Climbing the Rock

Chapter 17B: Balance of Power

The twenty-seventh annual Grammy awards took place on February 26, 1985. Intemperance once again hot-boxed the limousine with marijuana smoke as they made the trip and were stoned out of their minds as they walked up the red carpet and entered the building.

In all there were three nominations associated with Intemperance. The band itself and Crow, the producer, were both nominated for Record Of The Year for Crossing The Line. Jake was nominated for Song Of The Year for writing Crossing The Line. And the band alone was nominated for Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocal for Crossing The Line.

In general, Jake found the ceremony incredibly boring and endless. For hours they sat through such mundane awards as Best Spoken Word Recording, Best Reggae Recording, Best Production and Engineering. Only the frequent trips to the restroom to improve their marijuana high kept him sane. And in the end Intemperance didn't win a single award. Though he'd known in his heart this was going to be the case, Jake was surprised to find himself on the edge of his seat when the envelope was opened during each of the awards they were nominated for. He was also surprised by the black disappointment he felt when Prince and The Revolution took the Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group, when Terry Britten and Graham Lyle took Song Of The Year, and when Tina Turner and Terry Britten took the top award of Record Of The Year for What's Love Got To Do With It?

"Fixed," said Matt, who was sitting next to him, each time they weren't announced as the winner. "This whole thing is nothing but a big fuckin' fix."

"Yep," agreed Jake.

Cyndi Lauper took the Best New Artist award, barely acing out La Diferencia and completely smashing the last hope of the members of Birmingham. La Diferencia had also been nominated for Record Of The Year and Album Of The Year. Celia Valdez had been nominated for Best Pop Vocal Performance — Female. Their songwriting team had been nominated for Song Of The Year for I Love To Dance. They walked away with nothing as well.

The two bands ran into each other after the ceremony while waiting in the queue to board their limousines. It started out civil enough when Celia and Jake greeted each other and commiserated on their mutual losses. She and Matt glared at each other but otherwise kept their comments to themselves, at least until she introduced the rest of the band.

"This is Eduardo, my brother," she said. "He's our lead guitarist."

Eduardo, like his sister, was quite tall, standing quite close to six and a half feet. "Nice to meet you," Jake said, shaking with him.

"Nice to meet you as well," he said and then turned to Matt. He held out his hand to him. "You need no introduction, Mr. Tisdale. I am a great admirer of your technique."

Matt didn't shake with him. "Then maybe you'd like to hear one of the secrets of the electric guitar," he said. "Check this out, this is way cool." He leaned closer, as if passing on confidential information. "There are more than two chords you can play on a guitar. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. You should look into this and someday you might qualify as a full-blown hacker."

Eduardo's face darkened but he said nothing. He turned the other cheek and stepped back a bit.

Celia frowned and shot Matt another glare. She turned to a shorter man standing next to her. "This is Miguel," she said, speaking to Jake. "He's the bass player. We went to high school together and formed our first band."

"You're the bass player?" Matt spoke up, stepping over. "I'll shake with you, my friend. You are all right."

"Uh... thank you," Miguel said, surprised. They shook.

"You're welcome," said Matt. "Hey, the word on the street is you're sliding your chorizo into Miss Pop Queen here. That true?"

Miguel's face turned beet red. His eyes actually bulged out of their sockets for a moment. "You are a disgusting pile of shit," he told Matt, his words heavily accented.

"Yep," Matt agreed. "So anyway, how is she in the sack? Does she swallow like a good little senorita?"

This pushed Miguel over the edge. "To voy a romper el orto!" he yelled angrily. His fist came up, heading for Matt's head. Matt blocked the punch easily but before he could launch a counter-strike another fist, this one belonging to Eduardo, came flying in from his blind side. It struck Matt on his left temple, snapping his head to the side and sending him reeling into Diana Ross and her entourage, who were in the queue behind them.

"Motherfucker!" Matt yelled, shaking himself free from Diana. "You're dead!"

"Matt!" Jake, Crow, and Janice all yelled at the same time.

Matt didn't hear them. He waded in and threw a punch directly into Eduardo's stomach, doubling him over. Before he could land another, Jake was grabbed him from behind, pulling him backwards. Celia and Bobby grabbed Eduardo, keeping him from attacking Matt again. But nobody grabbed Miguel. He stepped forward and threw another punch at Matt's face. Matt ducked down and it hit Jake instead, crashing in just above his right cheek with enough force to momentarily daze him. Stars erupted before his eyes and he fell backwards, his grip on Matt releasing. He hit the floor with a thud.

"All right, chili-picker!" Matt yelled. "That's your ass!" He went after Miguel and landed two punches on the side of his face before three security guards grabbed hold of him and pulled him off. Another two grabbed Miguel and dragged him in a separate direction.

"Chinga tu madre, cabron!" Miguel yelled at Matt. "Chinga tu madre!"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Matt yelled back. "You're in fucking America, asshole! Speak fucking English!"

"It means 'fuck your mother'," Celia shouted at him. "You don't want to know what 'cabron' means, cabron!"

"I'll fuckin' kill his ass!" Matt yelled. "Let me go, you fucks!"

They didn't let him go, he was dragged off in one direction and Miguel was dragged off in another. Soon they were out of sight. Several more security guards had arrived by this point and adroitly positioned themselves between Jake — who was just pulling himself to his feet — and Eduardo, who had been released by Celia and Bobby.

"It's cool," Jake said, holding up his hands appeasingly. "I ain't going after anyone."

Eduardo glared at him for a few moments and then finally nodded that he was cool as well. He turned and headed for the door, where a corridor had been cleared to allow them outside and out of sight. Bobby and the rest of the band and their entourage followed after him — all except Celia. She walked over to Jake.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"I think so," he said, rubbing his cheek and wincing a little. "It's not the first time Matt's mouth got me punched in the face and it probably won't be the last."

"He's an asshole," she said. "You know that, don't you?"

Jake shrugged. "He does have his moments. Your boyfriend there packs a pretty good punch. Not as good as the NYPD, but respectable."

"He's not my boyfriend," she said forcefully. "He's always had a crush on me but it never went anywhere. Bobby is my boyfriend."

"I see," Jake said. "Maybe you should reconsider your choice. I notice Bobby was the only one who didn't defend your honor."

"He's a lover, not a fighter," she said.

Jake chuckled. "Of course," he said. "Well, it's been nice seeing you again, Celia. Well... not really, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah," she said. "I know what you mean."

"Celia!" barked Bobby. "Get away from that... that man! Come on. They brought our limo out front so we can get out of this madhouse."

"I'm coming!" she yelled back at him. She turned back to Jake. "I'll see you here next year?"

"You bet," he told her. "We'll get rejected together again. It'll be fun."

She smiled and turned away.

"Hey," Jake called after her. She turned. "What does 'cabron' mean anyway?"

"It has many different meanings," she said, "none of them polite. I believe that Miguel was using the one that tells your friend he is an incestuous cuckold who cannot obtain an erection."

"Wow," Jake said. "All that in one word?"

"It's a very versatile insult," she said. "Goodbye, Jake."

"Goodbye, Celia," he said.

She gave him one last smile and then turned away. A moment later she was gone.

Pauline's flight landed at LAX at 7:05 the next morning. Jake — dressed in his dark shades, his hair tucked under a baseball cap — was there to pick her up. He noticed right away that she was toting two large suitcases instead of the normal carry-on.

"What's with the baggage?" he asked her.

"I'll tell you in the car," she said. "Here come some of your fans."

Like usual, the hat and sunglasses routine only kept him from being recognized for a short period of time. Within minutes adoring fans and hostile religious types swarmed him. He signed a few autographs, deflected a few insults, and finally extricated them and led them out to the parking area. Pauline's luggage barely fit into Corvette but somehow they managed it.

"Sorry you didn't win a Grammy," Pauline told him as they pulled out onto the access road. "What happened to your eye?"

He removed his sunglasses and showed her the black and blue shiner Miguel's punch had produced. "It's a good one, isn't it? Not as impressive as the one in Texarkana, but up there."

"What happened?" she asked.

"Oh... you know, the usual," he said. "We got in a fight with La Diferencia after the Grammy Awards."

"You got in a fight with a pop band?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Matt did actually. I just got caught in the crossfire. But it's cool now."

"It's cool?" she asked incredulously. "Jake, what the hell happened?"

"It'll be in all the gossip columns this morning if you want to read about it. Let's talk about you for a minute. What's with the luggage? Are you staying awhile?"

"Looks like it," she said. "I was called to a meeting with three of the partners yesterday. They gave me an ultimatum. Either I stop my outside work and go back to devoting all my energy to the firm or I'm fired."

Jake sighed. "And you chose the second option?"

She nodded. "The time came to burn that bridge behind me. Do you think I can stay with you until we work this thing out?"

"Pauline, why don't we stop this?" he said. "You go back to your job, right now, today, and we'll find an entertainment lawyer to represent us in the negotiations."

She shook her head. "You would be violating the agreement we have just by consulting another lawyer. I'm in for the long haul, Jake. Nothing has changed except the time I'll have to devote to you guys."

"But..."

"No buts," she said. "I made my decision and I don't regret it a bit. This will work out and I'll get my reward when it does. Besides, they didn't just kick me out on the street. I got a severance package. Six thousand dollars and benefits paid until June 1. You can't beat that, can you?"

"Employment beats that," he said.

"Not in my eyes, little brother. Now can I stay with you, or what?"

"Yeah," he said. "You can sleep in the office. The couch folds out into a bed."

It was not surprising to find out that National already knew Pauline had moved in with Jake by the time they made it to the negotiation session that morning at nine o'clock. After all, Manny had seen her carry two suitcases into the condo and set them up in the office and Manny was still a pipeline of information. What was surprising, and a little disconcerting as well, was the fact that they also knew why Pauline had moved her stuff in. They scoffed at the explanation that she had taken a leave of absence until the negotiations were complete and told her point-blank that they knew she'd been fired.

"You have very good sources," Pauline replied, keeping her poker face firmly affixed. "But none of that has any bearing on our negotiations. So how about we get down to it?"

They didn't get down to it. Instead, they spent the first four hours arguing back and forth about whether the current contract allowed Pauline to stay in Jake's condo. National claimed that she couldn't, that Jake allowing her to stay overnight in the past had been a technical violation of the rules they'd been graciously willing to overlook but that moving in was absolutely out of the question. Pauline countered by telling them there was nothing in the contract about guests in Jake's condo and therefore, under the law, what was not forbidden was implicitly allowed.

Back and forth they went, sometimes politely, sometimes rudely, never coming close to anything like an agreement on the issue. It was obvious that Frowley and his sharks smelled blood in the water and were hoping to bankrupt the band's lawyer by forcing her to stay in a hotel and burn up her savings. It was Jake who finally managed to break this particular impasse.

"Look," he told Frowley and Casting, "we have already established that my condo is my home. We established that back when your spy tried to take all the shit out, remember? Now since that condo is my home I have the right to invite anyone I want into my home. I have invited my sister there and she will be staying there whether you like it or not."

"She will not!" Frowley said. "If she establishes residence there you'll be in violation of..."

"If you don't like her staying there," Jake interrupted, "then call the cops and try to have her thrown out. When that fails you can try to evict her through the normal legal process. That'll take what? About six months? Assuming that you're even successful? So why don't we take it as a given that she'll be staying there for the next six months and get on with the negotiations in the meantime?"

After only twenty more minutes of discussion they finally decided that what Jake said made sense. They took a short break and then resumed negotiations. As had been the case at every meeting before, they went nowhere.

For the next two weeks they continued to go nowhere even though they increased the meeting days to three times a week instead of two. Ridiculous demands were thrown down on the table by both sides, rejected, and then countered with equally ridiculous demands.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Jake yelled as they entered the National Records building on the last Monday in March. "We are getting nowhere! Eight fucking weeks of this shit and we're still at square one!"

"It takes time," Pauline said for perhaps the thousandth time. "Trust me. We'll get there."

"When?" Jake asked. "Not a goddamn thing has been done yet. You keep putting the same figures on the table and they keep putting the same figures on the table. Why don't you just cut the bullshit and give them a legitimate offer on something? On anything?"

"We can't," she said. "Not until they do it first. That's what all of this is about."

"What?" Jake asked.

"Whoever throws down the first legitimate compromise in the negotiations will be surrendering the initiative."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Matt asked. If Jake's patience was being tried, Matt's was being burned and skinned alive.

"Yes," said Bill. Even he was starting to get a bid edgy about the lack of progress despite the fact that each session kept him in close contact with the woman whose image he most frequently masturbated to. "I fail to see the benefit of sitting in here day after day without advancing our agenda in any way."

"Look, guys," Pauline said. "It's like a staring contest here, okay? National and us are both looking at each other, eyes open, trying to stare each other down. Whoever blinks first is ceding the advantage in the rest of the negotiations. We cannot be the ones to blink first or they'll know we're more desperate than they are."

"And aren't they in there saying the same goddamn thing?" Jake asked.

"Yes they are," she said. "That's what makes the game so interesting. It's corporate law at its finest."

"Blink?" Matt said. "Is that what you want them to do? I'll make 'em fucking blink! I'll throw a goddamn fist in their faces! That oughtta do it!"

"Patience," Pauline said. "Keep playing the game with me and we'll get through this in no time."

"Fucking lawyers," Matt muttered. "All of you should've been outlawed by the constitution back in the beginning."

They went upstairs and spend another day accomplishing nothing. The next session was pretty much the same. But finally, on Friday, April 1, 1985 — April Fools Day — National blinked.

It wasn't much of a blink. Jake, Bill, and Matt didn't even notice it when it happened. It was late in the session, just before they called an end to the day. They returned from a break and Frowley asked for and received the floor.

"On the subject of royalty rate," he said, "National Records is prepared to offer Intemperance the rate of twelve percent."

"Twelve percent?" Pauline said, rolling her eyes upward. "You've offered this before, Frowley, but always in conjunction with wholesale album rate for calculation. As I've told you, this is unacceptable. It's less than they're making now."

"We'll give them twelve percent royalties and keep the calculation rate where it's at, at an assumed retail rate of five dollars per album."

Pauline gave no facial expression. "We'll take that under consideration," she said. "Now about the tour costs. Let's go over that again. We want National to pay one hundred percent of the costs, including band and crew entertainment expenses, and give eighty percent of tour profits to the band."

"That is not a good faith offer," Frowley said. "How many times do we have to go over this?"

They spent the remainder of the day arguing about tour expenses and achieving nothing. When they called an end to the session Pauline kept her game face on until they were in the elevator. At that point she cheered in triumph.

"Yes!" she said. "We did it. We fucking did it!"

"We did what?" Jake asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They ceded the advantage to us," she said.

"They did?" asked Matt. "When did that happen?"

"When they offered us twelve percent royalties at five dollars an album," she said. "They changed their offer! They blinked!"

"Twelve percent royalties ain't shit," Matt said. "Not on a five dollar an album wholesale rate."

"That's not nearly enough to reverse the debt cycle we're in," said Bill.

"Of course it's not," Pauline said, "but that's not the point. They changed the offer! It's still not a good faith offer, of course, but it's more than they were offering before. It's the first chink in their armor. Now we can start prying at it."

"So things will start to move now?" Jake asked.

"That was the hard part," Pauline said. "The rest of the negotiations will practically fly by."

Jake should have known that practically flying by was a relative term that meant something very different to the lawyer mind than it did to the professional musician mind. At the next session Pauline, acting in accordance with an unwritten set of rules that governed such negotiations, countered National's blink with a blink of her own. She allowed that the band would be willing to accept twenty-five percent royalties on going retail album rate plus one dollar. This led to another two sessions of back and forth arguing before National upped their offer to thirteen percent on a four dollar and fifty cent retail rate.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jake said. "We're back where we started!"

"This does seem entirely counterproductive," Bill agreed.

"Patience," Pauline said. "We're moving forward. Trust me on this."

As it turned out, she was right. The two sides concentrated fully on the royalty rate and the album rate it would be based upon and stopped talking about anything else. The offers went back and forth, slowly but surely closing in towards the middle. Finally, on April 17, 1985, they declared agreement on eighteen percent royalties at going retail rate — which currently stood at eight dollars per album and one dollar per single. After thirty-seven sessions, after 260 hours of negotiation, they had reached their first agreement. Now there were only sixty or seventy other points that needed to be hashed out.

The tedium dragged on, with each new issue starting the whole process anew. Ridiculous offers would be placed on the table by both sides and hours beyond counting would be spent waiting for someone to blink first. As Pauline had told them though, once the precedent was set, most of the time it was National that blinked first. Album production costs and promotion costs, which had been one hundred percent recoupable under the old contract, were slowly whittled down to only fifty percent recoupable. The ten percent breakage fee and the twenty-five percent packaging fee were completely eliminated, though not without a vicious fight.

National absolutely refused to budge, however, on the issues of fifty percent for tour costs and fifty percent for video costs. The band would have to continue paying for half of everything. The band did win some non-monetary concessions on these issues, however. After much bickering and many wasted sessions, they got National to agree to allowing them much greater input in both the tour production and the video production. The way the wording turned out in the end Intemperance would have creative control over both with veto power being reserved by National and by the band itself. So, in other words, if both parties did not agree on the content of a video or how the tours would be presented, either could kill it. On the issue of "entertainment costs" for the band on tour, National would not budge on the one hundred percent recoupable rate. The band finally agreed to this with the stipulation that "entertainment costs" for the crew would be only fifty percent recoupable and "entertainment costs" for National management — namely Greg and his three hundred dollar a day cocaine habit — would be fully paid for by National itself. They reluctantly agreed to this and then moved on to the subject of tour revenue and merchandising revenue, eventually agreeing to share fifty percent of this income with the band.

These were all issues that were agreed to in a relatively timely and civilized manner, which meant that all of this was hammered out by mid-May. From there, they started working on the points that were really sticklers.

The first of these points had to do with endorsements. Throughout the first two albums National had been raking in a considerable amount of endorsement fees by forcing the band to play instruments onstage and in the studio that had been supplied by companies they had contracts with. The band had been given no choice in any of this (with the exception of Matt's stubborn insistence on playing his Strat onstage) and had been given none of the revenue. They wanted to change that. National didn't want this to change. For more than five sessions they went over this particular subject before finally coming to an agreement that the band would play whatever instruments they wished onstage as long as they provided them on their own. They would be free to collect whatever endorsement fees they could garner from whatever company they could garner them from. In the studio, however, National insisted upon retaining their rights to the endorsement fees and choice of instruments. They absolutely refused to give up any of these rights or any of the money. Reluctantly, and after much infighting among themselves, the band agreed to this and it went into the contract.

That was only the warm-up for the contention points. The next had to do with creative license and how it would be decided which songs would appear on Intemperance albums. It was here that Frowley and his crew truly tried to screw Intemperance to the best of their abilities. They tried inserting language that would allow National to choose what songs would be on the albums, to reject any song they didn't like, to demand new songs if the submissions weren't deemed acceptable, to force the band to accept songs from other songwriters or to do covers of existing songs. They thought that since Pauline was new to this entertainment contract thing and was a bumpkin to boot, that she wouldn't notice the language. She did. She caught and rejected each effort to slip something in and eventually, after more than eight sessions of negotiation, managed to convince them that the entire process would be for nothing if the band weren't given the majority of the control over what would be put on their albums. They ended up with language very similar to that of the video and tour clauses. The band would be given creative control over the content of their albums, deciding which songs would be eventually appear there, in what order, what the name of the album would be, and what the artwork of the album cover would consist of. National would retain veto power over any song the band proposed to put on the album but they would give up the right to sue for breach of contract if they rejected too many songs. It was early July by the time this issue was worked out.

That brought them to the final major issue, that of band discipline. This was something that Pauline and Jake thought could be worked out in half a session or so. As it turned out, National did not want to give up the chokehold they had by effectively making each band member an equal and retaining employer powers over the entire group. For the longest time they refused to budge on this issue.

"Intemperance will remain our employees and discipline will be our responsibility," Casting insisted. "We can't have the band itself deciding who goes and who stays. If someone needs to be talked to or even removed, we will be the one who make that decision."

"The band works best the way they were before signing with you," Pauline countered. "I cannot even begin to tell you how much you've hurt their productivity by removing the ability of Matt to keep control over the other members."

"Matt is a sadistic, drug-addicted tyrant," Casting shot back. "He's prone to irrational fits of rage and even violence. You saw what happened at the Grammy Awards, didn't you? We are the ones who need to keep this band under control, not him."

"And you are the ones who turned Darren and Coop into fucking heroin addicts!" Matt yelled back, barely restraining those violent tendencies of which they spoke. "Right now they're in their condo, oblivious to everything that's going on in this room because of that white powder you pushed on them. It's doubtful that they will ever be productive again under your rules."

"We will not give up control of the band," Casting said. "It won't happen. We'll throw out this entire contract before we do that!"

"You can throw out the entire fucking contract," Matt said, "because we won't be able to make any new music anyway if we can't get those addicts back under control."

July stretched towards August. National offered to put rules in place similar to what had existed before but the band rejected this on grounds that they didn't trust National to enforce them.

"Your track record on this isn't that great," Jake said. "You were the ones who encouraged Darren and Coop to start using drugs before performances in the first place. You're the ones who send that coke-sniffing hypocrite out on tour with us to arrange for all these drugs. You made a mockery of our rules for whatever twisted reason and now you expect us to believe you'll enforce them? No, afraid not. We need real authority over our members, authority that is completely separate and independent from any interference by you or yours."

"We're not going to give Matt the authority to fire someone just because he got in a pissing match with him," Casting said. "That puts too much instability in the group. What if he fires you, Jake? Or you, Bill? This contract wouldn't be worth a shit to us if any one of you three goes."

Gradually, like a stream eroding a rock, they came to an agreement on the issue. It was decided that band discipline would be the responsibility of the entire band. No one person could fire a band member but a majority vote of all five members could. National tried to get a veto clause thrown in but it was soundly rejected. National itself could fire the entire band if it wanted, but could not fire an individual member without consent of a majority of the band. And then there was the matter of replacing a member if he were fired or quit or died. National wanted the right to find the new member themselves. Intemperance wanted the same. Eventually they agreed that the band would recruit any new member but National would have to agree to the choice in advance.

That was the final major issue to be fought over. Though they weren't done yet, they all began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Over the next few sessions they hammered out the rest of the details. The band would receive an advance of half a million dollars payable as soon as the contract was signed. Fifty percent of the debt from the previous contract would be forgiven, the other fifty percent would be paid off in quarterly installments by taking twenty percent out of their royalty checks. There was no need for housing clauses or transportation clauses or grocery clauses or manservant clauses since the band would be able to provide all of those things for themselves once the money started coming in. The band would retain the right to audit National Records at any time for any or no reason in regard to their album sales and expenses. National fought and kicked a bit on this issue but finally gave in. And then there was the issue of how many contract periods the contract would encompass. Pauline fought hard to hold it to only two but eventually agreed to four, which would make it go one album further than Intemperance's original contract had.

"Well then," asked Pauline. "Do we have a contract?"

"It would seem we do," Frowley said.

"Let's get it printed up and signed," Pauline said.

This took another two days to accomplish but on August 28, 1985, they dragged Darren and Coop out of their drug-haze and took them down to the National Records Building. All five of them put their signatures on the paper and it became official.

They went to Jake's condo after the signing ceremony and opened several bottles of champagne to celebrate. The festive mood didn't last very long, however. There was still serious business to attend to. Jake and Matt called Darren and Coop into Jake's office and sat them down.

"We need to talk, guys," Jake told them.

"No problemo, Jake," Darren said. "You gonna tell us when our money is coming in?"

"Fuck yeah," agreed Coop. "They're actually going to cut us a fuckin' check for eighty grand? I mean, like really?"

"It's not a check," Matt said. "They're going to wire the money into your account. Should be done by tomorrow morning."

"That's fuckin' bitchin," Darren said. "I'm gonna go buy me a new car, first fuckin' thing!"

"Me too," said Coop. "I want a Porsche nine-two-fucking-four."

"Fuck yeah!" said Darren. "With one of them new CD players in it!"

"Yeah!"

"Uh... guys," Jake interrupted.

They looked up at him.

"You understand that you need to start finding your own housing tomorrow, don't you? Now that we're under the new contract, National isn't paying for your pad anymore."

Their faces fell. "No shit? You mean we gotta pay rent and shit?"

"That's why you have your own money now," Matt told them. "The advance is to cover your expenses until the royalty checks start rolling in."

"That's fucked up!" Darren said.

"And they're not going to be paying for your food or your drinks anymore either," Jake said.

"They're not?" Coop asked.

A horrible thought occurred to Darren. "What about our... I mean... the pain medicine we take? Are they gonna keep paying for that?"

"You mean your fucking heroin," Matt said. "That shit you put in your arm three or four times a day. And the answer to that is no, they aren't going to paying for it anymore."

Darren and Coop looked at each other in a panic.

"Dude," Darren said, "what the fuck kind of contract did we sign? What is this fucking shit?"

"I thought you said this was a better contract!" said Coop.

"We've kept you informed the whole time we were negotiating it," Jake said. "And we also gave you copies of it to look over two days ago. Did you read them?"

"No," said Darren. "Why the fuck would we read them? You told us it was a good contract!"

"It is a good contract," Matt said. "It's going to let us take control of our own lives and get rich in the process... as long as we make good music."

"And that's what we need to talk to you about now," said Jake.

"What do you mean?" asked Coop.

Matt and Jake looked at each other, drawing strength for this from each other. Both had vowed to stick to their guns on this issue but it was hard. Despite all the chaos these two had caused over the past year they were still close friends and band mates. There was a deep bond between all of them and it was hard to pull on that bond and risk breaking it.

"It's like this, guys," Jake said. "The new contract has put band discipline back into the hands of the band. National no longer has the right to override decisions made by the band or to change the rules of the band. As of the moment you put your signatures on that piece of paper, you can now be removed from the band by a majority vote of the five of us."

"What the fuck you talking about?" Coop demanded.

"It means if Bill, Jake, and I all say you should be fired, you're fucking fired and we'll replace you with someone else."

They looked shocked at this statement.

"Fired?" Darren said. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"Why would you fire us?" asked Coop.

"Because you're a couple of heroin addicts," Matt said. "Why the hell do you think?"

"We're not heroin addicts!" they both cried in unison.

"Let's not mince words here," said Jake. "You both shoot heroin into your veins at least three times every day. If you fail to do this, you start puking and shaking. In my book, that's the definition of a heroin addict."

"It's for pain, man!" Darren cried. "Ever since that explosion onstage, my fuckin' ear hurts all the time."

"Uh huh," said Matt. "And what's your excuse, Coop? You got a bad ear too?"

"No," he said. "I just use it to get high, but it ain't that bad. I got it under control."

"You ain't got shit under control," Matt said. "Either one of you. When we were rehearsing you guys were showing up loaded on that shit and falling asleep at your instruments. You stopped contributing to the production. You were useless."

"We can't produce music that way," Jake said, "and we can't perform music that way. It has to stop. Both of you need to make a choice."

"What choice?" Darren asked.

"As of this moment," Matt said, "we are reinstating the rules of the band as they existed back in the D Street West days. There will be no more drug use or alcohol use for four hours prior to any rehearsal or performance."

Darren and Coop looked at each other, both licking their lips nervously.

"I guess we can live with that," Coop said.

"Yeah," Darren muttered. "I guess."

"That's not all though," Matt said.

"It's not?" asked Darren.

"No," Matt said. "That only applies to the normal drugs like coke and pot, and to the booze and beer. You can keep doing those things as much as you want on your own time. If it becomes a problem, we'll discuss it then. But the heroin, you need to give that up completely."

"Completely?" Darren said.

"You mean, like, for good?" Coop asked.

"For good," Jake said. "It's a little too heavy-duty of a drug. You guys can't control yourselves when you're on it. It has to go."

"But the pain in my ear..." Darren started.

"Take some fuckin' aspirin like everyone else," Matt said.

"Aspirin doesn't help!"

"Look," said Jake. "It's very simple. You can keep doing heroin if you want, but you're not going to be a member of this band if you do. We had a little something thrown into the new contract with you two in mind. National will pay for rehab services for any band member who needs it. You two definitely need it. We've made arrangements for both of you to check into the Betty Ford Center day after tomorrow and go through their heroin program. They'll give you methadone and wean you through the worst of the withdrawals. When you get out you can go back to smoking weed and snorting coke and drinking booze, you can even drop acid if you want, as long as you don't do it in the four hour window before a rehearsal or a show. But you need to stay away from the heroin. Forever. If you go back to it we'll find out and we'll kick you out. That's the deal."

"That's totally fucked up!" Darren yelled, enraged.

"Yep," said Matt, "but then life is pretty fucked up, isn't it?"

The next morning Jake drove over to Matt's condo and picked him up for their next post-contract mission, one that both of them were looking forward to. Jake found Matt drinking a bottle of beer and using the liquid to wash down half a dozen small orange pills.

"What are you taking?" he asked, slightly alarmed by the sheer number of the pills Matt had ingested.

"I ain't offing myself," Matt said. "It's a urinary tract analgesic."

"A urinary tract analgesic? What are you taking that for? You got the clap again?"

"No, I ain't got the fuckin' clap. I learned from the first time. This shit is a real interesting drug though. It's called Pyridium."

"Pyridium?" Jake asked. "What does it do?"

"I got it from this bitch I was fucking last month," he said. "She had a bladder infection."

"You were fucking a girl with a bladder infection?" Jake asked, appalled.

Matt shrugged. "What's the difference? A pussy is a pussy. You just don't eat her out."

"I suppose," Jake said. "So did she give you her bladder infection?"

"No, I used a rubber, like always. It's the side-effect of the pill that I'm after."

"What side effect? Does it get you high?"

"Naw," he said. "It turns your piss bright orange."

Jake nodded slowly. "And you want your piss to be bright orange for what reason?"

"You'll see," he said. "I've been taking six of them every four hours since yesterday. It's working real well."

"Uh huh," Jake said, shaking his head. Sometimes Matt's train of thought was just a little too winding for him to follow. "Well, should we go then?"

"Yep," Matt agreed. "Let's fuckin' do it."

They drove to Hollywood, parking in front of the Hedgerow Building where Ronald Shaver, their so-called manager, kept his office. They rode up to the twenty-second floor and checked in with Trina, his beautiful secretary. She told them to go right in. Mr. Shaver was expecting them.

"Boys," he greeted as they closed the office door behind them. "Good to see you. I was kind of surprised when Trina told me you'd asked for an appointment. So what brings you out here today?"

They hadn't talked to Shaver in months, not since he'd called them several times, at National's request, to try to convince them to drop their little plan of blackmailing the record company into renegotiating. Once the actual renegotiation began, they hadn't heard word one from him.

"We have good news, Shaver," Jake said. "We just signed a new contract with National Records yesterday."

"A new contract?" he asked, surprised. He then smiled. "I heard rumors about that but every time I called my contacts at National they denied them. So it was true? You really did get them to renegotiate?"

"We really did," Matt said. "They caved into us and re-vamped the whole fuckin' deal."

"Yep," said Jake. "We're gonna be pulling in eighteen percent royalties now based on full retail rate. What do you think about that?"

"Outstanding!" Shaver said, delighted, his mind undoubtedly already going over his cut of that. "When does it take effect?"

"It took effect yesterday afternoon," Jake said. "Our advances should be wired to our accounts by noon."

"What kind of advance did you secure?" Shaver asked them.

"Half a million," Matt said. "Not bad for a bunch of amateurs, huh?"

Shaver nodded appreciatively. "Not bad at all," he said. "Although I really wish you would have had me sit in on your negotiations. I know we've had our differences, but if they were willing to give you half a million in advance money without my presence, they might've gone a million with my presence."

"Well," said Matt, "we would've invited you to participate, but there was this whole thing about how you fucked us over the first time. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," said Jake. "It seems you were looking more out for your interests than ours."

"Now, guys," Shaver said. "I've told you this in the past, the contract you signed with me was a standard industry representation contract. I know you didn't like it, but it was no different than the one I signed with Earthstone or The Two Lips."

"Yes, we're now well versed on that whole standard industry concept," Jake said. "But you know what? All is forgiven."

"It is?" Shaver asked.

"Yep," said Matt. "Because it doesn't fucking matter anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," Matt said. "But first, do you have any of that premo blow on you? I could use a couple lines about now. How about you, Jake?"

"Definitely," Jake said. "I haven't done any coke in a week."

"Uh... sure," Shaver said. He quickly produced his kit and started crunching up lines. "Would you like a drink?"

"Fuckin' A," said Matt. "We'll have the usual."

Shaver nodded and hit the intercom button. "Trina," he said, "two Chivas and cokes for my guests, please?"

"Make them doubles," Jake said.

"Doubles," Shaver dutifully repeated.

While they were waiting, Jake and Matt took turns expounding upon the contract they'd just signed. Shaver listened respectfully as he heard some of the more lucrative terms. Trina came in and gave them their drinks. She then retreated. Shaver put the mirror before them and they each snorted up their two lines plus one of Shaver's, leaving him with nothing. He frowned but didn't comment.

"Goddamn," Jake said, sniffing, feeling the drug go to his head. "You always did have the best blow, Shaver."

"Yep," said Matt, downing three-quarters of his drink in one gulp. "I'll always remember that about you."

"Remember?" asked Shaver, who had dumped out some more coke and was making a few fresh lines for himself. "What do you mean?"

"Ahh," said Jake, "that's what we actually came here for. You see, your contract with us was for the duration of the contract we signed with National, remember?"

"Uh... yes," said Shaver, his eyes clouding a bit.

"Our contract with National," said Jake, "the one we signed with your assistance, the one that bound us to you, well... it's no longer in effect. It has been superceded by the new contract. So that means we are free to sign a contract with another manager now."

Shaver stopped in mid-chop. "Oh, I see," he said. "You're here to renegotiate your terms with me."

"No, not really," Jake said. "We've already got ourselves another manager."

Shaver shook his head. "What's he charging you? Let's talk about this, guys. I'm open to negotiation. I would be willing to go down as low as fifteen percent for you."

"She is charging us twenty percent and we're glad to pay it," Jake said. "You see, we know she's not going to screw us like you did."

"She?" he asked. "A woman? A woman wants to be your manager?"

"Is our manager," Matt said. "It's Jake's sister, Pauline. The bad-ass bitch who helped us score this new contract, who fuckin' fought for us and lost her job for us and stood by us."

"But she doesn't know anything about managing a band!" Shaver said. "You'll sink if you don't have me!"

"You never did shit for us, Shaver," Matt said.

"I got you that first contract!" Shaver yelled. "If it wasn't for me you'd still be playing at those shitty clubs in Heritage!"

"That is true," Jake allowed, "and we are grateful to you for giving us that first break, but you also screwed us. We don't take kindly to being screwed. I think the several million dollars you've collected on our behalf is more than compensation for you getting us into the business."

"Besides, you'll still be making money off us," Matt said bitterly. "You'll still be collecting twenty percent of our royalties for the first two albums."

"Jake, Matt," Shaver said, "we can work this out, can't we? You don't want an inexperienced manager. You need me."

"We don't need shit," said Matt. "Now, if you don't mind, I will now put in writing the official severance of our relationship with each other."

"What?" asked Shaver. "Writing? What are you talking about?"

Matt didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and took two steps towards the wall. He unbuttoned his jeans and took out his penis. He began to piss, the urine coming out an unnaturally bright, almost fluorescent orange color. It sprayed over Shaver's white wall, staining everything it touched. Matt began to move up and down, back and forth, forming words with the stream of orange urine. When he was done, the message showed up clearly: UR FIRED.