“Are you saying that Jake Kingsley is playing in Celia’s band too?”
“He’s doing the electric guitar work primarily,” Ben said. “We’re kind of a throw-together operation at this point. Jake and Nerdly’s mothers are part of the band as well.”
“Their mothers?” she asked, feeling a little icky at that thought, not to mention that the zero respect she was feeling for the project took a sudden dive into the negative.
“It sounds odd, but it’s really not,” Ben said. “Both are retired professional musicians who played for more than twenty years with the Heritage Philharmonic Symphony. Mary—that’s Jake’s mom—plays the violin like a dream. And Cynthia—Nerdly’s mom—is the pianist. Celia plays acoustic guitar mostly and Nerdly plays the synthesizer.”
Laura heard his words, but they were not having much effect. She couldn’t get over the thought of Jake Kingsley being one of the band members. All she knew of him was from the popular press sensationalizing him over the past decade as Intemperance took the rock music scene by storm. She knew he was a greasy looking, long-haired freak who was notorious for womanizing, abusing drugs, and beating up on the women he dated. She had never listened to an Intemperance song voluntarily and, on the rare occasions when she had been in a situation where one was playing and she could not turn it off—in a club with Dave or Phil, when at a party, or, in her younger days, in the college dorms—she had never even attempted to appreciate the musical or lyrical quality of the piece because it was nothing but annoying noise to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, shaking her head. “I just don’t think this is for me.”
“They pay us fifty dollars an hour for the gig,” Ben said.
The shaking of the head stopped instantly. “Fifty dollars an hour?” she asked, thinking she had to have misheard.
“Fifty dollars an hour,” he repeated. “Plus, lunches are catered and paid for, and we have after work beers on Saturday nights. Not only that, but there’s a pretty good chance that we’ll get picked up as the studio musicians once they start the actual recording. They haven’t promised us this, or even mentioned it, really, but they’re not out looking for other musicians and they’ll have the same problem recruiting competent professionals. If that happens, the gig will go on for another six months or so. That could add up to a pretty good chunk of change.”
“Fifty dollars an hour,” she said again, trying to wrap her brain around that. That was far above union scale for session musicians, far above what her hourly salary as a teacher worked out to—particularly when you added in all the correcting of papers she did on her own time. “How many hours a week would they need me?”
“We work six days a week, eight hours a day, typically,” Ben explained. “We alternate days working on Jake’s and Celia’s tunes, so, assuming you don’t need to come in on the days we’re working on Jake’s stuff—he doesn’t have any saxophone parts as of yet—we’re talking three days a week, so that would be twenty-four hours at fifty an hour.”
“Wow,” she whispered, doing some quick mental arithmetic and liking the sum that appeared quite a bit. “I’m starting to warm to this idea.”
“I thought maybe you would,” Ben said. She could hear the smile in his voice.
She did still have her initial worry, however. “How is Jake Kingsley and that piano player though. They’re not going to ... you know ... rape me or anything, are they?”
This caused another chuckle. “I think you’ve been reading too many American Watchers in the supermarket line,” he said. “Jake is actually a nice guy, very professional, very competent as a musician. He’s a great boss. And Nerdly ... well ... he takes a little getting used to, but not in a bad way. And his wife is always with him, so I don’t think he’s going to rape you either.”
“Well ... I guess I can at least meet them,” she said. “When can we set that up?”
“Are you doing anything tomorrow morning?” Ben asked.
She was not.
Laura arrived at KVA promptly at ten o’clock the next morning, her cased saxophone in hand. The band had just finished tuning and completing their sound check, including the installation of a new microphone stand and chair for the sax. Ben led her into the studio, where all the players, as well as Pauline and Jill, were present.
Jake’s first thought upon seeing her come through the door was that she was very cute. Her body was small and petite, perhaps five foot three inches and maybe a hundred and twenty-five pounds if the saxophone were weighed with her. She was dressed in a beige pantsuit and a green sleeved blouse. Though the clothing was loose upon her, it could not hide her feminine curves, which were nicely proportioned in an aesthetically pleasing way. Her hair was her most prominent feature. It was copper colored and spilled loosely down her shoulders. Her skin tone was pale and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her face, however, was without expression. She did not smile as she was introduced to everyone.
“And this is Jake Kingsley,” Ben introduced when it was his turn.
“Nice to meet you, Laura,” Jake said, holding out his right hand to shake with her.
She made no move to shake at first. She was just looking at his face. “You’re Jake Kingsley?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her voice.
“Last I checked,” he confirmed.
“You don’t look like ... you know ... like you do in the papers.”
He shrugged. “I almost look respectable this way, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding.
Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. “All right then,” he said. “Are you going to shake with me? Because holding my hand here like this is going to turn awkward in a couple seconds.”
“Oh ... yes,” she said. She reached out and gave a soft squeeze to the offered hand and then quickly released it. She did not tell him it was nice to meet him. Jake saw her rubbing the hand on her pants as she moved on to the next person.
Okay, Jake thought. She’s pleasant.
Celia was introduced next. Laura did not smile for her either, nor did she tell her she was happy to meet her. She did not wipe her hand on her pants after shaking with her, but one could feel the lack of musical respect radiating off of her in waves.
“I’m looking forward to hearing you play,” Celia told her. “If you sound good and can mix well with us, I’ve got at least four tunes I can use you on.”
“Well, I’ve never played your type of music before—in truth, I don’t even listen to it—but I think I can probably adapt my style down to the pop music genre without too much trouble.”
Celia cast a glance at Jake and then turned back to Laura. “I see,” she said slowly. “I hope you’re as good as your confidence suggests.”
“I’m pretty sure I am,” Laura said.
She was then introduced to Pauline and Jill.
“I’m the manager of these folks,” Pauline told her, “and Jill here is our accountant and money manager. If the musicians here like you and you agree to work with us, we’ll get you dialed in under a contract and take care of the employment paperwork.”
“A contract, huh?” Laura said.
“We’re big fans of them,” Pauline told her. “They prevent misunderstandings.”
Laura nodded slowly and then looked around. “Is that everyone?”
“That’s everyone,” Ben told her.
“Okay. Should I take out my horn and get started?”
“By all means,” Celia said.
She opened her case and pulled out her sax. It was a Yamaha, though Jake did not know enough about them to know which particular model it was. He did know enough to glean that it was not a beginner instrument, but a professional level one that had probably cost well over a thousand dollars new. The brass was polished, without so much as a fingerprint marring its surface.