It was four o'clock in the afternoon when the autograph session came to an end. They climbed back in the bus and were transported across town to Bangor Auditorium. On the way there Darren asked Greg if he could set up a few more lines of blow for him.
"Most certainly," Greg responded. "In fact, I could use a little more myself." He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and removed his jeweled coke-sniffing and storage kit.
"I don't think so, Darren," Matt said, his eyes creaking open from the semi-dozing position they'd been in. "It's too close to showtime. You know the rules."
"Ahh, Matt, it's only coke," Darren whined. "Its three hours 'til showtime. It'll be worn off by then."
"You know the rules," Matt repeated. "You party after the show, not before it."
"Oh come on, Matt," Greg said lightly, opening his case and pulling out the seemingly bottomless vial he stored the drug in. "A little pick-me-up never hurt anyone. You could probably use one yourself, couldn't you?"
For the first time since meeting him, Matt cast an irritated look at Greg. "Our rule is no mind-altering substances of any kind when it passes four hours to showtime or rehearsal. That rule has been with us since the beginning and we're not going to change it now."
Jake followed this exchange closely, half-expecting Greg to try to pull rank and say that Darren could have as much coke as he wanted whenever he wanted it. He wondered how Matt would react if Greg did do such a thing. But Greg didn't. He simply shrugged, his car-salesman grin firmly affixed to his face.
"Sorry, Darren," he said. "The boss-man says no blow for you. I'll set you up after the show though. I promise."
Darren sulked but didn't try to push the issue. A few minutes later they arrived at their destination and the matter seemed forgotten.
The bus parked in the loading dock area behind the auditorium. The tractor-trailers and the other tour buses were parked side by side near the service entrances. Before allowing them to exit, Greg handed each of them a laminated card with their picture on it and the words: Earthstone-Intemperance US Tour, 1983 - Unlimited Access Pass. Each card was attached to a nylon holder designed to be worn around the neck.
"These are your backstage passes," Greg told them. "You must wear them at all times when we are in the venue. Don't start thinking that just because you're a member of the band it's not necessary. Our tour security is augmented in every city by local security guards and/or law enforcement officers. A lot of these local security personnel are not rock music fans and will not know any of you from Adam no matter how famous you get. And in most venues they will be the ones guarding the performance entrance and patrolling the backstage area. If you try to get in without your pass on, they will bar your entry. If they catch you wandering around inside without your pass on, they will eject you from the facility, by force if they have to. There have been cases of performers being handcuffed, maced, struck with nightsticks, and even arrested. It creates a big pain in the behind for all of us if that happens - not to mention delaying the show - so remember, if you're in the venue, this pass needs to be around your neck. The only exception is when you actually step out onto that stage. Do we all understand?"
They all understood. All of them dutifully hung their passes around their necks.
"And one other thing," Greg told them. "These passes are different from the ones we give out to the media and to radio station contest winners and people like that. Only members of the tour possess these. As such, memorabilia traders are willing to pay top money to get their greasy little hands on them. Keep your passes away from the trollops you fornicate with after the show. They will attempt to steal them right off of your neck while they're sticking their bosoms in your mouth."
"Oh, Greg," Matt said breathlessly, "you talk so fuckin' hot. You're giving me a boner."
Greg laughed at this of course. He laughed at everything one of them said if he sensed it was supposed to be funny. "Okay, okay," he said. "I think you boys got the point. Let's get inside."
The entrance was indeed guarded by a private security guard and he did indeed check their passes. Once the guard satisfied himself that they weren't terrorists or perhaps something even worse, he opened the door and allowed them entry. They passed through a narrow, ground level corridor and arrived a short time later before a door that led to the dressing and locker rooms. Another guard stood vigil before this entrance. This one had actually heard Descent Into Nothing a few times and told them how much he liked it.
There were several dressing rooms beyond the door. They were led to one of the smaller ones. It contained six sinks complete with lighted mirrors. The names of each band member were taped above one of the mirrors. A door in the back of the room led to a locker and showering area.
"This is where you'll get dressed prior to the show," Greg told them. "Reginald will lay the stage clothing you'll be wearing out on the chair before your mirror. Be sure to shower first. We'll need you dressed by 5:30 and then Doreen can get your hair done. They open the doors at 6:00. A little bit after that we'll take you backstage so you can meet the various DJs and media folks and winners of the radio contests. I'm sure I don't have to tell you to remain polite to these folks, but stay in character. Remember, you're ambassadors of debauchery, so don't be afraid to make lewd, yet tasteful comments to any women who happened to be among the greeters."
"Lewd, yet tasteful?" Jake asked.
"You know," Matt said, "don't say shit like 'I'd really like to tap that ass of yours.' Say 'I'd really like to penetrate your anal orifice with my phallus'."
"Ahh," Jake said, grinning. "I see."
"Shit," Coop said, "Nerdly oughta be good at that. That's how he fuckin' talks anyway."
Greg gave his dutiful laugh and then went on. "Also, be sure to comment about how you plan to party hard and imbibe in alcohol after the show. You can imply that you'll be imbibing in other recreational pharmaceuticals, but don't actually come out and say it. We don't want to upset Nancy Reagan too much, do we?"
"No," Darren said. "We sure as shit wouldn't want to do that."
Greg had a brief conversation with the security guard outside the door. The guard spoke into a portable radio for a moment, received a squawky answer from whoever was on the other end, and then nodded to Greg. Greg then turned back to the band and told them that the roadies were ready for them to do the sound check.
They followed him back out of the dressing room and through the corridor to where they'd come in. Another security guard - this one a part of the tour's security force - was waiting for them. He led them through another door, another small corridor, and down another flight of steps into a dimly lit, claustrophobic tunnel about ten feet wide. The tunnel, the guard explained, was actually underneath the floor of the auditorium and served as the conduit to get to the backstage area.
"Did the roadies have to carry all the equipment through here?" Coop asked.
"No," Greg replied. "There's a freight entrance from the loading dock but it's only meant to be used when the auditorium is empty. This tunnel is to get you backstage from the dressing rooms without having to go through the audience."