A second later, Darren was rushing to the toilet, vomit spraying from his mouth.
They didn't see Earthstone's show. They didn't even hear it. They partied in the dressing room for a few hours, all of them smoking and drinking and snorting until all of them were quite obliterated. Jack allowed more groupies back to party with them (after they paid the admission price, of course) and soon there were twelve girls in addition to the original five. The entire group climbed onto the tour bus and were taken back to the hotel rooms where the party continued. At this point Greg passed out condoms to everyone, admonishing them to use them.
Jake ended up using two of them. He took his original groupie into the bathroom with him and had her sit on his cock while he sat on the toilet. She ground herself up and down while he suckled her breasts and felt her ass. The second girl was a tiny aspiring ballet dancer with short black hair and a heavy French accent. She gained his favor by asking him if he'd like to see her eat out another girl.
"Uh... yeah, sure," Jake had answered. By that point he'd done nine lines of cocaine, drank eleven beers and four rum and cokes, and had smoked half a gram of marijuana.
She pulled a random girl from the crowd, whispered in her ears for a few moments, and the girl nodded enthusiastically. They both took off their clothes and the second girl - a brown-haired, brown-eyed beauty - lay on her back on Jake's bed. The ballet dancer dived between her legs and began to lick her, running her tongue up and down, down and up, until the brown-haired girl was writhing in ecstasy. The rest of the partygoers who happened to be in Jake's room at the moment all stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle.
"God damn I love being a rock star!" Matt yelled. "Look at that shit, Jake. Fuckin' look at it!"
"I am," Jake replied. He was in fact staring at in, transfixed, his cock hardening quite nicely despite the fact that he'd already come once in the first groupie's mouth and once in the condom while fucking her.
The dancer pulled her face out of the brown-haired girl's pussy long enough to look back and say, "Come on, Jake. I'm sooooo wet. Fuck me while I eat her."
One of the security guys - who were watching the festivities from the corner of the room without participating - walked over and put a condom in Jake's hand.
The rest of the room's inhabitants began to chant, "Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake," over and over again.
Jake's doubts and inhibitions were driven deeply into the back of his brain, so deep they couldn't even conceive of daylight, much less see it. He dropped his pants and put the rubber on his straining cock. He entered the dancer from behind and pounded almost violently into her for the better part of fifteen minutes while she continued to lick and suck on the brown-haired girl's clit.
By the time he finished there was a full-blown orgy going on in the room, the only non-participants the security guys.
At some point after that, Jake's brain stopped recording memories for the evening.
A hand shook him awake some time later. His eyes creaked open to see Greg's face illuminated by sunlight streaming in through the windows.
"Wake up," Greg told him, his usual grin firmly affixed to his face. "We have to leave for Concorde in forty-five minutes."
Jake groaned. He had a tremendous headache and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara. His lungs hurt and his body ached everywhere. And he was tired. God was he tired. He wanted nothing more than another six hours of sleep.
"I got your breakfast for you," Greg told him, putting his hands on Jake's shoulders and pulling him to a sitting position. "Come on. You need to eat."
Jake had never felt less like eating in his life. He shook his head. "No. No food."
"Yes food," Greg said. "I must insist." He put a fork in his hand.
Jake rode out a wave of dizziness and then looked down at himself, seeing that he was completely naked. He looked around the hotel room and saw that Bill - who was also naked - was unenthusiastically putting bites off egg and bacon into his mouth.
"Here," Greg said, handing him a bottle of Gatorade and a handful of pills. "Drink this down and take these."
"What are they?" Jake mumbled.
"Tylenol and a vitamin B12 supplement. They'll help you with your hangover."
Jake didn't argue. He drank down a huge swallow of the Gatorade and then washed down the pills with another huge swallow.
"Now eat," Greg insisted. "Ever last bite of it. You need nourishment."
Jake ate, putting bite after bite into his mouth, fighting down the nausea the entire time. He did not feel better when he was done, nor did he feel any more awake.
"Now let's get you dressed and out of here," Greg said. "We've already packed up your belongings and put them on the bus. There are some clothes for you right there on the bed."
Jake looked over and saw that a pair of jeans, fresh underwear and socks, a T-shirt, and a sweater had been neatly laid out. He staggered over and began putting them on.
"Where did all the girls go?" he asked.
"They were taken back to the auditorium around five o'clock this morning when the party finally broke up."
"Five o'clock?" Jake asked. "What time is it now?"
Greg looked at his watch. "Seven-thirty," he said. "Now come on. We need to get on the road. There's a show tonight."
Ten minutes later the entire band was on the bus, all of them looking considerably worse for wear. They climbed into their bunks and were asleep before the bus even left the parking lot.
Four hours later Jake was shaken awake again.
"We're in Concorde," Greg told him. "Let's get your stuff in the hotel and then we need to get you over to the local radio station for some interviews."
Jake groaned. It felt like he had only just closed his eyes. "Can't we get just a little more sleep?" he asked.
Greg shook his head. "It's time to go to work," he told him. "You got a show tonight."
Chapter 6: The Road
January 29, 1983
Texarkana, Texas
The deputy was about as stereotypical of a Texas lawman as he could be. He was tall, white, had a gut that protruded over his belt, and he wore an actual Smokey the Bear hat upon his head. He had black leather gloves upon his hands. His light blue uniform featured an American flag on the shoulder and a five-pointed star pinned above the left pocket. His southern accent was so thick as to be nearly unintelligible.
"Ya'll better eat up your chow now," he told them, pointing at two trays of watery powdered eggs and burnt toast that he had shoved through the bars. "Ya ain't getting nothin' else until supper time. And that's only if ya'll are here and not down at the courthouse."
Jake glanced at the food, not just with disinterest but with actual repugnance - this despite the fact that he'd eaten nothing in the past twenty-four hours. "I'm not hungry," he said.
"Me either," replied Matt, who was sitting on the bench next to him.
They were in a holding cell in the Bowie County jail in downtown Texarkana, Texas, being held on charges of drunk and disorderly, multiple counts of assault and battery, and, most serious, assault with a deadly weapon. Both of them were quite battered. Jake had a spectacular black eye, two lacerations to his cheek and one to his forehead, and an array of bruises across his chest and back. Matt had a broken nose, two cracked ribs, and an impressive collection of body bruises as well. They were dressed in bright orange jumpsuits with BOWIE COUNTY PRISONER stenciled in black on the legs and back.
The deputy looked at them suspiciously. "Ya'll on some kinda hunger strike or somethin'? Like them Irish terrorist pukes a few years ago?"
"No," Matt said. "We just don't want to eat that swill. We'll eat as soon as we get out of this shithole."
The deputy shook his head. "Ya'll ain't getting' outta here for a long time. Ain't you figured that out yet?"
Matt simply shrugged. Jake didn't respond at all.