Standing On Top

Chapter 20a

Los Angeles, California

April 2, 1990

The 747 touched down at LAX at 12:33 PM after a five-hour, non-stop flight from Atlanta, Georgia. Jake, Nerdly, Charlie, and Coop — first-class passengers all of them — were among the first to deplane. They managed to make it through the crowded airport terminal and out to the limousine awaiting them before any of the public realized who they were (thank God for small favors, Jake thought, as this was an extremely rare occurrence at an airport). Matt was not with them. After denouncing Jake as a murderer and the other three of his bandmates as accomplices, he had found a phone and booked a private flight back to Los Angeles, leaving just before midnight.

"Sorry to hear about Darren, guys," said Larry Mayer, the driver of the limo.

"Yeah," Jake said, answering for them all. "So were we."

"Where to?" Larry asked them.

"Pauline's house," Jake said. "She's expecting us."

"You got it," Larry said. He put the car in gear and pulled out into the traffic lane, heading for the freeway. The twenty minute trip to Pauline's was made mostly in silence. Jake was the only one to break it, when he mixed up a rum and coke from the limo's bar and asked if anyone else wanted one (no one else did).

Pauline's housekeeper opened the door when they knocked and led them through the house to Pauline's office. She sat behind the desk, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and an old T-shirt. She had no shoes on her feet, no makeup on her face, and her hair was tangled and disorganized, as if it hadn't made acquaintance with a brush yet this day. She looked somewhat haggard. Dark circles were under her eyes and her hands were tremoring noticeably, they way they did when she was living on coffee.

"Hey, guys," she greeted listlessly, not bothering to get up. "How was your flight in?"

"Bumpy as hell," Coop said.

She nodded. "Seems to be going with the theme of the day then, isn't it?"

"How are you doing, sis?" Jake asked. "Pardon my saying so, but you look like shit."

She shrugged. "I'm all right. I've been too busy dealing with all the flack being thrown at me for the news that Darren is dead to actually sink in. I plan to collapse with exhaustion later."

"Did Matt make it here?" Nerdly asked.

She sighed. "Yeah, he made it here all right. He's part of what I'm dealing with."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked.

"We'll get to that," Pauline said. "For now, why don't you all grab a seat? I'll tell you what I know and what's going on so far. Does anyone want a drink or some food?"

"I'll have a beer," Jake said.

"Yeah, me too," Coop said.

"Do you have any carrot juice?" Nerdly asked.

"How about grapefruit juice?" Charlie put in.

"Two beers and a grapefruit juice I can do," Pauline said. "Bill, I'm afraid I'm fresh out of carrot juice at the moment."

Nerdly shrugged. "I guess I'll go with the beer then," he said.

Pauline ordered their drinks with the intercom on her desk. They were promptly brought in — three Coronas with limes and a glass of ice cold grapefruit juice. They all took sips and looked expectantly at their manager.

"Okay then," she said. "Let me start with the facts first. As you all know, Darren has been living in a small, rented condo in Hollywood ever since he was removed from the band. He's been living on royalty checks from the first three Intemperance albums and his cut of the live album. He's also been getting monthly checks from Matt in the amount of five thousand dollars and picking up a little extra by doing some studio work a few times a week at the National Records Building."

Jake felt a shudder pass through him at the mention of Matt's monthly checks. Back when Darren had been fired, Matt had asked each of the remaining band members to chip in a few thousand dollars a month for Darren so he could remain living in the lifestyle to which he'd become accustomed. Jake had refused on the grounds that he thought Darren would only spend the money on drugs. Coop, Charlie, and Nerdly had all followed suit on this decision on the same grounds. Matt had of course accused them of being cheap, greedy bastards — just another one of the wedges that had been driven into their relationship with each other.

What do you think about that decision now, Matt? Jake thought. Now that the money you were giving him was undoubtedly what financed his latest (and last) heroin habit?

"Matt was visiting Darren pretty regularly right up until you guys went out on the road," Pauline said. "It seemed like he was pretty much on the straight and narrow during that period. Matt told me it didn't even seem like Darren was drinking much. I believe him. From what my contacts in the LAPD told me, it looked like Darren started back on the heroin a week or two after you guys took off on tour and the visits from Matt came to an end."

"Jesus," Jake said, shaking his head sadly.

"They found him on his couch in front of the television," Pauline continued. "He'd been there for a few days. It was the... uh... the smell that led to his discovery. The neighbors called in a foul odor and the LAPD went in with a passkey from the manager. The house was a mess. Beer cans, TV dinner trays, old laundry, and general garbage everywhere. The television was still on and the needle was still in Darren's arm. There was a candle, a spoon, and an empty balloon that had once had black tar heroin in it."

"Are they thinking suicide?" Nerdly asked.

Pauline shrugged. "Your guess is as good as theirs. Better probably. Myself, I think it was probably half suicide, half accident. He probably shot up a really killer load, not really caring whether or not it was going to kill him." She shook her head. "It's such a waste."

"Yeah," Jake said, feeling a tear wanting to form in his left eye. He choked it back.

"They're doing an autopsy on him today," Pauline said. "They're pretty sure it won't show anything, other than a bunch of track marks in his arms and legs. The toxicology test is going to be what gives the official cause of death. That won't be available for about six weeks."

"This is most upsetting," Nerdly said, wiping his eyes a little. "Darren and I had our differences, but I never wanted anything like this to happen to him."

"I know," Pauline said. "I'm sure none of us wanted this. None of us are terribly surprised by it, but none of us wanted it."

"No," Jake agreed.

"Fuck no," Coop said.

"I feel responsible for this," Charlie said softly. "If I would've just resigned when Matt asked me to..."

"Don't even go there, Charlie," Jake said. "This isn't your fault. You didn't stick the needle in Darren's arm. You didn't start him down this road. The reason you're even playing in the band in the first place is because of Darren's heroin problems."

"I know," he said, "it's just that... well..." He shook his head. "Are they sure it was heroin that killed him? I mean, when you're living in a place like he was living and eating the kind of stuff that he was eating... I mean... maybe they should check him for a tapeworm."

Pauline blinked a little but maintained her composure. "I'm sure the tapeworm check is a standard part of the autopsy, Charlie," she said.

"Oh... yeah, I guess you're right," he said.

"What about Crow and that fuckhead Greg?" Jake asked, changing the subject. "Did you ream their asses about this whole interrupting the tour thing? That motherfucker Greg actually wanted us to play the next three dates until Darren's funeral, fly back that day to attend, and then fly back the next morning in time to make the next show. Crow called us and backed that asshole up!"

"I know," Pauline said.

"They tried to fuckin' guilt us into staying with the tour through this," Coop said. "The fuckin' show must go on, he tells us. I thought Matt was really gonna kill Greg when he said that shit."

"I will agree that Greg is lucky to have escaped with his life," Pauline said. "And yes, I talked to them both. In light of further developments since Matt's return, I think they've stopped worrying about a one week hiatus from the tour."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked.

She sighed, taking a drink from her latest cup of coffee. "Matt says he's done," she said.

"Done?" Jake asked. "You mean... done?"

She nodded. "He says he's not going back to the tour and that he's never going to step on stage or make music with any of you ever again. He, in fact, says that it'll be a cold day in hell before he's even in the same room with any of you."

"He can't do that!" Coop said.

"We have commitments to honor until the end of this contract period," Nerdly said. "There are still thirty-one more venues to play, not including the shows we're postponing over the next week."

"I know," Pauline said. "Matt says — and I quote: 'I don't give a fiddler's fuck about the rest of the tour dates'. I tried to tell him that he's in breach of contract if he does not resume the tour and make up the dates that are postponed and he said: 'I don't give a rat's ass about the fuckin' contract either'. He says to let them sue if they want, let them take all of his money, but he's not going back out on tour."

"Was he serious?" Jake asked.

Pauline nodded. "At the time he was in here ranting to me about all this, yes, he was dead serious. He was fully prepared to accept the consequences of a breach of contract charge and then go out on his own as a solo artist after this contract expires in November."

"Oh man," Charlie said, shaking his head nervously. "This is not good."

"Maybe he'll cool down a little," said Nerdly.

"Maybe," Pauline said, "but I really doubt it. You know how he is when he makes up his mind about something."

"Goddamn it," Jake said. "He is just so fucking pigheaded!"

"Hey, wait a minute," Charlie said. "If he breaches the contract, does that mean that we're gonna get nailed too?"

"No," Pauline said. "You guys are all safe. If you're all willing to go back out on tour and fulfill your contractual obligations but Matt refuses, he'll be the one to take the heat. Since it's impossible to replace Matt and still reasonably call yourself Intemperance, you'll just sit out the rest of the contract and then you'll be free to do whatever you want with your careers after."

"This is fuckin' bullshit, man!" Coop said. "He wants to break up Intemperance? Right now? While we're the most popular fuckin' band in the free world? That's... that's... that's not right, man! That ain't the way the world is supposed to work!"

"No," Pauline agreed. "It isn't."

They sat in silence for a few moments, each of them reflecting on this information.

"Can you try talking to him, Pauline?" Jake asked. "Or, if he won't listen to you, can you talk to Kim? None of us want Intemperance to break up, but even if that's the way it has to be, we need to finish this tour. People have already bought tickets for those shows."

"I'll try," she said. "I just don't think it will do much good." She took a few breaths, another sip of coffee. "There's something else that Matt has set into motion that I think I should bring up now."

"What's that?" Jake asked.

"He doesn't want any of you at Darren's funeral," she said.

All four of them were more than a little shocked by this statement. He didn't want them at Darren's funeral? That was insane! Except for Charlie, they had known Darren for years, had played venues with him all over the country, had sat huddled in recording studios and rehearsal warehouses with him, had rode thousands of hours on a cramped tour bus with him, had drank with him, smoked with him, fucked groupies with him.

"That's just too goddamned bad," Jake said, feeling actual anger now instead of just sadness. "But I'm going to Darren's funeral whether Matt likes it or not. There's no way in hell I won't."

"Me too, goddammit!" Coop said.

"I agree," Nerdly said. "When you've fornicated in the presence of another man, produced music with him, and smoked marijuana with him more than ten times, you are honor-bound to attend his memorial service, regardless of your relationship with him at the time of his demise."

"That may be true, Bill," Pauline said. "And I understand how much each of you sincerely feel the need to go to his funeral, but... well... this is hard to say."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked.

"Matt has been in touch with Darren's parents since he's been home. He has convinced them that all of you are to blame for Darren's death."

"He did what?" Jake yelled.

"That motherfucker!" Coop put in. "I'll kick his fuckin' ass!"

"This is most uncouth," Nerdly said indignantly.

"Yeah," Pauline said. "But the fact of the matter is that Mr. and Mrs. Appleman have officially requested that I inform the four of you that you are not welcome at Darren's funeral and that they will instruct the guards to turn you away if you show up."

"Can they do that?" Coop asked, incensed by the very thought. He and Darren had, after all, been very close back in the day. They had actually shared Darren's first heroin addiction together.

"I'm afraid so," Pauline said. "And unless they change their minds in the next two days, that's just the way it has to be."

"Fuck me," Jake said, his face red, his hands clenched into fists. "I didn't think Matt was that vindictive."

"Neither did I," Pauline said. "Neither did I."

The popular media, in their grandest tradition, was making a big deal over the death of "former Intemperance bass player, Darren Appleman". In the seventy-two hours following Darren's discovery, they printed and broadcast every last detail they could ferret out of anyone with any knowledge or reasonable facsimile thereof of the circumstances surrounding Darren's life and death. They told about Darren's earlier problems with heroin and his stint in rehab as a result. They spoke of how he had contracted botulism as a result of skin-popping heroin and had nearly died from it. They spoke of his being replaced by Charlie Meyer, initially on a temporary basis, but, by vote of the band ("guitarist, Matt Tisdale, the lone hold-out", they gleefully proclaimed), he was permanently fired. They told in exacting detail the condition of Darren's apartment when he was found, how the neighbors reporting a foul odor was what led to his discovery, how Darren was wearing only a pair of "stained blue bikini briefs", and, how the last video found in his VCR was pornographic in nature.

It did not take long for the media to get hold of the fact that Jake, Charlie, Nerdly, and Coop were being barred from Darren's funeral. The information came from none other than Marla Appleman, Darren's mother. She was accosted by two entertainment reporters at LAX while waiting to board the plane that was flying her son's coffin home to Heritage for burial. After enduring ten minutes of inflammatory questioning about Darren's drug use, his womanizing, his obviously poor upbringing, rumors about him being abused by his father as a child, and his Satanism, the relatively benign subject of who his pallbearers would be came up.

"I'm assuming," said the spunky female reporter from Celebrity Today, "that Jake Kingsley, Matt Tisdale, Nerdly Archer, and John Cooper will be carrying his casket, but will Charlie Meyer, the man who replaced him, be among the pallbearers? And, if so, who will be the sixth?"

Marla's face turned angrier than it had already been. "Matthew will be the only one of those you mentioned who will carry my son's coffin," she said icily. "His pallbearers will be friends of his, not the four deviants who caused his addiction and his death. In my opinion, they should be arrested and charged with a crime."

And this, of course, opened up a whole can of worms which Marla did not have time to fully address because they called her flight at that very moment. Before leaving the astonished reporters, she did make mention that not only were Jake, Charlie, Coop, and Nerdly not going to be pallbearers, they were not going to be present at the funeral either.

Once that bit of information hit the airwaves and the printed medium, Darren's funeral suddenly became the biggest story of the moment, surpassing even a nightclub fire the previous week in New York that had killed 87 and the ongoing trial of John Poindexter in the Iran-Contra scandal — a trial that was within days of wrapping up. Pauline's phone started ringing off the hook as reporter after reporter called, demanding confirmation or denial of Marla's statement, demanding statements from any and all band members. With little else to do, Pauline was forced to admit that, yes, at the request of Darren's family, Matt Tisdale would be the only member of Intemperance present at the funeral.

"How does the band feel about this?" she was asked again and again.

"Obviously, they're not very happy about it," was her pat answer, "but they have agreed to respect the wishes of the family."

She was asked many other questions as well, some having to do with the nature of the dispute between Darren's parents and the band, some having to do with why Matt wasn't included in the persona non grata declaration. Pauline refused to go into any details here. And, of course, all of the reporters eventually got to the big questions, the questions that were on everyone's mind: "What does this mean for the band?" "Will they be returning to the road soon?" "Will they make another album when the tour is over?"

Pauline's answer to this line of enquiry was ambiguous at best. "Right now the band is still trying to come to grips with Darren's loss and all of the emotions attached to it. I don't think anyone is thinking beyond next week at the moment."

Matt's answer to that same question, however, was not so ambiguous. The reporters caught up with him on April 4, in the parking lot of Mount Verne Memorial Park in Heritage — the cemetery where Darren was laid to rest — right after the graveside ceremony. Dressed in a black suit, his sunglasses covering his bloodshot eyes, a cigarette perched between his fingers, Matt faced a dozen video cameras and six radio microphones and said: "Intemperance is done. It is my opinion that John Cooper, Bill Archer, and, especially, Jake Kingsley are directly responsible for the downfall and eventual death of Darren. I will never forgive them for this. I will never step onto a stage with any of them again. I will never play music with any of them again. I will never be in the same room with any of them again if I can avoid it. I am through with all of them and I hope they all rot in hell."

A momentary silence washed over the gaggle of reporters. They were simply unaccustomed to being given so strong and straightforward an answer. Finally, one of them, the LA Times entertainment reporter, asked: "So... does this mean you won't be finishing out the Lines On The Map tour with them?"

"And does it mean you won't be composing a new album with them?" asked the reporter from the Heritage Register.

"What the fuck do you think, Einstein?" Matt barked back at them. "Are you a little unclear on just what the word never means?"

Although his reply was unprintable and un-airable as delivered, it did serve to get his point across. As far as Matt Tisdale was concerned, there was no more Intemperance.

INTEMPERANCE AT AN END? read the headline in the LA Times. TISDALE PONDERS LEAVING INTEMPERANCE, read the headline in the Heritage Register. The possible break-up of the most popular "death metal" band of all time was front-page news across the United States and in several other countries. All of the entertainment programs, tabloid newspapers, and entertainment oriented magazines featured the entire sordid story as their lead-off in the week that followed. None of them, however, could quite come to the point of announcing that Intemperance was really broken up for good, this despite several additional proclamations from Matt about never playing with the members of Intemperance again and even a news release from Pauline that stated it looked like the band's reign was at an end.

Crow and the rest of the management gang certainly didn't appreciate the news that Matt had no intention of returning to the road. They tried every tactic in their arsenal to convince him that, at the very least, he needed to finish the tour.

"You'll be in breach of contract, Matt," Doolittle told him reasonably. "We don't want to have to pursue a lawsuit against you. Just mend your fences over this whole Darren thing and get back out on the road. After that... well, we can start talking about the possibilities of a new Intemperance contract. We're prepared to offer very generous terms."

"Fuck your terms and fuck your tour," was Matt's reply. "When I said I was through, I meant that shit, man."

"It's only thirty or so dates," Doolittle said. "It'll take a month and a half and your contract will be wrapped up. If you don't... well... we'll be forced to sue you for any lost revenue your breach causes us. That's on the order of two thousand missed album sales, five thousand missed single sales, all of the concert revenue, and all of the merchandising revenue per venue that is missed. Not only that, but we'd be obligated to go after you for punitive damages. That could run upwards of a hundred thousand dollars all by itself."

"We could also revert back to your previous contract for any future royalties from here on out," Crow reminded. "Think about this, Matt. You could be making a very expensive decision here."

"Do your worst, assholes," Matt told them. "I don't care if I end up on skid-fucking-row because of this shit. I ain't gonna finish the tour and I sure as shit ain't gonna make any more music with those murdering fucks."

Gradually, after begging, pleading, threatening, trying to reason, trying to get Pauline to reason, and even trying to get Kim Kowalski to reason, they were forced to conclude that Matt was committed to the course of action he'd set in motion. National Records reluctantly announced that all future Intemperance dates were no longer postponed, but cancelled. They returned all the money they'd collected in ticket sales and were forced to eat nearly one hundred thousand dollars in merchandise and a quarter of a million in venue reservation deposits.

In the end, however, they elected not to pursue any legal action against Matt. Knowing he would soon be embarking on a solo career of some sort, they wanted to remain in his good graces so he would sign with National instead of going to Aristocrat Records or some other label.

It was only when the remaining dates were actually cancelled, when it was announced in cities from New Orleans to Bangor that ticket holders could obtain refunds for their purchases at their local TicketKing box office, that the media finally accepted the band's break-up as fact. On April 24, 1990, the New York Times was the first to announce the grim truth. Above the stories of East and West German finalization of plans for formal reunification and the successful placement of the Hubble space telescope in Earth orbit, was the headline: ITS OFFICIAL. INTEMPERANCE HAS BROKEN UP.

Los Angeles, California

May 4, 1990

Jake stood in his bedroom at five o'clock on this Friday afternoon. For the first time in more than two weeks, he was sober at this time of the day. In light of his first social obligation in more than a month, he had restrained his alcohol intake. He'd only had three bloody Marys that morning and two rum and cokes in the early afternoon. Though it had taken two hits of some pretty good greenbud in order to allow him to partake in an afternoon nap, he was now awake, coordinated, and mostly clearheaded as he started putting on his custom-tailored tuxedo in preparation for the prestigious premier of Greg Oldfellow's new epic film: The Northern Jungle — the post-apocalypse global warming piece that was being touted as the "film of the decade". Celia and Greg had issued an actual engraved invitation for him to attend.

"What the hell?" Jake muttered as he struggled to snap his trousers together at the waist. He had to pull the two ends of the fastener forcibly together in order to get them to meet. And, once they did, the waistband was uncomfortably restricting across his midsection.

He took a few deep breaths to make sure the snap wasn't going to actually break under the strain of normal respiration. It held. Still, he shook his head in consternation. "That's the last goddamn time I take my suits to Serenity Cleaners," he muttered. "How the fuck do you shrink someone's suit by dry cleaning it?"

He continued to dress, noting that his vest and his jacket didn't seem quite as loose as they'd once been either. He muttered a few more words about those goddamn incompetent dry cleaners, and then put on his dress shoes. His date for the evening — Pauline, since he was currently unattached — would be here in about ten minutes. He took the opportunity to enjoy a quick rum and coke and two quick cigarettes. His throat rasped a little harshly with the smoke — something that was happening with more and more frequency these days.

The doorbell rang and Elsa let Pauline in. His sister was dressed in a beautiful royal blue cocktail gown that showed off her cleavage and her legs. Her hair was freshly styled and her make-up was expertly applied. She even had a fresh manicure and pedicure.

"Damn, sis," Jake said when he saw her. "You're hot."

"Of course I am," she said with a smile.

Jake laughed. "And modest too," he added.

"Naturally," she said. She looked him up and down for a moment and her smile faded a bit. "Your tux is looking a little tight," she commented. "You gaining weight?"

"Gaining weight?" he asked, genuinely confused by this observation. He'd been within ten pounds of 180 ever since he was twenty years old. "I don't think so. Those assholes at the cleaners shrunk my tux though."

"Ahh," she said, nodding knowingly. "That explains it. You ready to go?"

"I'm ready," he confirmed.

They went out to the limo and climbed in the back. Jack immediately mixed up another rum and coke. He drank a third of it in one swallow before remembering his manners and asking Pauline if she wanted anything.

"Just a glass of that wine will do me," she said.

"One glass of wine, coming up."

The afternoon traffic was thick and the limo moved slowly through the streets of Los Angeles, heading for the Hollywood Hilton, where the premier was to take place.

"Thanks again for inviting me, Jake," Pauline said as she sipped her wine and puffed on one of Jake's cigarettes. "I've never been to a movie premier before."

"It'll be fun," Jake said. "Just like old times. Remember when you used to take me to the movies when I was a kid?"

"That was because Mom and Dad made me," she said. "It got us out of the house so they could smoke pot and boff each other on the living room couch."

"Okay," Jake said, wincing a little. "You really didn't have to go there, but I do consider those times to be a pleasant childhood memory, even if the house did smell a little funny whenever we got home."

"I used to meet my boyfriends there and ditch you," Pauline said. "We'd go sneak into an R-rated movie and leave you there watching Herbie Goes To Hollywood or some crap like that while we smoked pot and felt each other up."

"Oh... yeah, you did, didn't you?" Jake said. "But you're not doing that tonight, right?"

"No," she said. "And you're not either, right?"

"I have no plans in that direction," he assured her.

They laughed together, perhaps their first genuine outbursts of amusement since Darren's death and the turmoil that followed.

"So," Pauline said as they waited at the next red light, "how about talking a little business while we're waiting?"

"What kind of business?" Jake asked.

"Music kind of business, what else?" she asked. "I've got two offers to tell you about."

"Two offers for what?"

"For Jake Kingsley solo album contracts," she said. "What else?"

"Jesus," Jake said. "We've been broken up less than a month."

"Suitable time for grieving in Hollywood apparently," she said. "You wanna hear the offers?"

Jake sighed. "Why not?"

"Okay," she said. "The first is from Doolittle himself. He wants to keep you signed to National's label, naturally. He's offering — and this is just a starting point, mind you — a two option period contract with a five hundred thousand dollar advance per album. Royalties will be twenty-five percent. National pays all production and promotion costs. You have primary input on musical selections and they maintain their veto power with the same restrictions as your current contract. You maintain artistic license over video production. Tour costs will be fifty-fifty and you'll maintain artistic license over the tour content and production."

"That's not bad," Jake had to admit.

"Yeah, well, quite frankly, the Aristocrat Records offer is even better, at least on the face."

"Oh yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Their guy offered a three option period contract with a clean million in advance per album. You maintain complete artistic license over everything, including videos and tour content, and they have no veto power whatsoever. Royalty rate is thirty-one percent. They pay all promotion, production, and tour costs, including the band's... uh... entertainment expenses. You'll be booked first class all the way and the immediate band members will be flown from venue to venue instead of bussed."

Jake whistled. "Now that sounds pretty sweet. Is there a catch?"

"Kind of," Pauline said. "If you sign with National, they can remove you from your current contract immediately and get you right into production. If you decide to go with anyone else, you'll have to wait until November 15 before you can even sign a contract, let alone record a demo tape. Also, if you sign with National, they'll allow you to perform any Intemperance song that you wrote in any live concert. If you sign with anyone else, you'll be banned from performing any song that they own the rights to until roughly 2007."

"Ahh, I see," Jake said.

"Yes," Pauline said. "There are advantages and disadvantages to both propositions. Myself, I think you should consider re-signing with National, but only after extensive and aggressive negotiations on a new contract. We might have to give them another option period or two, but if this is there first offer, I have no doubt they'd be willing to at least match Aristocrat's first offer as a final."

"Sign on for four more years with National?" Jake asked with a wince. "Another four years of dealing with Crow and Doolittle?"

"But on your terms," Pauline said. "That's the beauty of a second contract negotiated with an established artist."

Jake took a long sip of his drink — so long that it was empty when the sip was over. He began to construct another one. "I don't know about all this," he said. "How do I even know that anyone wants to hear Jake Kingsley singing without Matt Tisdale on the guitar? Without Nerdly on the piano? Has anyone considered that?"

"You think they'd offer you a half million advance if they didn't have confidence the public would buy the album?" she asked.

"Their ability to predict what people will and won't buy is highly questionable," Jake said. "I know it and you know it. And it gets worse every year."

"True," she said. "But don't you have confidence in yourself, Jake? Don't you think you have what it takes to sell music without Matt and Nerdly helping you? Didn't you tell me that you kind of liked being able to make all the decisions on your music?"

"Yeah... I suppose," Jake said. "It's just kind of scary to think about going out there on my own. The music I want to make is not Intemperance music at all — or at least most of it isn't."

Pauline was shaking her head. "Bad idea," she said. "You should really stick as close to the classic Intemperance sound as you can, at least for the main cuts on the album."

Jake raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?" he said.

"You don't want to stray too far from your roots," she said. "Your fans will want to hear you doing hard rock tunes with crunching guitar and classic Jake Kingsley lyrics. We'll hold auditions and get you the best damn guitar player we can scrounge up, someone who sounds similar to Matt, and then we'll..."

"Whoa, hold on a minute," Jake said. "Why would I hire some Matt sound-alike for a guitarist? No matter who he is, he isn't going to sound as good as Matt and people are just going to spend all of their time comparing them instead of focusing on the music I've produced."

"I think you're reading too much into this," Pauline said. "Sure, chances are we won't find someone as good as Matt on lead guitar, but if he's at least close, they'll still enjoy the music as long as it sounds like Intemperance in spirit and execution. They'll be able to focus on you as the singer and rhythm guitarist."

Now it was Jake shaking his head. "David Lee Roth already tried this, remember? He hooked up with Steve Vai, who is a pretty damn good guitarist, but he ain't as good as Eddie Van Halen."

"They went double and triple platinum for those albums," Pauline reminded him.

"Yes," Jake said, "and that was undoubtedly due to a loyal fan base, a few catchy tunes, and a vain hope that the original Van Halen had been recreated. But the illusion didn't hold very long, did it? Look at where they are now. Vai is now playing for Whitesnake as they wind their way downward into obscurity. And Roth... well, his last album didn't even go gold, did it?"

"Well... no, it didn't," Pauline had to admit.

"I don't want to try to put together another Intemperance," Jake said. "I don't want to end up in obscurity in three years because people are tired of me drawing from the well too many times. If I'm going to go solo, I'm going to go truly solo and make the kind of music I want to make. I'm not going to be formulistic. If I want to do a ballad, I'll do it. If I want to do a completely acoustic piece without any drums or bass, I'll do that. If I want to do some kind of heavy metal piece with palm-muted double guitars and screaming solos, I'll do that. To me, that's what being a solo artist means. It's the end of formulism."