Climbing the Rock

Chapter 12B: On The Road Again

The break-up went down as discussed and scheduled. Georgette and Shaver gave their press conferences and read brief statements written by Jake and Mindy in which both proclaimed that the reason for their break-up was personal and that they were still "dear friends" and would always remain so. The media went into a frenzy over the announcement, with headline stories and analysis taking up more room in some local publications than the stories about the pull-out of the US Marines from Beirut in the wake of the suicide bombing or the alleged use of chemical weapons by Iraq in their war with Iran.

On March 10, two days before Intemperance's departure for Miami, Mindy showed up at Jake's condo unexpectedly. She found him dressed in an old pair of jeans and a sweat-stained t-shirt, his hair in disarray. He was in a foul mood, the living room full of cardboard boxes in which he was packing all of his belongings.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought we weren't supposed to be seen together."

"It's okay," she told him, looking around the condo in amazement. "The official story is that I'm picking up a few belongings I left at your place. What the hell is going on here?"

"I'm being evicted," he told her. "Since we're going to be gone for almost six months National decided it was cheaper to stop paying for this place and keep my stuff in storage until I get back."

"They're kicking you out of your home?" she asked, appalled.

"It's not my home," he said bitterly. "It's the record company's. All five of us are getting the boot. They say they'll find different lodging for us when we get back."

"That's horrible," she said, genuinely appalled.

"That's life in the music biz," he responded. "So what did you really come here for?"

"I just wanted to see you one more time before you went," she said. "I have to fly to New York tomorrow for an audition." She smiled. "It's for a new movie they're going to start filming in a few months. A real movie. It's called Back to the Future."

"Yeah?" he asked. "What's it about?"

"It's going to have Michael J. Fox as the lead," she said. "He'll play a high school student who goes back in time and accidentally interferes with his parent's romance because his mom falls in love with him."

"His mom falls in love with him?" Jake asked.

"Yes... isn't it deliciously kinky? I'm trying out for the part of the teenage mom in 1955. She's going to be a little slut from what I understand."

"I guess she'd have to be if she wants to bang her own son."

"She doesn't know he's her son," she said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, it's the first role with the least bit of sexuality in it that I've ever been offered. I just wanted to properly thank you for helping me get a chance at it before you went. We probably won't be able to see each other again for awhile."

"You're welcome," he said. "Just call me the image enhancer."

"Oh come on, Jake," she said. "Don't be like that. You know this is the right thing to do, don't you?"

"Yeah," he said, tired of the whole subject. "The right thing."

"I've got a few minutes before people start to wonder why I'm up here so long," she said. "Shall we visit your bedroom one last time."

He made the obligatory protests but within five minutes they were retiring to his bedroom. By the time they were done he needed a shower in order to go back to the dirty, grimy work of packing up his life.

The convoy formed up on the morning of March 12 for the long trip to Miami. It was larger and more impressive than the convoy that had formed the Earthstone/Intemperance tour of 1983, or the Intemperance/Voyeur tour of later that same year. There were eleven tour buses forming the vanguard of the convoy. One for Intemperance, one for Birmingham — the rookie Southern rock band who would be opening for them — and nine for the roadies, technical specialists, and tour management who would be accompanying them. There were ten tractor-trailer rigs following behind the tour buses, four more than the last tour, including one with high-explosive placards pasted all over it. This particular tractor-trailer, which contained all of the pyrotechnic equipment and charges, was a particular pain in the ass to the planners of the tour because whenever the route took them over a large bridge or through a tunnel, it would have to divert around and rejoin later.

Jake, Matt, and the rest of the band were assigned to the exact same tour bus that had been their home during the last tour. The same two drivers were assigned to pilot it. And, of course, Greg Gahn, the hypocritical, Book of Mormon thumping, coke sniffing, drug pushing tour manager was assigned to accompany, intoxify, pacify, and generally babysit them.

"It won't be like last time," he told them as the convoy left the assembly area and started rolling towards the freeway. "We have nothing but luxury suites booked for you guys. You're big time now."

"That's real big of you," Jake responded, sipping from his first beer of the trip even though it was only seven in the morning, "considering that we're paying half the bill for those luxury suites."

"And all of your fuckin' nose candy," Matt added.

Greg wisely kept his mouth shut until the band was a little more into the spirit of things.

This didn't take long. They rolled down Interstate 10, leaving Los Angeles and its suburbs behind. By the time the bus entered the desert of Riverside County a thick haze of marijuana smoke hung in the air, the trash was full of empty beer bottles, and the mood among the band members was almost festive.

This mood remained as they rolled across the southern edge of the country. The bus sound system was turned on and, like before, whenever the new Intemperance single was found on a radio station, it was cranked loudly and out came the air guitars and the improvised dance moves. There was reason to be festive about this. Only fifteen days after The Thrill of Doing Business was released across the country for sale, the album had already sold eighty thousand copies and the single had already debuted on the Hot One Hundred chart. It was the most requested song on rock radio stations coast to coast and the first twenty venues they were scheduled for had already sold out in advance.

"Listen to this," said Bill on the second day of the trip, as he read from a newspaper he had picked up in an El Paso truck stop while the convoy had been fueling. "It's a record review of Thrill. 'It is clear when you listen to the cuts on the new album that the band has both matured and become more sophisticated in songwriting and musical composition. The lyrics by Tisdale and especially Kingsley are an obvious reflection of the life lessons both have learned in the rough and tumble music business. The ballad Crossing the Line, by Kingsley, is quite clearly influenced by his tumultuous, now-defunct relationship with television and screen actress Mindy Snow.'"

"That's some funny shit, Nerdly," Matt said. "We've matured and applied our life lessons. I guess they don't know that every last one of the tunes on Thrill are leftover material from D Street West days."

"Mindy and I only broke up a week ago," Jake said in wonder. "They think I composed a tune about it and that we rehearsed it up and recorded it since then?"

"Who is the song about then?" asked Greg, who was hovering nearby and preparing his latest nose candy feast.

"It isn't about anybody," Jake said. "It's not a love song at all. It's about taking risks in your life, about going beyond the point where your instincts are telling you to stop something. The line is where you can turn back from a decision and still walk away. Crossing it means you put everything at risk, expose yourself, flirt with failure in the name of a new achievement."

"Yeah," Coop said. "Like when you're with a new bitch and you want to ass fuck her or have her dyke out with another bitch while you fuck them both. If you don't ask her, you'll never get to do it. But if you do ask her, she might dump your ass and start fucking one of your friends instead. That's the danger. But the reward you can get by crossing the line is that she might be down with it and you can get yourself into some ass or get a threesome."

Everyone stared at Coop for a moment, long enough to make him uncomfortable.

"What?" he asked.

"That's fuckin' deep, Coop," Matt said.

"Hell yeah," agreed Jake. "You nailed that concept right on the head."

Greg, as was his custom when the talked turned in this direction, simply shook his head in disgust and found another portion of the bus to occupy.

They rolled into Miami just after ten o'clock in the morning on March 15, ten and a half hours before they were to hit the stage for the first time. All five were hungover and strung out, badly in need of sleep. They stopped at their hotel long enough to check in and take a shower and then Janice Boxer gathered them all up for their first session of radio station interviews, sound byte recordings, and an autograph session at a local record store. They met the members of Birmingham for the first time when they reported for the sound check at four-thirty that afternoon.

Birmingham was a five-man band whose album had been released two months earlier and was selling moderately well with decent airplay of their single Texas Hold-em. Jake had heard their song on the radio many times and had also scored a copy of the album from Crow when he first found out they would be opening for them. They were obviously heavily influenced by .38 Special and Molly Hatchet, but not to the point where they were a complete sound-alike band like Voyeur had been for AC/DC. All in all, Jake thought their music wasn't bad and he told them so when the lead singer, who seemed awe-struck to be in their presence, introduced himself and his cohorts.

And of course, they asked if the veteran band had any advice to give to the rookies. They looked puzzled when all five members of Intemperance burst out in laughter.

"The best advice we can give," said Jake, "is the same advice Earthstone gave us when we opened for them the first time."

"What's that?"

Jake looked at Darren. "You want to lay it on 'em?" he asked him.

"Hell yeah," Darren said sourly. He looked at the members of Birmingham. "No matter what you do, no matter how much you might think you want to, never kiss a groupie."

And, as Earthstone had done before them, they said no further on that matter, leaving it to the newbies to find out how solid that advice was on their own.

In their dressing rooms they were assisted with their wardrobe by Reginald Feeney and had their hair done by Delores Riolo, just as before. Once dressed and presentable they went backstage for the obligatory autograph sessions and photo-ops for the various radio station contest winners and the other dignitaries who had scored back-stage passes.

"I'm sorry to hear about you and Mindy Snow," Jake was told no less than six times. Twice he was pressed for details of why they had broken up. He politely deflected these inquiries with vague statements.

Finally, they were led back to the dressing room so Birmingham could hit the stage. By this point they were really dragging ass, all of them wishing they had spent last night sleeping instead of partying.

"Does anyone want a little pick-me-up?" asked Greg, waving his cocaine kit before their eyes. "It would be therapeutic at this point, don't you think?"

"Don't start, Greg," Matt growled. "I was afraid of offending the record company last tour so I went easy on you. I'm no longer quite so afraid of them."

Greg put a nervous look on his face and slinked off, taking his cocaine with him.

The thumping of Birmingham's bass guitar could be heard but little else as they went through their set. After an hour it came to an end. Jake and Matt drank three bottles of Gatorade apiece to stave off the dehydration they knew was coming. Conversation was little. Finally it was time to go forward. They made their way through the tunnel and into the stage left area. As soon as they opened the door the sound of the crowd hit them.

Jake felt his fatigue slipping away as he heard that sound, replaced by nervous excitement. It was time to perform.

The lights went down and the sell-out crowd of fourteen thousand began to roar. The synthesized intro began. They were warned one last time to stay clear of the pyro charges. They clasped hands and hit the stage. Matt ground out the opening chords, the explosions fired, and their first set of the tour began.

It went off flawlessly, just like it had in the dress rehearsals. Jake played and sang, giving himself fully to the performance, feeling everything else in his life slip from his thoughts as he heard the crowd screaming out their approval, as he heard them singing along with their songs. The ninety minute set flew by, seeming to take only minutes, and when it was finally over, when the grand finale explosion finally ripped across the stage and the last chord was struck, when the five of them stood together at the front of the stage and took their bow, received their enthusiastic standing ovation, Jake felt that all was right in his world. He was doing what he was put on Earth to do and he couldn't wait to do it again.

The groupies in the shower routine of the last tour did not manifest itself on this tour. Instead, there was group of about thirty of them in the dressing room when the band emerged in their civilian clothing. Jake wasn't sure he was ready just yet to engage in the usual debauchery but his misgivings were neatly squashed after three rum and cokes and two bonghits. He hooked up with a young Cuban girl with a lush, exotic body and large, pillow-soft breasts. She gave him a blowjob in the dressing room while he finished his fifth drink and then accompanied him to the party in Darren's suite. Later, around one in the morning, he took her back to his suite and undressed her like a Christmas present. He capped his weapon and slid into her alluring body, feeling no guilt during or after, but also feeling no real fulfillment at the conquest. She would have a memory that would last a lifetime — the night she fucked Jake Kingsley, the Jake Kingsley. But a week from now, he knew, he wouldn't even remember her, not her name, not her face, not her scent, not even her existence.

They fell back into the routine of touring with practiced ease. The days and then the weeks went by in a haze of long bus rides, greasy hotel and truck stop food, screaming fans and sign-carrying protestors at record stores, interviews (some quite caustic, touching on the Satanism or the Mindy Snow topic), sound byte deliveries, roaring crowds and the exquisite thrill of performing live, and late-night after-show parties marked by gross intoxication and naked, willing, nameless groupies. It wasn't long before Jake had to be reminded what city they were performing in before stepping onto the stage. It wasn't long before they lost complete track of the day of the week, even the month of the year.

They moved northward along the eastern seaboard, working their way city by city, arena by arena, to New England. They then moved west to the Great Lake cities, and then south, through the Midwest. Though their performances became more focused and more automatic through sheer repetition, the joy of performing never faded and the spontaneity of each show held firm, thrilling and delighting each audience. The word traveled in many forms — through print-media, through television, through word of mouth — but it remained essentially the same: Intemperance knew how to put on a show. Venues continued to sell out weeks in advance and there were reports of people camping out for two days to get tickets, of riots started by people trying to cut in line at such campouts, of record-high prices being charged by scalpers.

Another thing spread about by the media — usually in tabloids like American Watcher — was Jake's trysts with groupies. This was very big in the first month of the tour, while news of the Jake and Mindy break-up was still reverterbrating across the country. JAKE COPING WELL WITHOUT MINDY read one headline in the Watcher. Inside the issue was a lengthy interview with a nineteen-year-old girl who claimed to have had an extended sexual encounter with Jake in Atlanta after the Intemperance concert there.

"Is that the bitch you fucked in Atlanta?" Matt asked as they perused the issue during one of the bus rides.

Jake looked at the picture of her carefully. She was certainly attractive, with brunette hair, a trim body, and pouty lips. "Could be," he said. "She does look a little familiar."

Other such articles followed this one but all shared the same theme. There would be pictures of a groupie that Jake had allegedly been involved with in some city or another, an interview with the groupie telling all that had occurred (at least within the bounds of the community standard of decency), and quotes from Georgette to the effect that Mindy was glad that Jake was moving on with his life and she wished him the best, and from Shaver, acting as Jake's spokesman (and raking his twenty-one percent off the top of their album sales) that Jake was living his own life and hoping that Mindy was doing the same.

It was only when they reached New York City when the articles finally came to an end, their monotonous theme replaced by one even more exciting, that of the arrest of the entire band on drug and indecency charges.

Since it was the scene of the infamous coke sniffing from the butt-crack episode of the last tour, the protestations by the anti-Intemperance crowd were especially vigorous in the Big Apple in the weeks preceding their appearance there. There were petitions to revoke Intemperance's concert permit, marches before city hall by local Christian and women's rights groups, even a candlelight vigil by an anti-drug coalition. None of it did any good. Madison Square Garden was sold out for three consecutive shows and the city council and mayor's office, citing first amendment issues as their basis for decision, refused to take any steps to prevent Intemperance from playing.

After the final MSG performance the band was in Matt's room engaging in their usual post-performance activities. Jake, now fully back in the swing of the touring lifestyle, was on the couch in the suite's sitting room, fucking a young Chinese groupie from behind while her face was buried in the widely spread crotch of a young Japanese groupie. Resting on the Chinese groupie's lower back was a three-quarter full rum and coke. The challenge Jake had put upon his two lovers was to complete their act without spilling the drink. It was starting to look like the challenge would be lost when the front door of the suite suddenly boomed open and a dozen uniformed NYPD officers came bursting in, their guns drawn, their eyes wide.

"Everyone, get down on the fuckin' floor, now!" screamed a voice.

"I'm already on the fuckin' floor," replied Matt, who was on his back while two groupies took turns blowing him.

Chaos erupted for the next ten minutes as more cops came rushing in. Girls screamed, cops yelled, band members yelled back. Matt tried to get up and was pushed roughly back down. In his drunken and coked out state he did what came naturally to him. He hit the cop that had pushed him in the balls. The cops responded by pummeling Matt with their batons until he fell unconscious to the floor. Jake tried to get up and was pounced upon by three cops. He felt kicks to his ribs and a baton strike to the top of his head. His hands were wrenched behind his back and handcuffs were applied and wrenched down brutally tight. He was left to lay there, completely naked, a condom still on his penis, bleeding from his head, each breath a ragged stab of pain in his right side, a cop's foot in the back of his neck.

All the girls were gathered in one place and told to identify themselves. This took the better part of twenty minutes since they had to find their clothes first. Jake heard the two plainclothes cops who seemed to be in charge of the raid discussing them.

"None of them are underage," cop number one reported.

"None of them? Are you sure?"

"We've checked all their ID's, Lou."

"What about consent? Any of them say they're here against their will, or that they were being sexually assaulted."

"No. In fact, they're all quite proud to say they were here. Some of them were asking the CSI team to photograph 'em."

"Oh well," Lou sighed. "At least there's the drugs. Let's start searching."

The search took another hour. During it, the cops confiscated eight grams of cocaine and more than an ounce of high-grade marijuana. Jake and Matt were covered with blankets and transported to the hospital. Coop, Darren, and Bill were transported to jail. No one else was arrested.

Jake had six stitches put in the top of his head. An x-ray revealed three broken ribs. Matt was a bit worse. He had a major concussion, a bruised kidney, and required twenty-eight stitches to close off the bleeders in his head. He was held overnight, under guard, in a hospital room.

Late the next morning all five of them were brought before a magistrate and were formally charged with possession of cocaine for sale, possession of marijuana for sale, and being under the influence of cocaine and marijuana. In addition, Matt and Jake were both charged with resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. None of the five made any statements, all invoking their right to an attorney. And attorneys were what they got. A veritable team of high-priced mouthpieces arrived to represent them. The prosecution asked for the defendants to be held without bail, citing the seriousness of the drug trafficking charges and the high flight risk a traveling band entailed. Intemperance's attorneys then had their say and, in the end, all five were released on ten thousand dollars bail and with special permission to leave the State of New York and continue their tour.

"This is outrageous!" proclaimed the prosecuting attorney when the ruling was handed down. "These men are sex criminals, drug traffickers, and complete menaces to society! Furthermore, your acquiescence to their request to leave the jurisdiction while out on bail is unprecedented. I must protest you allowing them continue performing their concerts and receiving twenty to thirty thousand dollars a show while these heinous charges are pending against them."

Matt, wearing an orange jumpsuit, his face a kaleidoscope of bruises, stitches, and hematomas, his hands and legs in shackles, suddenly stood up. "Protest this, motherfucker!" he yelled, reaching his shackled hands down just far enough to grab his crotch and squeeze it.

The judge banged his gavel and angrily found Matt in contempt of court, but he also rejected the prosecutor's plea. "The ruling stands," he said. "This court is adjourned."

All five of them were bailed out of jail less than thirty minutes later. Though their performance was a just a bit more sedate than usual, they managed to go on stage, as scheduled, in Philadelphia that night. Meanwhile, the team of lawyers went to work on their case. The first thing they looked at was the writ that had led to the warrant that had allowed the NYPD narcotics and sex crimes units to search the hotel room. It took them only two days to expose the entire thing as a collection of lies, innuendo, and speculation designed to do no more than get a judge to allow them to raid a hotel room without probable cause. A motion to dismiss all charges on the grounds of illegal search and seizure was filed with a superior court judge. The judge looked over the evidence presented to him and not only dismissed the charges, he charged two police investigators with perjury, requested an investigation by the New York state BAR of the judge who had signed the warrant, and ordered the New York City police commissioner himself to extend a public apology to the members of Intemperance.

Of course the entire episode was reported on with glee by the national media. INTEMPERANCE MEMBERS ARRESTED ON DRUG CHARGES, KINGSLEY AND TISDALE WENT DOWN FIGHTING, ROCK AND ROLL HEROES FACING TEN TO TWENTY FOR DRUG TRAFFICKING, INTEMPERANCE OUT ON BAIL AFTER SEX ORGY, and ALL CHARGES AGAINST INTEMPERANCE DROPPED ON A TECHNICALITY were the headlines shouted on front pages throughout the nation as the week-long saga unfolded. Glittering descriptions of the orgy the police found upon entering the room were described over and over, as was the inventory of the drugs found in their possession. When the dismissals came there were cries of outrage from the law and order types about the liberal search and seizure restrictions in the United States constitution.

Greg, of course, loved every bit of the entire thing. "You can't pay for this kind of publicity! I swear to Heavenly Father, you boys don't even have to put music on those records for them to sell!" His attitude was undoubtedly a reflection of the rest of National Records' executives.

Two days after watching the NYPD commissioner's televised apology to the members of Intemperance, Jake was lying in his hotel bed in Boston. They had just enjoyed one of the rare extended travel days off and he was well rested and sober for the first time in two weeks. His phone began to ring. He picked it up, expecting it to be Greg, or Janice, or maybe Matt, but it wasn't. It was Mindy.

"How did you know where to get hold of me?" he asked her, surprised, and a bit trepidatious to hear her voice.

"I have a copy of your tour schedule, remember?" she asked. "I knew you just had a day off and were probably relaxing and I had some people I know find out where you were staying."

"I see," he said slowly.

"So, how are you doing?" she asked him. "It looks like you ran into a little trouble there in New York, huh?"

"That's a good way of putting it," he allowed.

"I heard you got banged up a bit by the cops. Are you okay?"

"I'm healing," he said. "Matt's worse than I am, but we still manage to get out there on stage every night."

"The show must go on," she said, uttering the sacred decree of performers.

"The show must go on," he agreed. "So how are you doing? Did you get that role you were after? That incestuous time-travel movie?"

"No, they turned me down for it. I did great at the audition but they decided to cast an unknown in the part. They said they didn't want to overshadow Michael J. Fox. It's understandable I suppose. I'm trying out for a part in another movie this weekend. This one looks a lot better."

"I'm glad to hear it," he told her.

"Listen," she said, "the reason I called is that I'm going to do an interview on The Tonight Show."

"With Johnny Carson?" he asked, surprised.

"The one and only," she giggled. "I'm scheduled for next Friday. The subject of our relationship is going to be discussed."

"I see," he said slowly.

"Neither one of us has talked about our break-up or our relationship to the media. I just wanted to let you know what I was going to say before I said it. It's nothing bad or anything."

"Okay," he said. "And what are you going to say?"

"That we felt a strong infatuation for each other and fell into a hot, torrid love affair."

"It starts off good," Jake told her.

"And truthful," she said. "Anyway, I'm going to tell him that we just weren't compatible in the long run and that we both realized that. We couldn't spend enough time together, we were both too into our careers to make sacrifices for the other, and, since we knew you were going to be heading out on tour we thought it best to just be friends from that point on. Does that sound good?"

"It sounds more than good," he said. "It sounds perfect."

They talked for a few more minutes and said their good-byes. That Friday night, after the show in Montpellier, Jake left the party in Bill's suite after enjoying only a quick blowjob from a redheaded groupie and went back to his own suite alone. He tuned in The Tonight Show on the large screen television and watched as Johnny went through his monologue and then introduced his first guest of the evening: Mindy Snow. She was wearing a sequined gown and looked absolutely stunning. He felt a tinge of black desire for her as he watched her take her seat. And, as usual, she hadn't told him everything about what her intentions were.

Johnny asked her early in the discussion about what attracted her to Jake. "What makes a beautiful, innocent, successful young actress hook up with a scrungy, bad-boy rock star like Jake Kingsley?"

"Passion," she told him. "Jake is dangerous, and a horrible influence, and everything else that he's accused of. He drinks too much, he smokes too much, he does drugs and gets irrational at times, sometimes even belligerent, but he's an incredibly passionate, alive man all the same."

"Is he abusive?" Johnny asked.

"Well... I wouldn't exactly use that word," she said, indicating with her face that she was withholding something. "I mean, he can be downright ugly at times, especially when he's been drinking, but he doesn't hit or anything like that."

"Well that a relief," Johnny said.

"It's the whole bad-boy image that attracts us girls to people like Jake," she said. "You know your mother wouldn't approve of him so its kind of a rebellion of sorts. Eventually, however, you realize that maybe your mother was right after all."

The audience laughed. So did Johnny.

"Truthfully though," Mindy went on, "I don't regret my little experiment with Jake. I'll always remember him with fondness even though he scared me sometimes, you know? I wish nothing but the best for him and I hope he gets the problems he has with drugs and alcohol under control before its too late. I mean, we all saw what happened to him in New York, right? He has to realize that he's heading for nowhere good and in a hurry at that."

The rest of the interview only took ten minutes. The subject of Jake was dropped in favor of the subject of Mindy's up and coming auditions and her hope to soon appear in a major feature film.

The next morning the headlines in the entertainment sections read MINDY CITES JAKE'S DRUG ADDICTION AND ABUSIVENESS AS REASON FOR BREAK-UP.

Two weeks later Mindy was in the news once again. It was announced by newspapers and entertainment shows across the land that she had been given the lead in a new movie called Handle With Caution, which was about an abused wife trying to pull herself out of a violent relationship. Mindy was quoted as saying that she was perfect for this particular role since she had intimate experience with such a topic. A week after that it was announced that Mindy and John Carlisle — a twenty-eight year old actor who had been nominated for an Oscar the year before for his role as tough street cop — had been seen in each other's company on multiple occasions. By the end of the month both actors had confirmed to the press that they were romantically involved.

On May 2, as Intemperance was halfway through the second leg of their tour, The Thrill of Doing Business — the album — went gold. At the same time The Thrill of Doing Business — the single — peaked at number eight on the top forty chart and began to work its way back down. Crossing the Line was the next single to be released for sale. It quickly began selling off the shelves as radio stations throughout the country began playing it six to ten times a day.

On May 4, the convoy rolled into Detroit and set up for three consecutive shows. The capacity of the arena here was almost twenty-two thousand and boasted some of the best acoustics in the country. In addition, Detroit fans were reputed to be among the most enthusiastic in the nation. For this reason, Detroit was often chosen as a favored place to record live shows for later release as live albums. Bog Seger had recorded his famous live album here, as had Journey, Peter Frampton, and even Kiss (although hopefully the reader will not hold that against the motor city). National Records, anticipating such a live album by their new hit band Intemperance, decided to follow suit and capture the live tracks from all three days. Extra sound equipment was brought in for high-quality recording. Video crews were hired and their equipment was strewn about the auditorium.

As the time approached for them to hit the stage for the first recorded show, the tension level among the five band members was considerably higher than normal. At fifteen minutes to stage time, while they were sitting in the dressing room, twirling guitar picks and drumsticks, drinking from Gatorade and smoking cigarettes, Darren suddenly upped the tension by pulling out a joint and lighting it up.

Everyone stared at this in complete disbelief as he took a huge hit of the greenbud they were supplied with for after-show festivities and held it in, a defiant look on his face. Matt was the first to react. He jumped up from his chair, dropping his guitar pick and his cigarette, took three steps across the room, and slapped the joint out of Darren's hand.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, dickweed?" Matt demanded. "Cough that fuckin' hit out!"

Darren refused to cough it out so Matt stepped behind him and did a Heimlich maneuver on him, which forced him to exhale, and quite forcefully at that. Pungent smoke was propelled across the room at more or less the speed of sound.

"Motherfucker!" Darren yelled, spinning around quickly. He pushed Matt roughly, shoving him back down into a seat. "Don't you ever put your fuckin' hands on me again!"

Matt was up in flash, his hand forming into a fist. He cocked back and drove a solid right towards Darren's face. Jake got there before it could hit. He caught it neatly in his right hand, the sound of the slap echoing throughout the room. He then pushed himself between his colleagues, preventing them from further violence.

"Sit the fuck down!" Jake shouted. "Both of you! Right now!"

It took a moment of angry looks cast back and forth, but both did as he commanded. Jake then turned to Darren, his eyes glaring at him.

"Okay," he said, trying to stay calm. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm getting stoned," Darren said stubbornly. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

"You got a lot of fuckin' nerve sparking that shit up right in front of me!" Matt yelled from behind. "Where the fuck do you get off..."

He stopped as Jake held up his hand.

"Explain yourself, Darren," Jake said. "You know we have a rule about getting high in any capacity before we hit the stage. So why are you all of a sudden defying that rule by busting out a fucking joint fifteen minutes before we go on?"

"That's your fucking rule," Darren said. "Yours and Matt's. And I'm tired of living by it. I play better when I'm stoned, man. Don't you fuckin' know that?"

"Didn't you trip over your own goddamn guitar cord when you were stoned?" Matt spat.

"I wasn't stoned then," Darren said. "If I was, I never would've done that!"

Another shouting match developed over this subject, with Coop and Bill getting involved too. It went on for the better part of a minute before Jake yelled at everyone to shut the fuck up. Reluctantly, everyone did.

"Why you tripped over your cord is immaterial right now," Jake said. "Whether or not you play better while stoned is immaterial as well. The fact is, we have a rule about using drugs or alcohol before performing. This rule has been in effect ever since you joined this band, since before I joined the band as a matter of fact. We've had issues with you on this before. You are not allowed to smoke weed before we hit the stage. Period. End of discussion."

"No," Darren said. "That ain't the end of the fuckin' discussion. I want to get stoned before I go on and I'm going to get stoned before I go on. That's the end of the fuckin' discussion!" He started heading for the joint, which was lying on the floor about five feet away.

"Asshole!" Matt yelled. "I'll kick your stoned-out ass out of this fuckin' band if you pick up that joint."

Darren didn't hesitate for a second. He picked up the joint and faced Matt. "You ain't my boss anymore, Matt," he said. "You been pretending like you are all this time, but you ain't. You can't fire me. Greg told me that a couple days ago. As far as the record company is concerned, we're all equals here, we're all their fuckin' employees! And since my boss don't mind if I smoke out, I'm smoking out and you can't stop me!"

Greg — no doubt alerted by the security staff that trouble was brewing — appeared as if by magic, strolling through the door to the dressing room. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.

He wasn't answered verbally. He was answered by having Matt's hands grab him by the front of his shirt and lift him bodily off the ground. Before he even had a chance to let out a startled squeak, he was flying through the air with the greatest of ease and crashing into the tub of ice and Gatorade in the corner of the room. Matt walked over and picked him up again, slamming him into the nearest wall and driving the breath from his lungs. Matt's hand reared back to strike again and the only thing that prevented Greg from having his nasal bones smashed into his brain was Jake grabbing Matt's hand before it could strike. Even so, it was a close thing. Jake was lifted six inches off the ground before his sheer weight ended the forward motion.

"Let go of me, Jake," Matt said, trying to squirm free. "It's time I sent this coke-sniffing freak to see his Heavenly fucking Father!"

"Chill, Matt," Jake said soothingly, refusing to let go. "Chill. This isn't the answer."

"Who cares what the answer is?" Matt responded. "I just want to see his teeth sticking out of my knuckles!"

Jake, with the help of Coop, finally managed to wrestle Matt free and propel him back into his chair. Greg, still trying to get his breath back, glared at the guitar player, fire and brimstone in his eyes.

"Don't ever touch me again, Matt," he finally gasped when he was able to talk. "You may be able to get away with a lot out here on the road, but I'm a National Records executive and you will keep your filthy hands off of me!"

"Did you tell that asshole he could smoke weed before we went on?" Matt demanded. "Did you fuckin' tell him that?"

"Yes, he fuckin' told me that!" Darren said, still holding his joint in one hand, his lighter in the other. "Tell 'em, Greg. Tell 'em who's the fucking boss of this show."

"I am the boss of this show," Greg said. "And I don't see any problem with..."

"I'm the boss of this fucking band!" Matt yelled, standing up again. Jake and Coop were both forced to shove him back down.

"No," Greg said. "I'm sorry, but you're not. You are all National Records employees of equal stature. Steve Crow is your immediate superior and, while out on the road, I am your supervising agent, instilled with decision making authority and ultimate say-so on daily activities. Check your contract, Matt. I'm afraid that's the way it is."

"And so," Matt said, "using your decision making authority, you thought it would be a good idea to tell Darren to go ahead and smoke out before stepping onstage for a live video and audio recording? You told him this in spite of a long-standing band rule that specifically forbids this? What the fuck are you trying to do?"

"I'm not trying to do anything," Greg said. "I'm only here to make things flow smoothly. Darren told me that he performs better if he smokes a little marijuana first. I don't see any harm in doing that."

Matt actually became incoherent he was so mad. "You don't..." he stammered. "He doesn't... you won't..." He turned and cocked his fist back to hit the dressing room wall. Once again Jake jumped forward and grabbed it, preventing a broken hand this time instead of a broken bass player or a dead tour manager.

"Let me go!" Matt yelled. "I need to hit something!"

"I'm hitting something right now," Darren said defiantly. "Fuck all this shit." He put the joint in his mouth.

"Don't hit that fuckin' thing, Darren!" Matt yelled at him.

"Darren," Jake said. "Please. Don't start doing what these record company fucks want. It ain't good for us."

"Yeah, man," said Coop. "We need to stick together."

"You're moving in a starkly counterproductive direction, Darren," said Bill.

Darren looked at them all for a minute. For a second or two, it looked like he might put it down. And then Greg spoke up.

"Do what you want, Darren," he said. "If you need something to mellow you out before we go on, that's your business."

"I do what the fuck I want," Darren said. With that he sparked up his disposable lighter and took a tremendous hit.

They hit the stage a few minutes later, barely managing their pre-show display of camaraderie, all of them sullen and uncommunicative. But as they began to play, as they heard the impressive roar of the Detroit crowd screaming at them, they went to work and performed their best.

Darren played perfectly, as did everyone else.