Chapter 1: Runnin’ Down This Dusty Road

Cleveland, Ohio

October 31, 2002

The house lights were up and the stage lights were down at Gund Arena in downtown Cleveland. It was the intermission break of the Halloween performance of the Never Say Never tour. Many of the crowd of more than nineteen thousand were in various forms of costume, particularly the women, most of them quite risqué and revealing. From what the band could see from the stage, it was like an erotic ball out there, with many more breasts and vaginas flashed at them, many more pairs of panties flying up on the stage, and more than the usual amount of stage rushers getting up onto the stage and going after either Jake or Matt.

“That second one that got to me was pretty fuckin’ hot,” Matt opined as the five members of the band—Jake Kingsley, Matt Tisdale, John Cooper, Charlie Meyer, and Nerdly Archer—sat on packing boxes and wiring spools in the stage left area, all of them drinking Gatorade to rehydrate the fluids and electrolytes they had sweated out. The timer on the wall read a little over eleven minutes before it was time to put their ears back in and go back out on the stage for the second half of the show. “I almost wish they would have held onto her. Did you see those fuckin’ titties on her?”

“I saw them,” Jake agreed. They had been large, firm, very aesthetic eighteen year old titties (or perhaps a bit younger?), worthy of respect and admiration. While he had appreciated the view of them, he was glad she had gone for Matt instead of him. The stage rushers scared him. So far, all of them had been drunken females who wanted their moment of fame to be gained by taking off their tops and rubbing their bare breasts on one of the bandmembers and who were willing to pay the price of a night in jail and a fine of several thousand dollars for criminal trespass (as well as missing the rest of the show they had paid several hundred dollars to attend). In Jake’s mind, however (and in the minds of the security guys) each one was a potential Jenny Johansen or other form of assassin. Any one of them could have a knife or a gun and the intent to do lethal harm. And it was almost impossible for the security team to get to them before they made contact. “She’s probably already in jail by now.”

“She might not have even been legal,” Coop added.

“Yeah ... good point,” Matt allowed with a sigh. “And it’s too late to even request something like her. My slut order is already in for the night so it’s too late to change it to a barely legal with big fuckin’ titties.”

“What did you request tonight?” Jake asked, out of morbid curiosity more than anything else. Matt, Coop, and Charlie were all frequent requesters of groupies on the tour, all three doing their best to keep up the old Intemp reputation for debauchery. Charlie was even still hetero at this point, quite possibly a record stretch for him.

“I asked for a MILF in her thirties,” Matt said. “Stretch marks, a little sag in the titties, the whole deal, but with a really pretty face and a nice body.” He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Variety is the spice of life,” Jake said, wondering how many MILFs of Matt’s description showed up at the groupie selection points on any given night. That might be a tough one to procure.

“Fuckin’ A!” Matt agreed. “I’ll order up the barely legal for the Pittsburgh gig.” He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe even two.” He smiled. “Yeah, two barely legals, one blonde, one brunette, and they have to be willing to dyke out with each other.”

“Is this a great fuckin’ job or what?” Coop said, imagining the scene and thinking he might ask for the same once they got to Pittsburgh.

“It does beat cleaning out shithouses at construction sites,” Jake agreed, remembering a threat from one of the National Records suits of how they would end up way back when they had been trying to get out of their first-time contract.

“It’s even better than being a proctologist,” Nerdly said. No one was able to tell if he was joking or not. Jake, however, was intrigued by the subject of proctology.

“You ever thought about the doctors who decide to be proctologists?” he asked. “I mean, they just went through four years of undergrad school, four years of medical school, the entire field of medicine is open to them, and they pick looking at people’s assholes for the rest of their careers? Is it a really good paying gig, looking at assholes? Or are these just freaks who like looking at assholes?”

“Perhaps that is what becomes of you if your medical school grades are not the best?” Nerdly suggested.

“Could be,” Jake said thoughtfully. “The near flunk-outs have to go into proctology. An interesting theory, Nerdly. That’s even worse than having to be a podiatrist and look at people’s nasty feet your entire career.”

“Can you imagine being a fuckin’ gynecologist?” Matt said. “You spend all day looking at skanky, diseased pussy and then you go home and the old lady is in the mood and you’re like ‘no thanks, baby, I’ve seen enough.’”

“Damn,” said Coop. “I never thought about it that way. I always thought being paid to look at pussy would be cool.”

“These gynecologist motherfuckers don’t just have to look at those diseased pussies,” Matt said, “they gotta smell ‘em and put their fuckin’ hand all up in ‘em.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Charlie asked. “I’m losing my enthusiasm for my request for the night.”

“What did you ask for?” Jake asked him.

“Skinny girl,” Charlie said. “Small tits, not many curves, short hair if possible. Willing to do it doggy style and take it up the ass.”

“Oh shit,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Here we go.”

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked, genuinely confused.

“Nothin’,” Matt said, taking another swig of his Gatorade. “Just getting ready for a fuckin’ paradigm shift of the fuckin’ universe.”

“Huh?” Charlie asked, totally lost now.

“We’re down to four minutes,” Jake said. “We better get our ears back in.”

“Right,” Matt said, a look of disgust on his face.

They stood and put their ears back in, cutting off all outside noise. A brief sound check was done with the techs out on the soundboard to make sure everyone was working properly. Everyone was. The clock continued to tick down. The guitar techs handed Jake and Matt and Charlie their respective instruments and plugged them in. Outside, the sound of the crowd began to pick up as they anticipated the return of the musicians. When the house lights dimmed down, that roar picked up even more.

The stage left door was opened and the five of them stepped back out onto the dark stage, finding their way mostly by feel to their microphones and instruments. Jake pulled a pick out of his microphone stand.

“Okay, guys,” a voice spoke in Jake’s ears. “Lights on in five, four, three, two, one.”

The stage lights blared to life and they began to play the intro to Crossing the Line, one of the most popular hits from their second album. The crowd cheered appreciatively. Within seconds, everyone was back into the show, waving their lighters, dancing their dances, showing their tits. Jake belted out the lyrics to the piece—a song about taking a life-changing, dangerous step forward to achieve a goal—with all the power and emotion due the subject. Matt belted out the primary riff with skill and obvious fondness for the tune. He had told Jake on more than one occasion that Crossing was one of his favorite Jake-penned tunes, particularly since they, the band, had crossed the line with National Records shortly after the tune’s release and had come out winners in the end.

After the applause from Crossing’s closing faded down, Jake stepped back up to the microphone. “Thank you, Cleveland,” he told them. “I have more than a little bit of fondness for your city, you know. Me, my wife, my ex-wife, and my sister Pauline all got to experience your hospitality for a few days back in September of last year during an event we now call nine-eleven.

“You see, we were all supposed to be on United Flight 175 from Boston to LA on that morning. As you all know, that was the aircraft that crashed into the south tower of the World Trade Center, killing everyone aboard and a whole lot of folks in the building itself. Thanks to fate, we ended up not being on that flight but on Delta 1989 instead. Delta 1989 was one of three flights that took off from Logan International for LA on that horrible morning, the only one of the three that was not hijacked and crashed. Instead, we were told to land here in Cleveland when the FAA and NORAD shut down United States airspace and we got to spend a few days here before they opened the airspace back up and we were finally able to finish our flight home.

“You all made us feel welcome in your city and took care of us in the wake of one of the worst days in American history. For that, I sincerely thank each and every one of you, especially those we came into contact with at the hotel and at the airlines during that very trying time.”

Cheers erupted and Jake was given a standing ovation that lasted the better part of a minute before the crowd settled back down and resumed their seats.

“This is another one from the new CD,” he told them, returning to his scripted banter. “It’s called Waiting for You.”

Coop gave a four count and they launched into the tune, starting mellow, with Nerdly playing the primary melody on the piano while Jake strummed his Les Paul clean. When the choruses came, Matt jumped in with his distorted Strat and Jake joined him by stomping on the number one effects pedal. Jake used his voice to his best advantage, belting out the lyrics intensely, using his range and timbre to shape the words powerfully, to put emotion into them. And then came the guitar solo after the second verse. It was at the tempo of the verses—a hundred per minute, slow and mellow—and featured one of the most complicated combinations of effects pedals that Matt had, serving to both chop the notes and increase their pitch to the maximum. It was a unique solo, the likes of which had never existed before, and Matt duplicated the CD version precisely, much to the delight of the audience.

As soon as the last note of the solo ended, all of the other instruments ceased playing. Jake, now standing at his microphone, strummed clean at eighty per minute and sang the bridge section as if he were playing guitar/sing for Caydee at home. It was an emotional and meaningful transition that the audience loved. At the end of the bridge section, Jake stepped on his number one pedal again and they launched into another chorus in full heavy metal sound, with two distorted guitars and four part harmony. The tune ended with a long, drawn out singing of the final syllable of the chorus.

“Thank you!” Jake told the crowd as they applauded and held up their lighters.

Daniel Brockford was in the VIP section in front of the stage. His wife of fifteen years and his thirteen year old daughter were seated next to him. He was forty years old on this day and a twelve year veteran of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation, a supervisory agent currently assigned to the Cleveland office. He and his family were occupying three seats that could have sold for six hundred dollars apiece retail, up to three thousand after-market, but which Dan (as he liked to be called) had spent exactly zero dollars to obtain. All it had taken to acquire the tickets had been to give his personal email address to one Jacob Glenn Kingsley, a passenger on Delta Flight 1989 he had interviewed on September 11, 2001. Jake, it turned out, was a man of his word.

“Text me your email and I’ll get you the tickets,” Jake had told him at the conclusion of that interview on that terrible day. “I don’t know when we’ll be in Cleveland at this point, but I’ll have them get you VIPs that will be waiting for you at will call. How many do you need?”

“Uh ... well ... my wife and my daughter would both like to go,” he had told the famous (and infamous) singer that he had found so strangely and unexpectedly personable during the interview. And this was true. Dan had always been an Intemperance fan ever since high school. His wife had been one as well (and she had more than a little bit of a crush on Jake Kingsley, he knew). His daughter, Marissa, had grown up hearing the music of Intemperance and Jake Kingsley played frequently by her parents and was a fan as well (and undoubtedly had a crush on Kingsley too). Dan had not believed for a minute at the time that Kingsley would actually hook them up with tickets to the Intemperance reunion show. But he had been proven wrong. As soon as the tour schedule was announced, he received an email from Jake Kingsley (JGKingsley2112@hotmail.com was his address) telling him that the tickets where there waiting for him and he should mark Halloween on his calendar. Dan had replied with a sincere thank you and Jake had replied with a don’t mention it, I support what you do and appreciate it.

And now here he was, more than halfway through the show, a sixteen dollar beer in hand and having the time of his life. He looked decidedly out of place among the other fans in the VIP section. He sported a flat-top haircut and a conservative shirt and slacks combo. He was not smoking any marijuana and refused to even pass on those joints that were passed in his direction (earning him a few dirty looks from the longhairs). His shirt was long and untucked to conceal the fact that he was carrying a forty caliber semi-automatic pistol on his right hip (he had gotten through security with it by flashing his badge). Like most cops, he would not dream of going to a place like a concert (or even a grocery store) without being armed.

“I love that song,” his wife, Karen, told him, a big smile on her face. “It’s my favorite one on the new CD.”

“That was totally the bomb!” exclaimed Marissa. She was wearing a Never Say Never tour shirt that had cost Dan forty-five dollars. This was her first concert ever and she having the time of her life as well. She did not know it yet, but every subsequent concert she would attend in the future would pale in comparison to this one. The combination of the best seats in the house, the awesome music that she knew well, and the band’s showmanship could not be beat.

The band launched right into What I Need, one of Matt Tisdale’s tunes from the Balance of Power album. It was full of not-so-subtle lyrics that what Matt needed was sex and drugs. Not one of Dan’s favorites but he managed to enjoy it, tapping his feet to the beat and applauding loudly when it wrapped up. They then launched into the title cut from the Balance of Power album. This one, one of Jake Kingsley’s tunes about struggling and getting an advantageous shift in said power, was one of Dan’s favorites. The lyrics spoke to him, as good lyrics did, and he sang along without shame (Marissa was, of course, mortified by his action and tried to pretend she was not associated with him).

After Balance of Power concluded, Matt launched into a screaming guitar solo while the rest of the band exited the stage. The spotlight shined on the guitarist and he ground his way up and down the fretboard of his Strat for the better part of five minutes. It was an almost sublime performance and Dan found himself in awe of the skill and musicianship he was witnessing. Matt would frequently step on the pedals at the base of his microphone, changing the way the notes flowed out of his instrument. He shifted tempo, bringing it up to an almost insane speed for a minute and then bringing it down to a slow, sorrowful mellowness the next. The finale of the solo was the fastest tempo yet, his fingers a blur on the fretboard. He ended it with a long, drawn out note that faded slowly while the crowd erupted in cheers. He threw the guitar pick into the crowd and it landed just in front of them. Karen dove for it, having to scuffle with two men and a woman. She held it up triumphantly when she finally secured it, her hair now mussed up, and an abrasion on her right elbow.

Dan smiled at her as Jake and the rest of the band came back on stage.

“Matt fuckin’ Tisdale, Cleveland!” Jake said into his microphone. “Can he fuckin’ shred, or what?”

The crowd agreed that Matt could shred. Dan, Karen, and Marissa all agreed as well.

The Cleveland show was brought to a close at 10:07 PM Eastern Time and the band made their way back to the clubhouse. They drank some Gatorade and then switched to beer. A joint was passed around and everyone but Charlie took a few hits from it (Charlie had his own pipe so he would not be exposed to his bandmates’ germs by partaking in the ritual). They then made their way to the locker room to shower and change into fresh street clothes. The groupies for Matt, Charlie, and Coop were brought back. Jake and Nerdly were polite to them when introduced but kept off in their own corner while they ate the catered food (it was turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and corn on the cob, all of it quite tasty). Charlie ate the stuffing and the potatoes without gravy on it. He left the corn and the turkey alone.

It was 11:30 when the large stretch limousine dropped them off at the Ritz-Carlton downtown, the same hotel that Jake, Celia, Laura, and Pauline had stayed in after Flight 1989 was forced down and they were trapped in the city. Jake, in fact, had the same suite he and the ladies had stayed in for that little visit.

Celia Valdez-Kingsley was asleep when he entered the bedroom. She woke up when he leaned down and kissed the side of her face. Her eyes blinked open and she smiled up him. “Hey, Rev,” she said. “How was the show?”

“We nailed it,” he told her. “How was your night?”

“It was okay. I had dinner in the exclusive restaurant up top. Pretty good.”

“What did you have?”

“A filet with sautéed mushrooms and asparagus. A nice merlot from Napa. It was a little awkward eating alone in a restaurant but the food was good.”

“We’ll be able to have dinner together tomorrow night,” he told her. There was no show tomorrow. They would fly to Pittsburgh in the late morning and have the entire evening to themselves. It was such built-in breaks that kept them sane, that kept the road fatigue at bay.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “I still haven’t started yet.”

“No?” he asked hopefully. She was currently four days overdue for her period. They were hopeful that Aunt Flo had finally dropped the mic and left the building for nine months. “Did you pee on a stick?”

“Right before I went to bed,” she said. “Still no positive sign.”

“Hopefully there’s just not enough of the hormone in you yet. Keep the faith.”

“There’s nothing else to do,” she said. “Are you coming to bed?”

“In a bit,” he said. “I’m gonna have a drink and give Laura a call. It’s only 8:30 there.”

“Okay,” Celia said with a yawn. “Tell her I love her.”

“Will do,” he said. He leaned down and gave her a big kiss on the mouth, just touching her upper lip with his tongue.

“Mmm,” she cooed. “That was a good kiss.”

“Yes, it was,” Jake told her.

In the dark he kicked off his shoes and socks and then changed into a pair of sweat pants and a battered old t-shirt. He neatly folded the clothes he had been wearing and put them on the stand at the foot of the bed. They were still clean and he would wear them tomorrow. By the time he was done with this, Celia was back asleep, her breathing slow and regular. He left the room and went into the main sitting room of the suite.

At the bar, he poured some rye over a few ice cubes and walked over to the couch. He looked at the phone, read the directions for making a long-distance call, and then dialed his home number. It was answered on the third ring by Laura’s “hello”.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “I just got in from the show. Wanted to call and tell you I love you.”

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, warmth in her voice. “I love you too. Where are you tonight?” He had not talked to her in a few days now and she did not have their tour schedule memorized.

“Cleveland,” he said. “We’re staying in the same room we stayed in after nine-eleven.”

“That was a nice room,” she said. “How is C?”

“Sleeping right now,” he said.

“Has she started?” she asked carefully. She had talked to Celia yesterday and was aware that she was late for her period.

“She has not,” Jake said. “Still no positive test, but it could just be too early.”

“I tested positive before I even missed my period,” Laura reminded him.

“Everyone is different, hon. Maybe you just made a little more of that hCG stuff than she’s making at this stage. Maybe your test was more sensitive. We’re staying hopeful. She pees on a stick every morning and every night. If we get a positive you’ll be the next one besides us to know.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” she said.

“She told me to tell you that she loves you,” Jake said.

“Awww. Tell her I love her too. I can’t wait to see the two of you. I am so far over the line now. I was just playing with my toys when you called and it wasn’t doing it for me. I need the real thing.”

“That’s kind of hot, hon,” he told her. “Are you still naked?”

“I have my long t-shirt on with no panties,” she said. “This entire room reeks of my pussy.”

“Mmmm, I wish I was there right now,” he said, picturing the scene perfectly in his mind. She was probably wearing the long shirt that was blue and had white clouds all over it. That was one of her favorites. And she probably had a little stubble down below as she tended not to keep up the daily grooming when he was not home. He could almost smell her.

“I wish you could be here too. Will you talk dirty to me a little? Help me out some?”

He smiled and then talked dirty to her, telling her what he would do to her if he were there in the room. He was very explicit in detail. She moaned a few times as he spoke and his member became erect. It took almost ten minutes but he finally heard the familiar sound of her moaning out an orgasm.

“Ohhh ... that was good, sweetie,” she told him once she caught her breath. “Not as good as the real thing, but much better than my own fantasies. I want you to do all of those things to me when I meet up with you.” She was going to fly out and meet them in Charlotte when they arrived there on December 4th. They would have two nights off and then two shows in North Carolina’s biggest city. It was true that Charlotte did not have happy memories for Celia, but it was the most convenient time for a reunion and maybe they could make some happier memories there.

“I will do all of that and more,” he promised her. “What’s the word on Meghan? Will she be able to watch Caydee or will you have to bring her along with you?” As of September 15^th, Meghan was no longer a live-in nanny for the Kingsleys. It had been a mutual decision. They really did not have much need for her these days because Laura was home with Caydee full-time and was able to take her to preschool and watch her. Meghan herself moved in with Massa in his townhouse in San Luis Obispo. She was still willing to watch Caydee on an on-call basis if she was not busy doing something else (they paid her fifty dollars an hour for such duties, plus overtime if it was more than eight hours or took place overnight) and they continued to pay for her healthcare and dental benefits. But often she was too busy. She had gone back to school. Not to Cal-Poly but to Cuesta Community College just west of San Luis Obispo city to work on the prerequisites she needed to get into the college’s nursing program. She wanted to follow in the footsteps of her sister.

“She won’t be able to do it,” Laura said. “She’s taking her first semester of Anatomy and Physiology this semester. It’s one of the hardest classes she needs to get into the school and she’ll be coming up on finals during those dates. She feels really bad about having to say no, but I told her not to worry about it.”

“I understand,” Jake said. “We’ll make do. I miss my little Caydee and so does C. We’ll find some fun things to do with her in Charlotte.”

“That was my thought,” she said.

They talked about Halloween and Caydee’s second experience with dressing up and trick or treating. She and Kelvin were now quite into the concept of free candy and had been very enthusiastic participants. They both scored a considerable amount of booty. He told his wife he loved her and she told him the same. She told him to have a good time in Pittsburgh (but not too good of a time) and to let her know one way or the other if C started her period or tested positive. He promised he would and hung up the phone.

He finished the rest of his drink and then got up and turned out the lights. His member was still half erect from the conversation he had had with Laura. He took off all of his clothes and then climbed into bed with Celia. He snuggled into her from behind and let his member rest against her pajama covered butt. As soon as he did this, it started to stiffen up completely. He slid one of his hands under her pajama top to feel her smooth belly. He then slid it up to her bare breasts. It took her a few minutes but she woke up.

“It feels like someone needs something,” she said slyly.

“Do you have something to give me?” he asked her.

“I’m tired but I might be persuaded.”

“How might I persuade you?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she told him.

He did. A minute later, her pajama bottoms and panties were on the floor and her long legs were wrapped around his back while his tongue licked and sucked between those legs. He was able to successfully persuade her.

By unspoken agreement, the band tended to avoid each other during travel days and off-days—all the better to keep the peace peaceful. The exception was Nerdly, who enjoyed having breakfast and dinner with Jake and Celia and accompanying them on whatever adventures they went on. As such, they met in the exclusive restaurant the next morning at 8:30. Jake was freshly showered and shaved. By the time they performed in Pittsburgh, he would have his characteristic layer of beard stubble at an appropriate level.

“Good news,” Nerdly told them as the three of them sipped from Bloody Marys while waiting for their respective dishes. “Sharon’s parents are going to drive up to San Luis Obispo on December 3 and will take care of Kelvin for us so Sharon can travel with Laura to Charlotte.”

“That’s awesome, Nerdly,” Celia told him.

“Yes, it is,” Nerdly agreed. “I am quite looking forward to actual sexual congress with my wife instead of hollow self-pleasure while looking at internet pornography.”

“You’ve crossed the line,” Jake said.

“I have,” Nerdly said. He was familiar with the concept. “A long time ago.”

“It’s a good thing you brought your laptop with you,” Celia said.

“Indeed,” he said. “Kim Kowalski’s website has been extremely helpful to my cause.”

“She does put out the best internet porn,” Jake said. “I’m a fan of the amateur section.”

“I have to go with the amateur lesbian section,” Celia said. “There’s just something about two girls who don’t usually do that sort of thing doing it. And when you can see it’s real and not scripted, that makes it much more erotic.”

“I concur,” Nerdly said. “The amateur lesbians are my most visited section of the site.”

“Those are pretty hot too,” Jake had to concur. “Anyway, it turns out that Caydee will be coming with Laura for the trip.”

“Won’t she be missing out on school?” Nerdly asked.

“It’s preschool, Nerdly,” Jake said. “It’s not like we’re hurting her chances of getting into a good college by pulling her for a week.”

“I suppose,” Nerdly allowed, though it was clear he disapproved of this.

“I’ve already got the flight chartered,” Jake said.

“Private?” Nerdly asked.

“It’s the only way to fly post nine-eleven,” Jake said. “They’ll be on a Gulfstream that will leave SLO at nine in the morning on December 4^th. They get to Charlotte just after five in the afternoon.”

“I’ll pay for half of the cost of the two flights,” Nerdly offered. After all, he knew that such a flight would cost around eighteen thousand dollars each way.

“It’s no big,” Jake said. “I would be booking it whether Sharon was going or not.”

“Still ... at least let me pay for a third of the costs. It’s only fair.”

“All right,” he said. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll email you a copy of the receipts and you can wire the money to our account.”

“I will do it as soon as I get the email,” Nerdly promised.

They finished their breakfasts and then went through the ritual of packing up their single travel bags. They carried them downstairs to the lobby and met the rest of the band, Jim the paramedic with his football, and Greg Gahn, the road manager. The limousine arrived and took the eight of them to Cleveland Burke Lakefront Airport on the shore of Lake Erie just north of downtown. There, the Cessna Citation that had been leased for band transport was waiting for them. The two pilots—John Engram and Larry Stevens were their names—put them through the ritual of weighing and stowing. There was no flight attendant.