The band fell silent as he looked them over. Relations between the two bands had remained strained since Greg's contemptuous comments and they had gone out of their way to avoid each other even more so than they had before.
Gordon took a thoughtful drag off his smoke and blew it out into the room. He looked at each one of them. "I caught your show tonight," he told them.
"Oh yeah?" Matt replied, not exactly politely - he had been on the receiving end of more than one insult by an Earthstone member.
"Yeah," Gordon said. "I thought it might be a good idea since... you know... this is our last gig together and none of us have even seen you yet."
The silence stretched out, quickly becoming uncomfortable. Jake finally broke it.
"What did you think?" he asked.
Gordon nodded. "Pretty fuckin' good," he said. "I can see why you sold out MSG and all the other venues. You guys rock."
"No shit, Sherlock," Matt said, unwilling to be appeased. "Sorry it hurts your feelings so much."
Gordon was undaunted by this. He simply shrugged. "Just thought I'd let you know that," he said. "If we don't see you again, have a good tour."
"Yeah," Matt said, standing up and passing threateningly close to Gordon. "You do the same." He looked at the rest of the band. "Come on guys. There are sluts awaiting."
He walked out the door, heading for the locker room. Coop, Darren, and Bill got up and followed him. Jake stood but remained in place.
"You comin', Jake?" Bill asked.
"In a few," Jake replied. "Go ahead and start without me."
Bill nodded and disappeared through the door. Greg remained behind, watching the two musicians nervously.
Jake and Gordon stood looking at each other, ignoring Greg's presence.
"You really liked the show?" Jake asked Gordon.
"Yeah," he said. "I really did. Have you caught our show yet?"
Jake laughed. "I paid twenty bucks two years ago to catch your show. I paid sixteen the year before. But now that I've been touring with you for three months, I haven't even heard a single note of it."
Gordon nodded. "I know how it is, friend. Believe me. I know how it is. You want to catch it tonight?"
"Is this a lure to get me backstage so the rest of your band can kick my ass?"
Gordon laughed. "I can't guarantee an insult-free trip, but I think the boys are a little too wasted to kick anyone's ass right now. Come on. I'll burn one with you before we go on."
Jake smiled. "You talked me into it."
"Wait a minute," Greg said. "What about your clothes? What about your shower? What about getting back to the hotel? The bus leaves well before the main act is complete."
"Well," Jake said thoughtfully, "Reginald can just wait on my clothes. I won't be needing them again until Seattle, right?"
"Well... yes, but..."
"And you guys can give me a lift back to the hotel when your set is over, can't you?" Jake asked Gordon.
"I think we can squeeze you in," Gordon assured him.
"So there you have it, Greg," Jake said. "Just leave my clothes in the locker room and I'll shower after the show."
This all made sense, but Greg didn't like it. His carefully orchestrated routine was being upset. "You really should stay with your band, Jake," he said. "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone here."
"I'm not a five year old child, Greg," Jake told him. "I'm a big boy. I'll be all right."
"But..."
"Goodbye, Greg," Jake said firmly. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Greg obviously wanted to say more but he held his tongue. Fuming, he stormed through the door and disappeared.
"You gotta love tour managers, huh?" Gordon asked. "Zed Golan - he's our tour manager - had the same shitfit when I told him I wanted to get dressed early and catch your show tonight."
"I'm surprised they let us go to the bathroom by ourselves," Jake said. He reached in the ice chest and grabbed another bottle of beer.
"Are those for anyone?" Gordon asked.
Jake smiled. "Help yourself."
Gordon did. To two of them.
They walked in silence to the stage left area, which was teeming with activity as Intemperance's roadies were removing their band's equipment from the stage and stowing it in a back corner for later transfer to the trucks while Earthstone's roadies were busy setting up their band's instruments and equipment on the stage. It was a dance no less delicate and intricate than that performed by the flight deck crews aboard an aircraft carrier during a launch and recovery cycle. And by this point in the show both sets of roadies had it down to a fine science.
"Hey, Jake," Mohammad greeted as he trotted by with a microphone stand in each hand, two lengths of guitar cord looped around his shoulders, and a cigarette poking out of his mouth. Mo had trimmed down considerably these last few months, but not just because of the hard work. He, like the other roadies, had been using a lot of crank, subsisting upon it for days at a time during the consecutive set periods. His face had thinned out and was showing an outbreak of acne. His hair had grown long and was suffering from an acute lack of combing.
"How you doing, Mo?" Jake asked him.
"I'm ready for a few weeks off," he said wearily. "What are you doing back here? Shouldn't you be getting your helmet polished about now?"
"Thought I'd catch the Earthstone gig tonight."
"Ahh," he said. "Well bang a groupie for me, later, will ya?"
"You know it," Jake told him.
Mohammad dumped off his load of equipment and then rushed back to the stage to get another. Jake and Gordon wandered over to the far side of the stage left area, where the packing cases were stacked. They found seats here, sitting on splintery boxes and leaning against the auditorium wall. From outside the muted murmur of the crowd could be heard. Gordon pulled the joint from his ear and lit it up with a disposable lighter. He took a large hit and then passed it over to Jake.
"Thanks," Jake said, putting it in his mouth.
They smoked it until it was a roach and then Gordon simply threw it on the floor like it was a cigarette butt. He then took out a real cigarette and sparked that up. Jake lit one as well, enjoying the sensation of the marijuana surging through him and finding himself feeling an excitement he hadn't felt in a very long time. He was going to see a concert tonight! And a concert by one of his favorite bands. And he was, in fact, getting stoned with the drummer from that band and was going to watch it from backstage. How many times had he dreamed of such a thing?
"Wow," he said in amazement.
"Pretty good shit, huh?" Gordon asked, opening his own beer and draining half it at a swallow.
"Yeah," Jake said, grinning, feeling the best he had felt in months. "In fact, in a way, it made me feel like a kid again."
Gordon raised his eyebrows but offered no further comment on that. Instead, he commented on Descent Into Nothing. "Heard you went gold the other day. Congratulations."
"Thanks," Jake said.
"And in only four months. That's pretty damn fast for any album, especially a debut album. You guys will go platinum by mid-summer."
"You think so?"
"I know so," Gordon said. "And you'll go double-platinum by New Year's Day, maybe sooner if you get a few more songs on the radio."
"Too cool," Jake replied. "That means I'll make twenty-eight thousand in royalties for the year instead of fourteen." He shrugged. "Oh well. I guess that's better than a poke in the ass with a fireplace implement."