Standing On Top

Chapter 15a

National Records Building

July 2, 1989

The meeting with Crow was scheduled for eleven o'clock that morning since that was the best time to catch Matt and Coop both awake and in a relatively sober state of being. Jake, who was not looking forward to the subject of the meeting in any way, shape, or form, nevertheless showed up forty-five minutes early. He had a few items that fell under the umbrella of "personal business" to take care of while he was in the building.

Since he was Jake Kingsley, lead singer of National's most popular and profitable band, he was able to walk past the security guards who controlled access to the elevators without so much as an ID check. They didn't bother checking to see if he had an appointment or even asking where in the building he was going. They simply wished him a nice day and opened the bulletproof glass door at the end of the lobby.

Instead of catching an up elevator to Crow's office, Jake caught a down elevator and rode to the basement recording and mixing studio — a place he had spent hundreds upon hundreds of hours in during his career, a place whose layout he knew as well as his own house. He walked down two hallways, descended a set of stairs to a lower level, and finally came to a door labeled MIXING ROOM D. Inside he found a sterile room full of multi-million dollar audio equipment that included complex mixing boards and multiple reel-to-reel tape machines. Three technicians sat at various places around the room. Jake knew two of them on a first name basis, the other on nodding acquaintance. Sitting at the main mixing board were Nerdly and his fiancée, Sharon. They were dressed identically in loose-fitting khaki shorts and oversized polo shirts. Sitting next to the happy couple was a moderately dark-skinned black man wearing faded jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscular arms. A large gold hoop dangled from his left ear and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat perched atop his nose. Jake had never seen a picture of Bigg G before, but since he'd specifically been told to come to this studio at this time in order to meet him, had to assume that Bigg G was who he was looking at.

"Jake," Nerdly said with a nod when he spotted him. He took the headphones off and set them on the table next to him. "Glad you could come. How are they hanging on this day?"

"High and tight," Jake told him.

"Yes," Nerdly agreed. "I can understand how the upcoming confrontation would lead to that phenomenon. I'm suffering from a similar malady myself."

The black man, who had turned toward Jake and taken off his headphones, burst out laughing. "Awww man," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I just love to listen to what comes out of your mouth, Nerdly."

"Did I say something amusing?" Nerdly asked, confused.

"Never mind," the black man said, standing up. He was just a hair taller than Jake. He held out his right hand. "It's nice to meet you, Jake. I'm Bigg G."

Jake shook with him. "So I finally meet you," he said. "What do your friends call you? Bigg or G?"

"They usually call me Gordon," he said.

"Gordon?"

Gordon shrugged. "It's my given name," he said. "Gordon Paladay. I figured I'd sell a few more records if I went by Bigg G."

"Yeah," Jake said. "I suppose you might have a point there."

Gordon told Jake he enjoyed listening to his music. Jake, unfortunately, was unable to return the sentiment. He had never heard a Bigg G tune before. Gordon said he understood, that rap wasn't everyone's cup of tea.

"I've been meaning to give you a listen," Jake told him. "Nerdly's had nothing but good things to say about your music."

"Nerdly's been a big help with this last album," Gordon said. "He knows this mixing shit better than some of these homeys been working here for fifteen years. And he's been giving us all this help for free."

"I like to mix," Nerdly said, obviously pleased with the praise.

"And he's a funny motherfucker too," Gordon said with a chuckle. "I could listen to his ass all day long and never get tired of it. I want to see if I can get him an invite to speak at this year's rap music awards. He'll bring down the fuckin' house."

Jake laughed. "That he would," he agreed.

Nerdly had a look of puzzlement on his face. "I'd be happy to speak a few words at the awards ceremony," he said. "But I don't quite understand what insights I would be able to share with the rap music community that would hold such interest to them."

"Trust me, Nerdly," Gordon said. "It won't matter what you talk about. They'd fuckin' love it."

"Well... if you say so," Nerdly said.

"I do," Gordon said. "I really do." He turned to Jake. "So, I hear you got a couple of kids who want my autograph."

"Yep," Jake agreed. "My housekeeper's grandkids have been pestering me to get one for them for months. They're good kids so I told them I'd see what I can do."

"Don't they want your autograph?" Gordon asked.

"Naw, they don't care about me," Jake said. "I'm just the guy who lets 'em swim in his pool and who might be able to score them a Bigg G autograph."

"They seem like good kids all right," Gordon said with a grin. "I'll be happy to sign something for them. What do they want?"

"You got any publicity shots on you?" Jake asked.

"Not currently," he said. "I can probably go upstairs and dig a couple up from the promotions department."

"That might work," Jake said thoughtfully. "I have a better idea, if you're down with it."

"Lay it on me," Gordon said.

"They got you staying in a leased condo with some National Records spy who doubles as a servant, right?"

Gordon barked out a sharp, resentful laugh. "It sound like you been through this."

"I have," Jake said. "Why don't you come over to my pad after you're done here tonight? The kids will be there and they can meet you. In return, my housekeeper will serve you a genuine home-cooked meal. I believe she told me she was doing up some tacos tonight."

Gordon liked that idea. "Tacos huh? You mean, like, real tacos?"

"As real as they get," Jake said.

"And she's a good cook?"

"That's one of the reasons I hired her," Jake said.

"I'm in," Gordon said. "That asshole they got cooking for me is some flaming faggot who's always making weird shit like rabbits and geese and fuckin' snails."

"His name isn't Manny, is it?" Jake asked.

"Yeah," Gordon said. "It is. How'd you know?"

"Long story," Jake told him with a laugh. "How do they get you here and back? Limo service?"

"Nope," he said. "They got me a Mercedes 500E coupe — leased, of course, and coming out of my recoupables."

"No shit?" Jake said. "When I first started they threw a shitfit about me having my own car. It gave me more freedom than they wanted. Now they're leasing the car for you?"

"They ain't doin' it out of the kindness of their hearts," Gordon said. "It's an image thing. People expect to see a famous brother with his own ride so they got me one. They charge me extra if I go over a hundred miles a week though, and they threaten to cut off my allowance if I go someplace they don't want me going with it."

"Like to my pad?" Jake asked.

"I'm sure they won't be down with that," Gordon agreed. "You is considered a bad influence on other musicians."

Jake chuckled. "I suppose I am at that," he said. "So are you gonna get in trouble for coming over?"

"Shee-it," Gordon scoffed. "Trouble is my middle name."

"I thought you said it was Albert," Nerdly said, causing Jake to crack up and Gordon to look acutely embarrassed.

Jake wrote down his address and basic directions for Gordon and told him he was looking forward to the visit. Nerdly, meanwhile, held a brief conversation with Sharon regarding the final instructions for the low-end bass levels they were working on. She agreed with most of what he said but did have a few points of contention to offer. Gordon then jumped in with a few points of his own. Finally they reached a shaky consensus on the matter, enough that Nerdly felt safe leaving them for an hour or so.

Jake said goodbye to Sharon and Gordon and headed for the exit. Nerdly trailed behind him. They made their way back to the elevators and pushed the up button. While they waited, Nerdly began to chew on his fingernails.

"Remember," Jake told him. "We stick to our guns on this, no matter how much he threatens and postures."

"Stick to our guns," Nerdly agreed.

By the time they reached Crow's office they were still more than twenty minutes early. Crow's secretary greeted the two musicians and told them to go right in.

"Are you sure?" Jake asked. "The last time we busted in on him unexpectedly he was getting his knob polished by Mikey Garcia."

The secretary blushed a little. "I assure you, he's alone in there this time," she told them. "And I also buzzed him to let him know you were here when I saw you in the outer office."

"Okay then," Jake said. "If you're sure it's safe."

They walked in. It was safe. Crow was sitting behind his desk, seemingly doing some actual paperwork of some sort although Jake wasn't quite sure what sort of actual paperwork someone like Crow would have. He greeted them warmly but cautiously as he waved them to seats in front of his desk.

"You're early, guys," he said.

"I came a little early to meet Bigg G," Jake said. "Nerdly here was kind enough to introduce me to him."

Crow nodded. "He's a nice enough guy... you know... for a nigger."

Jake rolled his eyes. "That's quite some praise, Steve," he said. "I'm sure he'd be quite pleased to hear that from your lips."

Crow shrugged. "He's not in my department and I try not to mingle with people not in my department."

"Except for Mikey Garcia, right?" Jake asked with a smile.

Crow chose to ignore this remark. "I've never quite understood why people like that rap shit anyway. It sounds like a bunch of noise to me." He shrugged again. "Oh well. It makes us a lot of money."

"And that's what it's all about, right?" Jake asked.

"Exactly," Crow said, either missing Jake's sarcastic tone or ignoring it. "So, tell me something, gentlemen. Is the subject of this meeting what I'm afraid it is?"

"That depends on what you're afraid it is," Jake said.

"Well... let's see," Crow said. "You called Pauline, Nerdly, Matt, and Coop for a meeting with me but you specifically excluded both Charlie and Darren. That kind of implies that Charlie and/or Darren are to be the subject of the discussion at hand."

Jake and Nerdly looked at each other. "We'd rather not say until the others get here," Jake said.

Crow sighed, shaking his head in consternation. "I knew it," he said. "I knew that somehow you guys were going to piss on my tranquility again."

"Steve..." Jake started.

"I am not going to allow a dispute to disrupt the timeline for the next album," Crow warned. "I'm telling you this right here and now, and you guys had better take heed of my words."

"Like I said, Steve," Jake said. "Why don't we wait until everyone gets here before we start yelling at each other? There will be plenty of time for that later."

Crow sighed again. "I suppose," he said. "You guys want something to drink?"

They both asked for non-alcoholic drinks (Jake, iced tea with a lemon slice, Nerdly, a virgin strawberry daiquiri with a banana slice). Crow got his secretary on the intercom and passed the order along. She promised the beverages would be there in less than five minutes. While they waited, Jake brought up the subject he really wanted to discuss. He had received the resume, news clippings, and demo tape from Brainwash almost two weeks ago. Out of his own pocket he had made ten copies of everything, including the tape itself. One set he had given to Crow, telling him he thought they were a great band with huge money-making potential. Crow had promised to look into the packet and give the tape a listen.

"So," he said to Crow now, "have you had a chance to go over that material I gave you on Brainwash?"

Crow made a sour face. "I went over it as much as I needed to," he said. "You really should leave new artist development to the NAD department, Jake."

"You didn't like them?" Jake asked, surprised. He himself liked them so much he had taken to listening to a copy of their demo tape in his car. They really did make some good music.

"Nothing to like about them," Crow said. "They are most definitely not what we're looking for in a new artist — now, or at any other time."

"Why in the hell not?" Jake asked. "What's wrong with them?

"What's wrong with them?" Crow asked incredulously. "Jesus Christ, Jake. How could you seriously ask me that? The guys in that group all look like friggin' accountants, one of the girls looks like a dyke, and the other girl is a fat cow."

"Fat?" Jake said. "Marcie Scanlon is not fat. She's full-bodied, voluptuous maybe, but I certainly wouldn't call her fat."

"I would," Crow said. "And so would much of America. She's a goddamn moose. The camera would make her look even fatter."

"Steve," Jake said, "did you even listen to the tape or did you base your entire judgment on the band's photos?"

"I didn't need to listen to the tape," Crow said. "There's no way in hell a band with a fat chick, a trio of nerds, and a dyke on lead guitar is going to make it in this industry. They could be Led Zepplin resurrected and no one would care."

"I think you're wrong about that," Jake said. "Dead wrong."

"You're entitled to your opinion," Crow allowed, "but keep in mind that I'm an artist and repertoire specialist who also did five years in the NAD department. I hardly think you're as qualified to judge music."

"Yes," Jake said, "I am just a musician after all — one who is a primary member of your record company's best selling band of the last two decades."

"Exactly," Crow said, once again completely missing or disregarding Jake's sarcasm.

"Steve," Jake said, putting a little pleading into his voice. "Will you just listen to the tape once? As a favor to me?"

"Jake, I respect you... really, I do. You are a great musician — one of the best I've ever heard — and I'll even admit that you have good instincts for what a music consumer wants to listen to. But you're also very linear in your assessments. You think it's all about the sound when that's really not the truth anymore. I'm telling you as straightforward as I can, it doesn't matter what these Brainwash freaks sound like. It doesn't matter how good their music is when considered on its own merits. You have to have a certain look, a certain style to sell albums and they simply don't have it. Everything about them is wrong. Multiple lead singers of mixed sexes? That shit went out with Fleetwood Mac. Bands that do a mixture of hard rock and easy-listening love ballads? That shit went out with The Eagles."

"Steve," Jake said patiently, "Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles are two of the best-selling bands of all time. Don't you think that's at least partly because the formula works? Because they appeal to a broad stretch of the demographics?"

"It worked in the seventies," Crow said. "We're almost in the nineties here, remember? Tastes have changed. They've been shaped by MTV and the medium of the music video. No one wants to just sit down and listen to music anymore. They want to experience it, to revel in it, to become immersed in it, not just the music itself — the quality of the recording is now almost secondary in importance — but in the story and the look of the band. They want to know who the people who make the music are and they want to be attracted to these people, to feel as if they are someone they'd like to know, to hang out with. And, in order for that to occur, the band has to look good first and foremost and project a favorable image to their target demographic. Your Brainwash friends lose on all of these counts. And then there's the big taboo they have going for them. Even if they were attractive enough to photograph well — which they are not — there is no way in hell anyone would ever take them seriously because their lead guitarist is a girl."

"She's a damn good guitarist," Jake said. "If you'd just listen..."

"Jake, it doesn't matter!" Crow said, raising his voice in frustration. "She could be a combination of Matt Tisdale, Eric Clapton, and Eddie Van Halen and she would still never be respected for it. A female lead guitarist for a band with men in it is unprecedented. Two-thirds of the people would refuse to acknowledge that she was good, a sixth would acknowledge it but would say it was a gimmick, that some male guitarist was actually the one playing the tracks for her, and the remaining one sixth, the ones who would actually like her and believe that she was really the one playing, they would be so degraded by the other five fifths that they wouldn't dare share their opinion with anyone."

"The fans in New England seem to respect her well enough," Jake pointed out. "They sell out every venue they're booked in and they're pulling down $750 a show — not much by our standards, but a goddamn fortune for a simple club band."

This argument did not impress Crow in the least. "How a particular municipality feels about a band that plays in their bars and how that same band would be accepted nationally in a recorded and video medium are two very different things," he said.

"I don't think they are," Jake said.

"And that's why you are the musician and I am the National Records A&R rep," Crow said.

Jake didn't push the issue any further. He had already figured out that trying to convince Crow that Brainwash had album sales potential would be like trying to convince Jerry Falwell that Hustler wasn't such a bad publication. And, unfortunately for Brainwash, Crow's opinion would hardly be unique among the rest of National's movers and shakers, or, in fact, among any other record company's movers and shakers.

Nerdly, seeing that Jake's issue had been run into the ground, now jumped in with his issue of the month. It had to do with replacing the traditional microphones the band had used on all previous tours with more modern wireless mics. National was reluctant to authorize this expense since it was just that: an expense. True, the equipment supplier would pick up a good portion of the cost in exchange for an endorsement, and true, the band itself would contractually pick up half of what was left, but this would still leave National responsible for something in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars. Ten grand was a mere pittance to a corporation that pulled in hundreds of millions in profit every year, but it was something they were willing to fight tooth and nail over.

Crow and Nerdly argued the issue back and forth, with neither giving any ground, until the intercom buzzed. It was Crow's secretary, letting him know that Pauline had arrived.

"Right, send her in," Crow said and then shut the intercom off. He looked back at Nerdly. "Look, Bill. We haven't even started putting the next album together yet. The tour is months in the future at the very least. Can't we pick up this discussion a little later?"

"Attempting to ignore the issue in perpetuity is not behooving of you," Nerdly informed him huffily.

"I understand," Crow said. "Let's just ignore it until you boys actually get some tracks down on tape, okay?"

"Okay," Nerdly reluctantly agreed.

Pauline came in the door. She was dressed about as casually as she would ever allow herself to be seen in public, which was to say that she was wearing a charcoal gray pantsuit and matching blouse instead of a dress. Her hair was done up in its usual bun and she exuded the faintest whiff of some sort of expensive perfume.

She greeted everyone and took a seat without being asked. Crow immediately launched into a rant about how he was not going to tolerate any delays in the recording process on account of this Darren vs. Charlie dispute.

"No delays at all, do you understand?" he demanded of her. "Not a single day's worth!"

Pauline was nonplussed by his tirade. "Why don't we just wait until everyone is here before we begin any sort of discussion?" she asked him.

"All right," Crow said. "I just wanted to make National's position in this dispute very clear."

"You've made it very clear that National has no position," Pauline told him.

"Right," Crow said, and then, "... uh, wait a minute."

"We'll talk when they get here, Steve," Jake said. "Now where are those drinks?"

The drinks came just as Coop and Matt walked through the door. Coop looked a little nervous. Matt looked determined, and ready to rumble if it came to it. Jake knew with one look that the two of them had also gleamed the nature of today's meeting.

"Matt, Coop," Crow greeted, inviting them in and waving them to chairs. "Thanks for coming."

The two of them sat, neither saying anything, neither greeting Jake, Nerdly, or Pauline.

"Can I get you two something to drink?" Crow asked.

"No," Matt said. "We won't be here long enough for a drink. I came here to say one thing and one thing only. Freakboy is out of the band and Darren is back in. That is my decision as leader of the band and that's the way it's gonna be. Everyone dig that? Good. Meeting over."

Jake sighed. He had hoped they could at least start off in a civilized way. Apparently not. "This meeting is not over, Matt," he said. "You can't unilaterally make a decision like that without consulting with the rest of us."

"The fuck I can't," Matt said. "Intemperance is my band. Me, Coop, and Darren were the founding members. I named the band, I am the leader of the band, and what I say is what fuckin' goes! Darren is back in and Freakboy is back to the fuckin' Speedy-Lube."

Jake looked at Pauline. She nodded. "Actually, Matt," she said, "Jake is right. You don't have the authority to make that decision on your own."

"Don't start spouting your lawyer bullshit at me, Pauline," he snapped at her.

"Lawyer bullshit?" she asked. "Would that be the same lawyer bullshit that got you out of a fucked-up first time contract and into a second contract that made you a millionaire?"

"I'm not bitching about that lawyer bullshit," he told her.

"No," she said, "just the lawyer bullshit that doesn't agree with your position, right?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Matt said. "I'm saying that the law and our contract don't have nothing to do with this shit. Freakboy was hired as a temporary replacement for Darren. Darren is better now and able to resume his normal duties. That means Freakboy is outta here and good fuckin' riddance. There's nothing to argue about."

"That's where you're wrong, Matt," Pauline explained. "There is nothing in Charlie's contract about him being a temporary member of the band. He was added to your main contract with all the same rights and privileges as everyone else. He cannot be removed by a simple decision from you."

"Who the fuck did that?" Coop asked.

"We all did," Jake said. "It was to keep Crow and the rest of his cronies from screwing him out of his royalties."

"Hey now," Crow put in. "We weren't trying to screw anyone out of anything. We wanted Charlie to have a separate contract for this very reason — so there would be no dispute when it came time for Darren to return."

"Your concern for band harmony is touching, Steve," Jake said. "In any case, what's done is done. Charlie is just as much a member of this band as anyone else and he cannot simply be cast aside because that's the way you want it, Matt. He has to be voted out of the band by a majority vote."

"Well then we fuckin' vote him out of the band," Matt said. "You can spout on and on about the legalities of this situation if you want, but everyone in this room knows that Freakboy was hired as a temporary fucking replacement. Freakboy knows this himself. So now that Darren is better, we hold our little vote and kick his ass out so Darren can come back. It's very simple, isn't it?"

"No," Jake said. "It's not that simple."

Matt glared angrily at Jake. "Are you fuckin' denying that we hired Freakboy as a temp, Jake?" he asked. "Are you going to sit right there in front of me and tell me you thought his ass was replacing Darren for good?"

"No," Jake said. "I'm not gonna tell you that. We did agree that Charlie was nothing more than a temp."

"So what is the goddamn problem?" Matt demanded. "We don't need a temp anymore. It's time for his ass to go. Darren is back and ready to play."

"The problem," Jake said, "is that Darren is a fuck-up with a long history of fucking up. He's unreliable, he has a problem with staying sober, and he lies to cover up for it. How many times has he gone behind our backs and started using drugs before shows and rehearsals? How many times has he screwed up our shows because of this behavior or out and out caused them to be canceled?"

"That's in the past," Matt said. "He's off the heroin and the painkillers now. He's off all the Xanax and Valium and all that other shit. He's ready to go back to work."

"For how long, Matt?" Jake asked. "How long do you think it's going to be until he starts popping those pills again, or injecting that shit into his arms?"

"He told me he's done with that shit and I believe him," Matt said.

"I don't," Jake said. "His track record sucks. The reason he was gone all this time in the first place was because he was using heroin — something he'd promised not to do anymore — and got botulism from it."

"He learned his lesson from that," Matt said. "Trust me when I say he ain't gonna be skin popping any more heroin."

"Yeah, but what about popping painkillers? What about popping Valium or tranquilizers? What about simple drinking and pot smoking and cocaine? He's proven to us time and time again that he's not able to control himself when it comes to things that get you high. He doesn't know when to stop and he doesn't think it's important not to use the shit when we're performing."

"He deserves another chance, Jake. If he fucks up again, then we'll kick his ass out."

"I don't want it to come to that, Matt," Jake said. "There's no reason why it should. We have a perfectly good bass player in place right now."

"He's a fuckin' freak!" Matt yelled.

"True," Jake had to agree. "He's obviously got more than a few synapses that aren't firing quite right."

"I would say," said Nerdly, "based on my observations of him, that he suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and quite possibly some form of repressed latent homosexuality."

"Exactly," said Matt. "He's a fuckin' nutcase who wants to suck dick."

"He's also a goddamn good bass player," Jake said.

"I'll admit that he's good," Matt allowed. "I'll even admit he's better than Darren on a strictly musical level, but that shit doesn't matter. A bass player only needs to set the rhythm. Darren does that just fine."

"I disagree," Jake said. "When we were using Darren we were keeping our backbeat simple and straightforward. He would bitch every time we tried to put down a multi-tempo piece. With Charlie, we're allowed to be much more complex with our backbeat. We've even been able to incorporate some of the bass into the main riffs of the songs. He's an all around better player musically and despite his weirdness, he's reliable. We can count on him to show up sober to rehearsals and shows. We can rely on him not to get strung out on some fucked up drug and drag one of the other band members down with him."

"Hey, man," Coop said warningly. "If you're talking shit about me, it ain't fuckin' cool."

"I'm just trying to speak plainly here, Coop," Jake said. "I'm sorry if it offends you, but I think you know what I'm talking about. I seem to recall you spending a stretch in rehab because you let Darren talk you into shooting heroin."

Coop glowered but didn't say anymore on the subject.

"Let's just get this shit out on the table," said Matt. "Just so we know where we're standing here. Are you, Jake, and you, Nerdly, telling us that you will not vote to kick Freakboy out of Intemperance and to bring Darren back in?"

"Yeah," Jake said. "That's what I'm saying."

"Uh huh," Matt said, his eyes shooting daggers. He looked over at Nerdly. "And you, Nerdly?"

"I'm afraid I must take Jake's position on this matter," Nerdly said. "Charlie is the superior musician and he is less likely to succumb to the temptation of substance abuse."

"You just like him because he's more of a fuckin' weirdo than you are, you fuckin' nerd!" Coop yelled.

"Coop," Pauline said levelly, "I don't think we need to start being nasty to each other."

Matt's face, meanwhile, was turning a darker shade of red. He suddenly slammed his hand down on Crow's desk hard enough to make the drink glasses jump. "This is fuckin' bullshit!" he yelled. "You motherfuckers agreed that Freakboy was a temp! You fuckin' agreed to that! Don't you have any loyalty at all? Just because the temp plays a little better and likes to look at our bare asses after a show instead of snorting coke, you want to throw Darren away?"

"I'm sorry, Matt," Jake said. "I don't dislike Darren, truly I don't, but we have Charlie here now, he plays better, he's more reliable, and I think he needs to stay on as the bassist. I'm a loyal person by nature but Darren used up all of his loyalty chips with me when he went back on the heroin. Yes, I know we planned to bring him back when we could, but I didn't know at the time that the temp was going to turn out to be a better prospect. I'm not going to vote for Charlie to leave."

"Nor am I," Nerdly said. "I feel sorry for Darren, but he formulated his own equation and now he has to live with the results of the calculation it produced."

Matt was shaking his head again. "Fuckin' bullshit," he told them. "You two are a couple of goddamn traitors!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Matt," Jake said. "I'm just doing what I think is best for the band."

"It doesn't fuckin' matter anyway," Matt said. "Freakboy is still gone, no matter how you two vote."

Jake blinked. "How's that?"

"You and Nerdly are voting not to kick him out. Me and Coop are voting to kick him out. Darren is still a member of this band, isn't he? He still gets to vote on this shit, doesn't he?"

Jake and Nerdly looked at Pauline. "Well... he does have a point there," she said. "Under the contract, Darren is still a member of the band with all the rights and privileges."

"Well there you have it then," Matt said. "Darren gets to vote too. How do you think he's going to vote on this, Jake? You think he's going to take your side?"

"If Darren gets to vote on this," Jake said, "than so does Charlie."

"Oh no," Matt said. "Freakboy don't get to vote on his own dismissal. The rules are pretty clear in the contract. If a majority of the band members wants his ass out, then he's a gone motherfucker."

"Uh... actually, Matt," Pauline said. "There is nothing that says Charlie can't vote on the issue of his own dismissal."

"What?" he yelled, turning toward her. "What kind of bullshit is this? You're making this shit up as you go along!"

Pauline showed her first real spark of anger. "No, Matt," she said firmly. "I am not. And I sternly resent the implication that I would side with Jake over you and make things up in order to do it. I am a lawyer and I deal in issues of the law impartially and in black and white. Do you understand?"

Amazingly, Matt seemed almost cowed by her outburst. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I understand."

"Good," Pauline said. "Now here is the situation as it relates to your contract. There is nothing in the contract that prohibits any band member from voting on the issue of their own dismissal. It simply says that a majority vote of the band is required before a member can be fired. So what we have here, basically, is a Mexican standoff. You, Coop, and Darren vote that Charlie should go. Jake, Nerdly, and Charlie vote that he should stay. The same situation comes up if we try to hit things from a different angle. If there's a motion to kick Darren out of the band instead, Jake, Nerdly, and Charlie will undoubtedly vote for it, you, Coop, and Darren will vote against it. It's a tie vote. No majority is able to decide."

"How about the band's manager casts the deciding vote?" Jake said.

"Oh get the fuck out of here with that shit!" Matt yelled. "Let your fucking sister decide this? That's fair, isn't it?"

"Whether or not it's fair is immaterial," Pauline said. "There is nothing in the contract that allows me or anyone else to cast a vote in order to break a tie so it wouldn't be binding. No one anticipated there being six people in the band at any point. We figured that since there were five of you, a tie vote would be impossible. There is no provision in the contract to solve this problem. You're going to have to find some way to work it out on your own."

"So if you did have a vote," Matt asked her. "Who would it be for?"

"It would be to get rid of Darren and keep Charlie," Pauline said.

"Shocking that you would take Jake's side," Matt said bitterly.

"Once again, Matt," she said, "I resent the implication that I'm siding with Jake because he's my brother. I take the position I take because I'm your manager — everyone's manager — and it's what I think is best for the band."

"And what about you, Crow?" Matt asked. "What is National's position on this?"

"We have no position," Crow said. "We don't care who you keep and who you kick out, but we do demand you make a decision quickly and get to work on your next album. Your deadline for submission is fast-approaching and we will not tolerate a lack of productivity."

Matt shook his head angrily. "That's kind of what I figured you'd say. You and your people are about as spineless as one of those fucking tapeworms Freakboy's always ranting about."

"Look, Matt," Pauline said. "I don't see how we're going to solve this issue by throwing insults around and cussing at everyone. We need to talk and figure out what we're going to do. Someone is going to have to back down on this."

"It ain't gonna be me," Matt said. "I'm the one who is right here and every one of you motherfuckers knows it. We agreed Freakboy was a temp, so he's the one who should go. I'm the leader of this fucking band and you should all be following my direction instead of using a bunch of goddamn technicalities in the contract to undermine me."

"Nobody is trying to undermine anyone," Jake said. "When you add up the pros and cons of the decision, Charlie clearly comes out the winner. He's a better bass player, he's more reliable, he's less likely to let drug use interfere with his work, and he already knows the material from our last album. If we go back to Darren, we'll have to teach him all of the tunes from Book and Action, some of which, quite frankly, I'm not sure he's capable of learning."

"I hadn't thought about that," Crow suddenly said. "That will add to the time it takes to put the tour together."

"It won't add that much time," Matt said. "And Darren can be taught any fucking rhythm that Freakboy came up with."

"Nevertheless, Matt," Crow said. "Now that this delay has been pointed out to me, I'm afraid I much change my previous stance of neutrality. I must advocate for the retention of Charlie Meyer as Intemperance's bass player."

"Well you ain't the one making the decision now, are you?" Matt asked. He looked at Pauline. "Right?"

"Right," she agreed. "It has to be a band decision. The contract specifically states that National can fire the entire band if they want, but they cannot fire any individual member."

"And you'll recall," Jake told Matt, "that the reason we fought so hard for that provision was because of Darren's drug use and the fact that National wouldn't do anything about it."

"That has nothing to do with what's going on now," Matt said.

"True, but it does serve to illustrate my point about his history, doesn't it? The very portion of the contract that has put us in this position was put in there because of Darren's propensity to use drugs."

"I ain't backing down on this!" Matt yelled. "My vote is for Darren and there ain't a motherfuckin' thing in the world that's gonna change that. I'll let National file a breach of contract lawsuit and I still ain't changing my mind. Jake, either you or Nerdly needs to vote for Darren or there ain't gonna be no next album."

"Now wait just a minute here!" Crow said forcefully. "I must insist that..."

"Insist later," Jake said. He looked at Matt, his eyes staring into Matt's eyes. "I'm not backing down on this either, Matt. I know it's not what I agreed to back in the beginning, but that's just the way it is. Charlie is the one who belongs in this band, not Darren. You are letting your misplaced loyalty for a man who has proven himself unworthy of it get in the way of your better judgment and common sense."

"Common sense?" Matt yelled, suddenly standing up from his chair. "You want me to show you some fuckin' common sense? Common sense tells me I should start beating your ass right now!"