Corvette. On Pauline's advice he was already considering another thirty thousand of it to be gone as well, earmarked for federal and state income taxes, which he alone would be responsible for calculating and paying. That left him with about fifty grand to pay for housing, gas, insurance, groceries, clothing, and everything else he would need to buy until their first royalty payments started to come in. The best they could hope for there was next July, assuming they got an album out by December and assuming that album went platinum very quickly. If not, it would be after the third quarter of next year, October, before they saw more revenue since their advance money and all the other expenses would be recouped first. That fifty grand was going to have to stretch thirteen months.
Granted, this left him with about $3800 a month to spend free and clear. That was considerably more than the average middle-class citizen of the United States enjoyed at this particular point in history, but the average middle-class citizen did not live in Los Angeles and was not used to living in a luxury condo. Jake simply did not have enough money to continue living in the lifestyle to which he'd become accustomed. Comparable apartments went for around $2500 a month. He figured his budget would allow only about $1500, $1700 at the most, for housing. In that price range he could find nothing in the downtown area that was livable to his standards. If he wanted to keep up something of an air of luxury, he would have to travel outward, to the suburbs.
"Oh well," he said to himself as he lit a cigarette and took a sip from his drink. "I suppose there are people who would kill to have my problems."
He took a moment to worry about Darren and Coop. Both had checked into the Betty Ford Center, as scheduled, and were currently enjoying their first twenty-four hours without heroin. He hoped they would come out clean and stay clean but even if they did, they were already setting themselves up for big problems down the line. Jake and Bill had both offered to find new housing for them while they were in rehab but both had refused. National had stuck their noses in and offered to continue leasing their current condos to them, something that would eat up their advance money long before the first royalty check, even if it did come in July. Those condos went for three grand a month, plus dues.
The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He actually sat for three rings before remembering that Manny was no longer there to act as phone secretary. He got up and answered it.
"Mr. Kingsley?" a vaguely familiar voice said.
"Who is enquiring?" Jake asked.
"Ted Perkins," the voice said. "I'm in charge of the endorsements department at Brogan Guitars. We met a few years ago while you were recording your first album, remember?"
"Yes, I do," Jake said, and he did. Perkins was the rep who had pushed the Brogan guitars on them during the recording and touring stages of Descent Into Nothing. He was also one of the people who had called and threatened Matt with contract violation when he refused to play one on stage. "How did you get my number?"
"Mr. Crow over at National gave it to me," he said. "It is my understanding that the endorsement contract we held with National regarding the guitar you play onstage during your tour is no longer valid."
"That's your understanding, huh?" Jake said suspiciously, not volunteering anything further. The contract they had just signed contained a strict non-disclosure clause about its very existence.
"This is information Mr. Crow gave to me," Perkins said. "I am told that you and all of the other guitar players of the group are now independent agents for touring contract endorsements."
"Yes," he said carefully. "I suppose we are. What exactly is it that you want, Mr. Perkins?"
"Please," he said, "call me Ted."
"Ted," Jake said. "What is that you want?"
"Well, I want to offer you an endorsement contract," he said. "I know you like our guitars, Mr. Kingsley, and it is our hope that you will continue to play them onstage."
"What kind of endorsement contract?" Jake asked.
"We should probably discuss this in person. Would nine o'clock tomorrow morning be convenient?"
"Tomorrow?"
"I could send a limousine to your residence to pick you up if you wish."
"Uh... why don't you just give the basics of what you're offering right now?" Jake asked. "And then we'll go from there."
Perkins didn't seem to like this but he went forth anyway. "We are prepared to offer you a five hundred thousand dollar endorsement fee if you would agree to exclusively play Brogan guitars on your upcoming tour and another five hundred thousand on any subsequent tours. In addition, we will provide you with free instruments for the duration of this contract."
"Half a million bucks a tour?" Jake asked. "Is that what you were paying National before?"
"I'm afraid I am not allowed to discuss the details of contracts with other clients," Perkins said.