Circles Collide

Chapter 18: I Would Swallow My Pride

Santa Clarita, California

July 18, 1997

The meeting between Matt Tisdale and the owners of KVA Records was scheduled for 11:00 AM at the KVA office where the rehearsal studio was located. Jake, Celia, Pauline, and Nerdly had all arrived by 10:00 so they could have a pre-meeting and discuss their various opinions on the matter at hand. This pre-meeting took place in the same place the meeting itself would: in the studio itself, which was currently not being used by anyone in the KVA organization. There was no drum set on the platform, no piano or keyboard set on the floor, no guitars or violins hanging on the racks. The microphone stands and the amplifiers and the effects pedals were all clustered together in the corner of the room, looking lonely and disused. Pauline had set up a large folding card table and some folding chairs just in front of the drum platform. In these chairs is where everyone was sitting currently.

“I am still mostly inclined to tell him to take a flying fuck,” Jake opined to the rest of them. “I don’t care if there is money to be made by signing him, he’s burned all of his bridges with me.”

Everyone nodded, having no problem whatsoever understanding Jake’s point of view. Matt had, after all, accused Jake of murdering Darren on multiple occasions. And even though those accusations had softened a bit over the years, he was still very much on public and private record as expressing the opinion that Jake, Nerdly, and Pauline were strongly responsible for Darren’s death.

“That is a very strong possibility,” Pauline said. “We have no reason to believe he has changed in any meaningful way. The very fact that he tried to push demands for production on us before we even agreed to talk to him about a signing strongly suggests this.”

Nods were exchanged all around. What Pauline was talking about was the offer that Matt had given to Nerdly initially, when he had first made contact. He had told Nerdly that he (Matt) would be willing to sign with KVA for his next solo album provided that he was given full control over the recording and production of the album—with maybe a little help from the Nerdlys in the mixing and mastering process— and as long as he did not have to meet with or have any interference from Jake, Pauline, or anyone else. Jake’s response—which he had given without even bothering to check with Pauline or Celia—had been to tell Nerdly to tell Matt to take that flying fuck. And Nerdly, being Nerdly, had done just that, using Jake’s exact words. Matt had hung up with a few choice words of his own, but he called Nerdly back the next day and, though he did not apologize in any way, asked if they could start over. It was then that he requested to meet with all of the owners of the label so they could talk the matter over. Nerdly had called Jake back and Jake had called Pauline and Celia at that point. Celia had been reluctant to agree to the meeting, as had Jake, but Pauline suggested that they at least hear him out. Perhaps there could be some profit they could pull in if they could agree to terms.

“I have never liked the man,” Celia said now. “From the very first moment I met him, he was rude and condescending to me. He insulted my musical talent, my family, my heritage. He has done nothing to redeem himself in my eyes since. I do not think he would be a good fit to the KVA family of acts. I think he would be nothing but trouble.”

“You are undoubtedly right,” Pauline said with a sigh. Of the four of them, she was the only one who was the least bit enthusiastic about the thought of signing Matt. And even she was not that enthusiastic. She would shed no tears, feel no regrets if they decided as a group to tell Matt to fuck off and die.

“He was respectful to me when Sharon and I helped him with his sound at the Tsunami Sound Festival,” Nerdly said. “He even thanked us for our efforts. I am not sure, however, that his gratitude and acceptance would extend into the recording studio. Matt has very strong opinions about how his music should be recorded, mixed, and mastered.”

“That’s the truth,” Jake said, remembering the endless arguments with him back in the Intemperance days. “And he is often wrong in those opinions. Look at his first solo CD, Next Phase. That is a perfect example of what happens if you let Matt have complete control. The CD barely made Gold, and that only happened last year, more than five years after its release. I think we should agree here and now that if, by some miracle, we do decide to sign him, he must agree to letting us have primary control over the recording, mixing, and production of the CD.”

“Agreed,” Pauline said without hesitation.

“Agreed,” said Nerdly.

“Agreed,” said Celia.

“All right then,” Jake said with a nod.

“Do we even know why Matt is asking to sign with us?” Celia asked next. “He’s been with National ever since the first Intemperance contract. Why is he suddenly backing away from them now?”

“Does the reason matter?” Pauline asked.

“It could help us if we know his motivation,” Celia said. “We know his last contract period expired with the end of the last tour. Shouldn’t he be in a position of strength at this point? What makes him think that we would offer a better deal than he could get with National? Especially considering the fact that we would have to pay National money for the right to do his earlier material if we were to send him out on tour.”

“That is a very good point,” Jake said with a few nods of his head. “We would also have to have Aristocrat or one of the other record companies finance the tour and we would have to split the profits with them. There is no way he could score fifty percent of tour profits under those circumstances.”

“Do you suppose this has something to do with the taxation problems Matt has been having of late?” Nerdly asked. Though Pauline had never revealed that she had been the one to hook Matt up with his tax attorney, everyone knew he was having tax trouble. The IRS and franchise tax board had both issued press releases multiple times on the matter and the fact that Matt had had to sell off his LA condo, his yacht, and a significant portion of his other belongings had been gleefully reported in the LA Times and other publications.

“Perhaps,” Pauline said carefully. She, after all, knew just how bad Matt’s tax issues really were. “I’m guessing that he has been backed into a corner by all the penalties and back-taxes. That could very well be a significant part of his motivation.”

“Enough to make him swallow his pride and come crawling back to us?” Jake asked her.

“Maybe,” she said. “I know Matt well enough to understand that he does not swallow his pride easily. In fact, this might be the first time he has ever had to do it.”

“Precisely,” Nerdly said. “It is for that reason I think we should at least hear him out and consider his proposal. It must have been very difficult for him to make a decision such as this. Let us not reject him out of hand just because of past differences.”

Jake and Pauline looked at each other for a moment. Though both of them knew they had not killed Darren, and both of them knew that they had only done what they knew to be the right thing at the time they had pushed to have the troubled bass player replaced by Charlie, both had also always harbored a chunk of guilt for the way things had worked out.

“Okay,” Jake said at last. “I will at least listen to the man before I decide whether or not to tell him to fuck off.”

“Me as well,” Pauline agreed.

They looked at Celia, who disliked Matt immensely and had never been around him long enough to know that he did have a few redeeming qualities. She sighed and then nodded. “I will listen to him,” she said. “Is this a majority rules decision?”

“No,” Jake said at once. “I think it needs to be stronger than that.”

“Unanimous then?” Pauline asked.

“There are only four of us with a vote,” Nerdly pointed out. “The only option besides majority rules is unanimous.”

“Oh ... yeah, of course,” Pauline replied. “Unanimous it is then.”

“Unanimous it is,” Jake and Celia said in unison.

In other words, an ice cube in hell probably had a better chance at survival than Matt did at securing a contract with KVA.

Jake manned the receptionist’s desk at 10:55 AM. The receptionist in question was currently on vacation and, since there was not a whole lot of phone calls to KVA during this part of the release of CD and music promotion cycle, they had not bothered to hire a temp to sit in for her. Jake sipped from a glass of iced tea and watched the security camera footage on one of the screens on the desk. At 10:58, a long black limousine pulled up out front. It sat there for the better part of two minutes before the door opened and Matt Tisdale stepped out. He was dressed in a pair of ripped and tattered jeans and a black tank top. He stood in the parking lot for another minute, just staring in the direction of the door. Finally, he trudged slowly forward and opened it.

Jake looked at him as he entered, noting that Matt appeared absolutely terrible since the last time he had seen him. His face was drawn and he had bags beneath his eyes. His body looked skinnier than was really healthy. His long hair was thinning in the front and starting to show a few strands of gray. He looked at the receptionist’s desk as he entered and froze in his tracks when he saw who was sitting there. It seemed for a moment that he was about to just turn around and walk back out. But, in the end, he took a step forward.

“Jake,” he greeted tonelessly, giving a brief nod of the head.

“Matt,” Jake returned, returning the nod. “Welcome to KVA.”

Matt looked around for a moment, obviously unimpressed by the office and its décor. “This is where you run everything from?”

“This is the face of the company,” Jake said. “It’s where Pauline keeps her office, where the receptionist answers the phone, where the mail gets delivered. It’s also where we keep our rehearsal studio.” He shrugged. “We don’t need some fancy-ass office up in a high-rise somewhere to do what we do.”

Matt thought this over for a moment. “I guess that shit makes sense,” he said at last. He locked his eyes on his former best friend, a man he had once called a brother. “I heard you knocked up your old lady.”

Jake nodded. “That is true,” he said. “It’s a girl. She’ll be born sometime around Thanksgiving.”

“How’d it happen?” Matt asked.

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. “Uh ... in the usual way,” he said. “You are aware of where babies come from, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Matt said, rolling his eyes. “I meant what caused the fuck-up? Did your rubber come off like with Coop? Or did she ‘forget’ to take her fuckin’ pills?”

“Neither,” Jake said. “We wanted her to get pregnant. We want to have a baby.”

It was quite clear that Matt had absolutely no comprehension of why a dude would want his old lady to get knocked up. In his world, pregnancy happened through accident or deceit and there was no other option. “All right, all right,” he said. “I get you. None of my fucking business. I’ll say no more about it.”

“We really did want her to get pregnant,” Jake insisted, feeling the odd need to have Matt understand this.

“Right,” Matt said, clearly disbelieving him. “Of course you did.”

Jake gave up. He stood and opened the little half-door that guarded the entrance. “Come on in,” he told his guest. “We’ll have our meeting in the studio.”

“All right,” Matt said carefully. He stepped through the door.

Jake led him down the hall and to the solid, soundproofed security door that led into the rehearsal studio. He punched in the code that released the lock and pulled the door open. Matt followed him inside. Nerdly, Celia, and Pauline were back at the card table, sitting in their chairs, their eyes taking in Matt silently, with no hint of emotion on their faces.

“Go ahead and grab a seat,” Jake directed as he closed the door.

Matt said nothing. He simply walked over to the table and sat down at the end position. He did not greet anyone and they did not greet him. No hands were shaken. Jake secured the door and walked over and took his own seat next to Celia.

“All right then,” Jake said, breaking the awkward silence. “You know who all of us are and we know who you are. I would like to point out that we four at this table are the owners of the entity known as KVA Records LLC. We make all decisions regarding this entity together and we answer to no one except ourselves. Do you understand?”

Matt nodded. “You are the grand fuckin’ poohbahs of KVA,” he said. “I get it.”

“Good,” Jake said. “Now, it is our understanding that you came here today with a proposal that we sign you to our label for your next solo release. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, his eyes looking down at the table in shame as he said this. “That’s correct.”

“Why?” Jake asked.

Matt brought his eyes back up and looked at Jake. “I’m tired of working for National,” he said simply. “And I don’t want to sign with any of the other big recording labels.”

Jake and Pauline shared a look with each other. Pauline picked up the thread for the moment. “There has to be more to it than that,” she said. “You’ve been with National since the Intemperance days. What is different now? If we are going to consider your proposal, we need to know your reasoning.”

Matt looked angry for a moment, looked as if he was going to throw out one of his famous angry tirades, but then seemed to think better of it. “They’ve lost faith in me and they’re trying to screw me,” he finally said.

“Explain,” said Jake.

“They think I’ve tapped out my creativity,” he said. “They don’t think that any further CDs I put out are going to be very profitable for them, but they know that having me go out on tour is extremely profitable in this day and age. All they want me to do is pound out a lame-ass CD in a few months so they can justify setting up another tour. And they are not willing to negotiate on a higher royalty rate for that CD. In fact, they’re trying to push me to accept a lower rate.”

“Interesting,” Celia said, speaking for the first time.

“It’s fucked up is what it is,” Matt said. “They’ve even been trying to get me to accept less than half of the tour profits too. I broke off negotiation with their asses two months ago. And I’ll fade into fuckin’ obscurity before I agree to their terms.”

“I see,” Pauline said. “And I’m assuming that you’re here because you do not want to fade into obscurity.”

“Fuck no,” Matt said. “But ... well ... there’s another reason. A big reason.”

“What is that?” asked Celia.

He looked at Pauline. “I’m sure you’ve told them about my fucked-up tax situation,” he told her.

“No,” Pauline said simply. “I actually did not.”

Jake and Celia looked at each other in surprise, and then at Pauline, and then back at Matt. “Uh ... we’ve read about your tax situation in the papers,” Jake said. “It seems you owe a bit of money. But what does Pauline have to do with that?”

Now it was Matt who looked surprised. “You didn’t tell them about it?” he asked in disbelief.

“It wasn’t their business,” Pauline said. “I’m a lawyer and things that are said to me remain confidential unless there is a reason for them not to be.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Jake asked. “Are you saying that Matt hired you as a lawyer?”

“He did not hire me,” she said. “And I was not taking care of legal issues for him. He simply called me up and asked me to recommend a good tax attorney, which I did. He did explain his situation to me during the conversation, but it was not anyone here’s business, so I did not discuss it.”

“Not even with Obie?” Celia asked.

“Not even with Obie,” she confirmed. “It’s not his business either.”

“Damn,” Matt whispered, actual respect showing in his eyes for the first time.

“Perhaps you could explain the situation to us now, Matt,” Celia suggested. “Tell us how it relates to your proposal to sign on our label.”

Matt looked at the Venezuelan singer for a moment and then sighed. “I was given really bad advice by my accountant, and I was dumb enough to believe him,” he said. “He told me that since I owned a house in Mexico, I could claim that I was not subject to American or California taxes for everything I put out after Intemperance.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “And ... you believed that?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Matt said sourly. “I know how fuckin’ dumb it sounds now. At the time, it seemed pretty fuckin’ reasonable though, especially since it meant I’d get to keep most of my money and buy all kinds of cool shit like yachts and crews to staff it and helicopters. And everything was cool until the fuckin’ state franchise tax board audited my ass and found out about it. And once they found out about it, they ratted me out to the fuckin’ IRS. Between the two of them, they hit me with about thirty million in back-taxes, interest, and fuckin’ penalties. They garnished my royalty and endorsement and touring income so they can take fuckin’ half of everything I bring in—and then I still have to pay fuckin’ taxes on the original fuckin’ amount. I had to sell my LA condo and my yacht and most of my fuckin’ guitar collection and I still owe those fucks more than twenty-four million bones.”

“That is unfortunate,” Jake said. “And I sympathize. You did put yourself in this situation, however. How is signing with us going to help rectify it?”

“By providing me with fuckin’ money so I can pay those fucks off,” Matt said.

“National is willing to give you money if you tour for them,” Celia said coldly.

“At the cost of putting out a shitty, substandard CD just so I can tour,” Matt said. “And if I put out a shitty, substandard CD, it won’t sell very much. Not only will it be crappy work that I have put my name on, not only will I be a fuckin’ sellout if I do it, it will not bring in enough royalties for me to keep my head above the fuckin’ water.”

The three owners nodded their heads in unison, starting to understand where Matt was coming from now. He was talking about the ebb and flow of royalty income that occurred due to the circle of life of an individual CD. When first released—as V-tach’s CD would soon be released—sales were generally slow, which meant the royalty rates in the first few quarters were correspondingly low. But as a few hit songs were heard on the radio, those sales would start to pick up exponentially, thus putting the CD into its most profitable run and increasing those royalties to their highest level. Eventually, however, most everyone who wanted to own the CD would own it and the sales would drop back down to a stable background level of a few thousand per month. That was where Matt was now. He no longer had any tour or endorsement income coming in and his quarterly royalty checks—in which he was paid for sales of all the Intemperance albums and all of his solo albums—would be a mere pittance compared to what they would be at the height of a CD’s popularity. Matt had nothing else to draw on, but he had the same expenses, bills, and obligations to fulfill.

“I need more royalty income,” Matt explained. “I’ll fuckin’ drown without it. If I can’t slap down at least three-quarters of a mil on my tax debt every quarter, the fuckin’ penalties and interest add more to the debt than I’m able to pay off. It will end up not getting any smaller no matter how much I pay and will probably even grow. If that happens, I’ll never be able to pay it off. The shit will hang over my head for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

“That is a very depressing situation,” Jake had to agree, “but I must ask you one more time: How will signing with KVA help you out? You understand that we are in the business of making money as well, right?”

“I know that shit,” Matt said, “but there’s a difference.”

“What’s the difference?” Jake asked.

“You are not a bunch of heartless corporate suits,” Matt said.

“That is true,” Pauline said, “but we’re also not a charity.”

“I ain’t askin’ for fuckin’ charity,” Matt said. “I’m asking you to sign me for a CD deal so that both of us can make some fuckin’ money. Those suits at National don’t think I got another one in me—at least not one that’s gonna sell as well as the last two did. All they want is for me to pound out something that will sell just enough to cover the expenses of producing it so they can justify sending me back out on tour. I’m telling you that I do have another one in me, maybe even a couple more. I can put out another CD that will go fuckin’ double or triple Platinum if you just give me the time to work it up and a studio to record it in.”

“An interesting offer,” Jake said thoughtfully. “And, for what it’s worth, I do believe that you have a few more multi-platinum CDs in you.”

“Well, all right then,” Matt said. “Where do I fuckin’ sign?”

“Nowhere just yet,” Jake told him. “There are a few issues that need to be discussed before the four of us even take a vote on whether or not to sign you. And I should point out at this point that that vote needs to be unanimous. That means that all four of us will have to agree to sign you or there will be no signing.”

Matt looked at the four of them, his eyes tracking from one to the other. “Damn,” he whispered. “Should I just leave now then?”

“No,” Jake said. “I’m willing to keep an open mind about this. Hopefully everyone else will as well—including you, Matt.”

“My mind is always open,” Matt said righteously.

Jake could not help but laugh at this statement.

“What?” Matt asked angrily.

“You are the most closed-minded person I’ve ever met, Matt,” Jake told him. “And if this proposal of yours is even going to have a hope of working, you are going to have to change that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where to begin?” Jake said. “How about we start with the fact that you have accused me and Nerdly and Pauline of murdering Darren. You have done this publicly on multiple occasions. Do you still feel that way?”

Matt flushed, finally giving some color to his face. His hands clenched into fists for a moment and then released. “No,” he finally said. “I don’t believe that anymore. Darren caused his own death by going back to the fuckin’ heroin one too many times.”

“That is true,” Jake said. “You have also accused us of being the force that drove Darren back to the heroin because we voted him out of the band. If you’ll recall, you talked his mother into not allowing any of us to attend his fucking funeral—his bandmates who had played with him for years, his manager who lifted him off of the trash head, his fucking brothers who used to get stoned with him and party with him and bang groupies with him—we didn’t get to say goodbye to him because of you. Do you understand that we have a few hard feelings about this?”

Matt took a deep breath and swallowed a little more pride. “Yes,” he said. “I understand that.”

“You’ve done some hateful shit over the years, Matt,” Jake said. “I’m not sure that I’m able to forgive and forget, even if there is money to be made. I don’t know that it is possible for me to work with you after all of that.”

“You don’t need to work with me,” Matt said. “Just sign me up and you’ll never even have to be in the same room with me again. Just give me some place to work up my tunes and a recording studio to put them together and I’ll give you a multi-platinum CD to sell.”

Jake was shaking his head. “I’m afraid that is not how we do business.”

“What do you mean?” Matt asked carefully.

“Any release that we put KVA’s good name on is a release that is going to be mixed and mastered by the Nerdlys and produced by me. Any deal we agree to would stipulate that in writing in the contract and would give me absolute veto power over any cut on the album that I do not approve of and absolute veto power over the entire CD if I find that necessary.”

Matt’s anger returned in a flash. “I’m not going to fuckin’ sign anything that says that!” he barked, raising up in his chair a little.

“Then I guess this meeting is over,” Jake said calmly. “We wish you luck on further ventures.” He began to push his chair back so he could stand up.

“Wait just a fuckin’ minute!” Matt said.

“Why?” Jake asked. “You just said you would not agree to a non-negotiable stipulation of any contract we presented to you. That puts us at an unbreakable impasse. There is no need to waste our time talking further.”

“We can negotiate this shit,” Matt insisted.

“I just told you it is a non-negotiable stipulation,” Jake reminded him. “That means we cannot negotiate this shit.”

“We can talk about it though, can’t we?” Matt asked.

“What is there to talk about?” Jake asked.

“Come on, Jake!” Matt said. “You’re not some fuckin’ heartless record company suit! I know you’re not! You don’t want to dictate how my music should be just because you can!”

“That is true,” Jake said. “But I also cannot just let you slap down whatever strikes your fancy onto a CD and put our label on it. Your first release—Next Phase—proves that you do not always act in your own best interest.”

“Next Phase was a mistake,” Matt said softly. It obviously pained him greatly to admit this. “I learned from it. I let them do engineering and overdubs on the next two releases and that is why they sold so well. I will do engineering and overdubs on my next CD as well.”

“If they are recorded under our label,” Jake said, “you most certainly will do them. And that engineering and overdubbing will be done at the direction of myself and the Nerdlys. I am not saying you will not be allowed input during the process, but I will have the final say so. That is the non-negotiable part. I will not put KVA’s name on a single track that I have not personally approved of. I am not doing this to be a dick or to throw my weight around or to get revenge on you for all the shit you’ve put me through over the years, but because I want anything that we release to be quality, to be something that all of us can be proud of.”

Matt continued to stare at Jake for a moment and then finally dropped his eyes. He muttered something inarticulate.

“What was that?” Jake asked.

“I said I can live with that,” Matt said curtly.

“That’s good to hear,” Jake said, “but can you live with me being at your sessions, telling you which tunes you should do, telling you where to put in that extra guitar section, where to double-track, how to shape your intros and outros?”

Matt took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I guess we’ll have to give it a try and see.”

Jake nodded. “That’s kind of my take on the matter as well, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“As am I,” said Nerdly.

“Well, all right then,” Matt said. “Maybe we’re fuckin’ gettin’ somewhere here.”

“Maybe,” Jake allowed. “Let’s talk some numbers now. This does not mean we have an agreement to even sign you—we still have to vote on that—but we need to at least make sure we’re all in the same universe here when it comes to the financials.”

“Fair enough,” Matt allowed.

“Now,” said Pauline, “we know you are an established artist, Matt. We know you expect a certain amount of royalties from any deal you sign. You may or may not have heard that we at KVA are very fair to our artists, as fair as we can be, but that we need to maintain a reasonable profit margin of our own. Please keep that in mind during this part of the negotiation.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Matt said. “And I’ll make it easy on you. I’m not greedy, just needy. I’m willing to accept thirty-five percent. I was going to ask for forty with National on the next run, but they were not willing to go higher than twenty-eight. Thirty-five seems a nice middle ground, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Pauline said plainly. “Not really.”

“I can’t go much lower than that,” Matt told her.

“Then we probably won’t be able to agree to terms,” Pauline suggested.

“What is your offer then?” Matt asked, obviously struggling with his temper again.

Jake handled this part. “We’re paying twenty percent to Brainwash for their second CD,” he said. “Their first went multi-platinum so they are now an established band and have earned that much. V-tach is going to release their first CD next week. You’ve probably heard their debut song on the radio these past few weeks. We’re paying them fifteen percent.”

“But I’m Matt Tisdale,” Matt said. “Former guitar player for Intemperance and someone who is guaranteed to go multi-platinum.”

“Nothing is guaranteed in life,” Jake pointed out. “We would be taking a risk of losing a considerable sum of money if your CD tanks. And, though I’m pretty certain it will not do so, can we reasonably expect that you are going to sell more copies than Brainwash II? Not really. The more we pay you in royalties, the more copies of the CD we have to sell before we start operating in the black—which, as I’m sure you’re aware—is how a business is supposed to operate.”

“I’ve heard that,” Matt said sourly.

“I’m glad you appreciate the concept,” Pauline said. “Let’s take Brainwash as an example. At twenty percent band royalties, combined with the twenty-five percent royalties we are obligated to pay Aristocrat for promotion and the rather large sum we pay them in bulk for manufacturing and distribution, we will need them to sell approximately seven hundred thousand copies of the CD before we start making a profit from them. This is far above the profit point that any of the major labels are willing to accept.”

“You have to pay royalties to Aristocrat?” Matt asked, surprised.

“Did you think they were using their promotional apparatus to get us radio airplay out of the kindness of their hearts?” Jake asked.

“Well ... no,” Matt said. “I kind of assumed you paid them a lump sum at the beginning and that was that.”

“You assumed wrong,” Jake said. “They demand royalties for such a service, and, in a way, I’m glad that they do. Having the amount of profit they make from one of our releases be tied to how well they promote the release is a good thing. If we just paid them a lump sum at the beginning, what motivation would they have for pulling out all the stops?”

Matt nodded as he heard this. “I guess that’s a pretty good fuckin’ point,” he had to admit.

“All the things you learn when you go independent,” Pauline said. “In addition to the band royalties and the promotion royalties, we also pay royalties to Obie II for the use of his recording studio.”

Matt looked at her. “Ain’t that the dude you’re boning?” he asked her. “The one who knocked you up?”

“That’s right,” Pauline said. “The dude I’m boning.”

“He fuckin’ charges you for using his studio?” Matt asked, incredulous.

“He is a businessman as well,” Pauline said simply. “We occupy his studio for months at a time with each release, preventing other clients from using it while we are there. We utilize the services of his technicians, who must also be paid. Obie is not going to do this just because I let him hose me down on occasion and I’m raising his daughter.”

“That’s cold,” Matt said, shaking his head at the injustice of it.

“It’s a cold world,” Jake said. “We’ll offer you twenty percent, just like Brainwash.”

“I gotta have more than that,” Matt said. “I was making thirty percent with this last CD and twenty-eight was too fuckin’ low for me to consider.”

“We’re not going to pay you thirty percent,” Celia said. “Not when whatever label we negotiate with for MD&P is going to demand at least twenty-five.”

“And there are a few things you’re not considering here, Matt,” Jake added.

“Like what?”

“Like the royalty rate we pay you will be set in stone,” Jake said. “We’re not like National or Aristocrat when they sign an artist to their label. There are no recoupable expenses in our deal except for any advance money we would give you. No breakage fees or stocking fees or fucking housing and limo clauses. There are no entertainment expenses. There is no distribution of touring costs because our contract would not include touring. If a tour was going to happen, that would be negotiated separately under a different contract.”

“And, in addition,” Celia put in, “you retain the rights in perpetuity to your own music. We can’t let them use it in a car commercial or some Pixar movie’s soundtrack. We can’t keep you from performing your music or selling the rights to someone else. Your music is your music to do with as you please.”

“So, you see, Matt,” said Pauline, “our twenty percent is really twenty percent. National’s thirty percent they were giving you was actually more like twenty-five when you added in all those recoupables and fees and other bullshit.”

“I see,” Matt said slowly. “I still can’t go twenty percent though. That’s insulting to me.”

The four owners looked at each other, passing around a bit of silent communication. Celia’s thought on the matter was quite easy to pick up. Fuck him then, was her take. There’s the door. Nerdly and Pauline, however, were a little kinder—or at least more profit-oriented—in their thoughts. We could go a little higher, they both broadcast. Just a little.

“Twenty-two percent,” Jake offered.

“Twenty-five,” Matt countered. “That’s the lowest I can accept.”

Another look was shared. Though Matt was not, by any means, negotiating from a position of strength—KVA had absolutely nothing to lose by telling him to take that flying fuck—nods were given by all but Celia. Perhaps it was lingering kindness in their hearts. Perhaps it was nothing more than cold, cool calculation.

“All right,” Jake said with a sigh. “If we agree to sign you at all, the royalty rate will be twenty-five percent.”

Matt smiled for the first time in days. “Now we’re talking some business,” he said. “What happens next?”

“Now that we have the basics of an agreement,” said Pauline, “we’ll call an end to the meeting. You head on home, or wherever it is you go when you’re not here, and I’ll give you a call later today, after we’ve had a chance to discuss the issue and vote on it.”

“And you’ll know by today?” Matt asked.

They all nodded. “Probably by the time you get home,” Jake said.

“Why don’t I just wait until you make your decision then?” Matt asked. “I can kick it in that front office until you have your vote.”

“Because we can’t guarantee that we will make the decision right away,” Jake said smoothly. “Some of us might want to sleep on it.”

“Oh ... well, I guess that makes sense,” Matt said, clearly not happy, but not protesting either.

He got up and Jake let him out of the studio and walked him to the front door after verifying Matt’s home phone number was the same as it had been back in the day. It was. The guitar player made his way out to the parked limo and got inside. Jake closed and locked the door and then headed back to the studio.

He had lied to Matt. They were not really concerned that they would not be able to come to a decision today. They were concerned, however, about having to tell him in person if that decision turned out to be a negative one for Matt—something that they considered an extremely likely scenario.

“Well,” Pauline said when Jake sat back down, “why don’t we see where we all stand here?”

“Sounds good,” said Jake.

“That would seem the logical first step,” agreed Nerdly.

“Let’s take a non-binding vote,” Pauline suggested, “just to see where we stand at this moment. After the vote, we can discuss the issues and then have our binding vote. Fair?”

“Fair,” agreed Jake.

“I vote yes on the deal,” Pauline said.

“I vote yes as well,” Nerdly said.

They looked at Celia. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I vote no.”

Everyone nodded and then looked at Jake. It was clear they fully expected him to vote with Celia. He had, after all, taken the most abuse from Matt over the years and would have to be the one to put all of that aside and actually work closely with him and his volatile temper if they decided to go forward. But he surprised them. “I vote yes,” he said.

Celia looked at him almost as if he had betrayed her. “Are you serious, Jake?” she asked. “You want to work with Matt?”

“Want is a strong word,” Jake said. “I don’t really want to at all. I’m already envisioning the stomach ulcer the experience will undoubtedly cause. But I’m willing to give it a go.”

“Why?” asked Celia.

“I have several reasons,” he said. “Part of it is that I enjoy producing music. I enjoy it a lot and I’m good at it. My recent experience with V-tach reminded me of that. If Matt and I can put aside our differences—something which remains to be seen—I would like to have my name on his solo effort, have my brain help shape it and polish it. That’s the first thing.”

“What else is there?” Pauline asked.

“I kind of feel sorry for the guy,” Jake said.

“You feel sorry for Matt?” Celia asked incredulously. “The man who accused you of murder? The man who wouldn’t let you go to your bass player’s funeral? The man who said he would never set foot onstage with you again, who would never even be in the same room with you if he could avoid it?”

“It seems he was not able to avoid it,” Jake said. “And yes, I am well aware of what Matt has done in the past. I am well aware that he can be one of the most unpleasant human beings on the planet. All the same, I do feel sorry for him and I do owe a certain debt to him. While we’re all sitting here on top of the mountain, with so much money we don’t even know what to do with it all, he’s drowning and no one else is willing to help him. Despite what has happened, Matt and I have been through a lot of shit together and we produced some pretty damn good music over the years. He is a big part of why I am successful in the first place. Without him slinging his guitar in Intemperance, we never would have made it out of Heritage. The least I can do is throw him a fucking life ring when he’s going down for the third time.”

“Okay,” Celia said slowly. “I think I can understand that. Is that the real reason though?”

“It is a reason, but not the primary reason,” Jake admitted.

“Then what is the primary reason?” asked Pauline.

“I want him to succeed just to spite those fucks over at National,” Jake said.

“Come again?” Celia asked.

“Don’t you see?” Jake asked. “They threw him away like a piece of trash. And why? Because they got it into their mind that tour profits are the only profits that matter now. They tell themselves that he doesn’t have any more hit CDs in him because if they tried to have him pull one out it would take longer than they wanted to get him back out on the road and lining their pockets. Therefore, he’s a has-been, only good for putting out quickly developed token CDs so they can justify the next tour. And, if he were to go along with that, it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy because any CD he tried to come up with in the time period they want is inevitably going to suck no matter what kind of talent is behind it. Matt, for all his faults, is smart enough to see that and refused to be a part of it. I want to show those fucks that they are wrong about him. I want to produce a CD that is going to shine, that is going to go triple platinum, that is going to make those suits at National cry and wonder how they could have misjudged the situation so badly.”

Celia and Pauline looked at each other for a moment. They then looked back at Jake. “That is a pretty good reason,” Celia finally said.

“Good enough to change your vote for?” Jake asked.

She smiled. “Why don’t we vote again and find out?” she asked.

They did so. And this time, the vote was binding.

Upon arriving home at his oceanside mansion, Matt immediately made himself a potent Jack and coke to chase down the three he had enjoyed on the ride home. He lined up a few rails of cocaine and snorted them up as well. Only then did he go into the entertainment room, where Kim was watching some fucking soap opera on the large screen television.

“Well?” she asked carefully. “How did it go?” She knew, of course, how agonizing a decision it had been for Matt to go crawling back to Jake and Pauline to ask for help.

“I don’t know,” he said, sitting down next to her. “We came to terms on royalty rates and a few other things, but they still haven’t decided whether to actually sign me or not.”

“When will they decide that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe today, maybe tomorrow,” he said. “They wanted to discuss it and vote on it. The vote has to be unanimous.”

She nodded solemnly, her hopes falling a bit. “What kind of deal did you agree to?” she asked.

He explained the particulars to her. She was very surprised to hear that Kingsley insisted on producing any CD that Matt recorded under the KVA label. She was even more surprised that Matt had agreed to this stipulation.

“Will you be able to do that?” she asked.

A little bit of his anger and resentment made it through the wall of cocaine and alcohol. “What choice do I have?” he asked bitterly. “The only other option is to fucking drown. To let the IRS take this fucking house away from me when I can’t pay them what they want anymore.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed soothingly. “I know how hard this has been for you, Mattie,” she said. “Hopefully things will work out.”

“Yeah,” he said, putting his hand on her bare thigh. “You want to fuck while we’re waiting to hear the news?”

“Sure,” she said. “You want a blowjob first?”

“Fuckin’ A,” he said, unbuttoning his pants.

He made it through the preliminary blowjob and was thrusting away inside of her in the missionary position on the couch when the phone started to ring. He quickly broke contact and walked over to the charging station, his shirt and socks still on, his wet schlong sticking out before him like a divining rod. He checked the caller ID screen and saw the number was KVA’s main line. He took a deep breath and then picked up the handset.

“This is Matt,” he said into it, bracing himself.

“Hey, Matt, Pauline,” the familiar voice said in his ear. “We had our vote.”

“And?” he asked.

“It was unanimous in favor of signing you to KVA’s label for a one CD deal,” she said.

Elation filled his soul at these words, but he was certainly not going to display any of it to Pauline. “Oh ... cool,” he said casually. “What’s the next step?”

“We want to meet with you on Friday at eleven o’clock,” she said. “We’ll have a contract for you to sign. You can bring a lawyer if you want.”

“I don’t have a lawyer except for that tax guy you hooked me up with,” he said.

“I see,” she said. “If you need more time to retain an entertainment attorney, I suppose we can accommodate that. Just let us know when...”

“Are you going to try to fuck me with this deal?” Matt interrupted.

“No, Matt,” she said. “We are not going to try to fuck you. That’s not what we’re about. The contract will be written in plain, easy-to-understand English and will contain the terms we have already agreed to.”

“Then I won’t need no fuckin’ entertainment lawyer, will I?”

“No,” Pauline said, “but it is certainly your right to have one.”

“Fuck that,” Matt said. “I’ll be there Friday at eleven and we’ll sign. I’m really hoping that I can start getting to work on Monday.”

As it turned out, Matt was not able to get to work until the following Thursday. Part of the issue was that he had to gather his band back together. Since coming off tour, Corban, Austin, and Steve had all been doing their own things, mostly partying a lot and living off their royalty and touring income and not doing much else (including worrying about when that royalty and touring income would reach critical levels). None of the three had picked up an instrument since returning from South America, though Corban did pick up the clap and a nasty case of crabs from a groupie he had met in San Diego one night.

The biggest issue, however, was where to rehearse. The warehouse they had used before was leased by National Records and they were certainly not going to let Matt use it for a project that did not involve their label. Nor was KVA’s main studio an option. Celia had been composing for the past few months and had reached the point where she wanted to start putting things together for her next CD. She staked claim on the studio and planned to start making use of it by the first week in August, which was the soonest she could get Eric, Coop, Charlie, Liz, Little Stevie, and Laura to join her for sessions.

Pauline solved this problem by putting out some feelers. She was able to secure an abandoned warehouse building in Stonehurst in the east San Fernando Valley, only ten minutes from Whiteman Airport. The warehouse sat in a largely disused industrial complex not far from the local landfill. It only took a few thousand dollars and a few dozen man hours to fix the place up, secure it properly, and make it usable as a rehearsal studio. KVA decided to foot the bill for twenty-four-hour security to guard the facility and keep the local tweakers from stealing all the band’s instruments and equipment at night.

That left housing for Matt. It was nearly a two-hour drive from San Juan Capistrano to Stonehurst in morning traffic, an hour-fifteen from Kim’s mostly unused house in El Segundo, both too long to be practical. Since he no longer owned a condo in LA and since he had far too much pride to bunk with one of his band members during the week, they had to find some place to put him up. That place turned out to be the house that Jake and Laura owned in Granada Hills, only ten minutes away from the rehearsal warehouse.

Jake was extremely reluctant to let the infamous guitar player stay there, but in the end, decided to give it a go as Matt did not have the means to rent any place he would actually be caught dead in in LA and KVA was not willing to pay rent for him.

“You will not trash our fucking house!” Jake warned him sternly when he first suggested the idea to Matt. “I am dead serious about this. You will sleep in the guest room and clean up everything as you go along. Laura and I stay in that house on occasion—that’s why we have it—and if there is so much as a bedsheet ruffled or an orange peel on the floor or a single dirty glass in the sink when we go there, your ass is out on the street.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt agreed. “I’ll treat the place just like it’s my own.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jake said.

“Don’t sweat it,” Matt assured him. “I’ll keep it spotless and take care of it for you.”

“And no parties,” Jake added. “It’s there for you to sleep in during the week. No guests of any kind except for Kim.”

“Jeez, dude,” Matt said. “When did you get that big-ass stick shoved up your ass?”

“When I invited a guy who is known to punch holes in hotel suite walls to live in my house,” he said.

“I only did that when I was drinking and doing coke,” Matt said.

“You still do those things,” Jake reminded him.

“Yes, but I’m a lot more mature these days. I haven’t punched a hole in a wall in more than a year now.”

“You’re not making me feel better about this, Matt,” Jake said.

“Don’t worry,” Matt said. “I’ll treat your house like it’s a fuckin’ shrine. You have my word on it.”

“Uh huh,” Jake said.

“But do be sure to call first before you and your old lady come by,” Matt suggested. “That way, I can make sure the sheets ain’t ruffled and there ain’t no glasses in the sink and shit.”

“Fair enough,” Jake agreed. “What about your car?”

“What about it?”

“Do you have a driver’s license these days? You’re not planning to take limos back and forth all the time, are you?”

“I have a driver’s license,” Matt assured him. “And I still have my Maserati.”

“Okay,” Jake said. “Please don’t engage in any police pursuits while this project is underway. And if you do, don’t lead them to my house. Can you do that?”

“Consider it done,” Matt agreed.

Last came the equipping of the warehouse so progress could begin. Most of the amps, speakers, and other sound equipment that Matt had used for previous workups had belonged to National Records and was part of their warehouse. In addition, Matt had sold off most of the non-instrument equipment that he had personally owned. KVA’s equipment was, like the studio itself, going to soon be used for Celia and her workups. That meant that new equipment needed to be purchased and installed. This was the most expensive part of the process to date as high-quality sound gear was not cheap. KVA laid out more than thirty thousand dollars for a new sound board, a speaker system, new amps, and all the cabling and wiring to make the equipment work. Jake, Matt, and the Nerdlys spent the better part of Wednesday afternoon putting everything together and wiring it up.

“All right,” Jake said as the four of them sat drinking beer or iced tea (the tea was for Jake, who would be flying later) once the project was complete. “Tomorrow you start working.”

“The boys are ready,” Matt promised. “We’ll be here at nine o’clock and work until five. You have that catering service ready to go?”

“They’ll start with lunch tomorrow,” Jake said—yet another expense that KVA was incurring in the Tisdale Project, as they were now referring to it.

“Out of fuckin’ sight,” Matt said.

“Do you want us to come over in the morning to help you with your sound checks?” asked Nerdly.

Matt and Jake shook their heads immediately. “Naw, Nerdly,” Matt said. “We’re just starting the workups tomorrow. We don’t need to be perfect just yet.”

“That’s true,” Nerdly said, “but one should always strive to achieve the best sound possible, even if one is just doing a basic workup. Sharon and I have no plans for tomorrow. We would enjoy coming out to help.”

Matt looked at Jake for help.

“Don’t worry about it for now, Nerdly,” Jake told him. “We promised Matt he had the rest of July and all of August to work up his tunes before we started getting involved. I think production would be hampered if we started sticking our noses in right away.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Matt grumbled. He was still resentful that Jake would be involved at all. “You’ll be sticking your noses in plenty come September.”

“As per our contract,” Jake reminded.

“Yeah,” Matt said. “Our fuckin’ contract.”

They didn’t say much else. Jake and the Nerdlys each got in their cars and headed out for the day—the Nerdlys to their home, Jake to Whiteman Airport so he could fly home to his pregnant wife.

Matt stayed behind for a few more minutes, looking at the warehouse and the speakers and the amps which were just waiting for the instruments and the band members to arrive to plug in and start making music. He was excited about that part, could not wait to start introducing his new tunes.

But he was still wondering if he had sold his soul to the fuckin’ devil in order to make it happen.