Chapter 16: Playing the Star Again

Canyon, Texas

October 2, 1993

The campus of West Texas A&M was located in the Amarillo suburb of Canyon, Texas, about fifteen miles south of the main city proper. The taxi that was carrying Jake and his baggage from Amarillo International Airport entered the campus and drove through the tree lined streets, which were quiet and sedate since it was a Saturday, and pulled into the spacious parking lot surrounding the twelve thousand seat arena where the college’s Division II basketball team—the Buffalos, or, the Buffs, if you were a fan—played their matches. The arena parking lot was almost completely empty, but in the loading area in the rear were two tractor trailer rigs and two large commercial transport buses.

“This is where you want to be dropped?” the cabbie asked Jake in confusion. He was Hispanic and in his late sixties. He did not recognize his passenger.

“This looks like the place,” Jake told him. “Just pull up over there by the loading door.”

“As you wish,” the cabbie said. “There is no game tonight, however. Basketball season doesn’t start until November.”

“There’s a concert here tonight,” Jake said. “Bobby Z.”

“Bobby Z?” the man asked. “Is he one of those rap people?”

“No,” Jake said with a chuckle. “Smooth jazz. My girlfriend is his sax player.”

“Ahhh, I see,” the cabbie said, though it was quite clear that he did not. “Very well. That will be thirty-one dollars, my friend.”

“Fair enough,” Jake said, pulling out his wallet. He pulled two twenties out and handed them over. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir,” the cabbie said, his voice more friendly now. “Let me help you with your things.”

“I got them,” Jake said. “Just pop the trunk for me.”

“Very good.”

Jake stepped out and went around to the rear of the cab. He pulled out the battered old suitcase that had accompanied him through every Intemperance tour he had ever been on and set it down on the ground. He then pulled out a guitar case that contained his Brogan acoustic-electric and another case that contained the soprano saxophone he had bought for Laura in the Portland Music Store that one fateful day. She had had no use for it on the Bobby Z tour up to this point, but she was going to need it now—perhaps.

Jake slammed down the trunk and waved goodbye to the cabbie. The cabbie waved back and then drove away, heading on to other fares. Jake picked up all of his baggage and walked through the muggy autumn air to a set of stairs that led up to a man-door next to the loading docks. He pounded on the door for a few moments before the sound of footsteps on the other side reached him.

“Yeah, yeah,” a voice called out. “Hold your fuckin’ horses!”

“Holding them!” Jake answered back.

There were a few clicks as the locks disengaged and then then door swung open, revealing a large bear of a man with tattooed arms and long hair tied back in a ponytail. He looked like the kind of man that rode a Harley-Davidson chopper, the kind of man who enjoyed a good fight and was particularly good at carrying one out. Hanging around his neck was a backstage pass. Jake had seen enough of such things in his career to recognize that this one was an all-access pass, which allowed the wearer go anywhere in the arena at any time. His eyes looked Jake up and down for a moment before recognition flared in them.

“Mr. Kingsley,” he said, his voice still gruff but a little more polite now. “Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Call me Jake,” Jake told him. “I guess I’m in the right place?”

“Indeed you are,” the man said. “I’m Ron Adopolis, head of security for the tour. Come on in. Can I give you a hand with some of your things?”

“Sure,” Jake said, handing over the guitar case. “I see the buses are here. Is the band on site?”

“They just got here a few minutes ago,” Ron said. “The roadies just finished putting up the set and they’re getting ready for the first sound check. Z was hoping you’d get here in time to try to put your part together.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Jake said doubtfully. He wasn’t too sure of the feasibility of what Z wanted from him, though it did sound like fun if they could pull it off. When he had talked to Bobby Z a week ago to ask if he could come visit the tour for a week of shows, Z (as he insisted Jake call him) had been delighted. But his permission came with a price.

“I’d like you to join me on stage for a couple of numbers,” Z told him.

“Excuse me?” Jake had replied, sure he had misunderstood.

He had not misunderstood. “You’ll be a special guest,” Z said, excited at the thought. “I’d like to have you and Laura do South Island Blur about mid-show and then have you sing one of my numbers you’re familiar with. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like you’ve been watching too many movies,” Jake replied.

“How’s that?”

“You know? The Hollywood jam sessions where musicians who don’t know each other and haven’t played together just step up on stage and pull off a masterpiece? Like Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future? Real life doesn’t work like that, Z. You have to rehearse up a tune to pull it off live.”

“I know that,” Z said. “I wasn’t suggesting you just step up on stage and start playing. We’ll rehearse our numbers during the sound check. If we can’t dial them in, we can’t dial them in, but we’re all familiar with South Island Blur and Teach says you’ve been listening a lot to some of my earlier work.”

“Who is Teach?” Jake asked.

“That’s Laura’s nickname,” he said.

“Ahh, I see,” he said. “Fitting.”

“We thought so. Anyway, let’s at least give it a shot, huh? How badass would it be to have Jake fucking Kingsley stepping out on the stage with us?”

And so, Jake had agreed to at least try. In truth, he really wanted a chance to step back up on a stage in front of an audience. That had always been his favorite thing about being a musician. At the same time, however, he was not going to put himself in a position where he was unprepared for a performance. I will not go up there and look like some fucking hacker, he vowed as Ron led him into the loading area of the arena.

They walked by empty boxes, empty crates stacked atop one another, spare pieces of scaffolding, and a variety of equipment that was used for moving all of this stuff around. From there they walked up a set of steps and into the locker room area, passing down a hallway lined with pipes that had doors every few feet. At the end of this hallway was a wooden wall—not part of the arena construction—that formed the rear of the backstage area. A door cut into the wall led them inside the stage left portion. Here was another haphazard collection of crates, boxes, instrument cases, and spools of wire. Several roadies were moving about, stepping over wires that were strewn across the floor.

“You know,” Jake said to Ron as he took in the sights, sounds, and smells, “I’ve really missed all of this shit.”

Ron nodded. “The road is a bitch, but she has her charms.”

“True that,” Jake agreed.

“We can set your things down here,” Ron said, pointing to a corner that was relatively debris free.

“Sure,” Jake said, putting his suitcase and the saxophone case down where told.

“Come on,” Ron said. “The band is probably out on the stage, getting ready for the check.”

Jake followed him out through the stage left door and onto the platform where Bobby Z and company (and possibly me, he reminded himself) would be performing later that night. The instrument stands had all been set up and arranged and the drum set was in place on its wheeled platform. The entire band was there. Jake only recognized Bobby Z and Laura.

Laura was dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a ragged white T-shirt with a picture of a basset hound on it. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She looked tired and worn down, but she was also one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. She saw him as he walked out on the stage and her face lit up in huge smile.

“Jake!” she squealed, rushing over to him. “You made it!”

“I made it,” he agreed.

A moment later he was holding a hundred and twenty pounds of squirming redhead in his arms as she threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. Her mouth was kissing him on the lips, on the cheeks. He relished the feel of her soft body against him, knowing that he would, sometime in the next few hours, be naked and thrusting himself inside of her.

“Now that’s what I call a happy to see you greeting,” Z said with a smile.

“Yep,” said one of the other musicians with a nod. He had a scowl on his face, but did not seem unhappy.

Laura kissed him a few more times, including one smoking hot exchange that involved her tongue penetrating his mouth, and then finally allowed him to put her down.

“It is so good to see you,” she told him. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said, having to squirm a little to adjust his expanding erection. “Anyplace we can be alone?”

She giggled. “Not just yet, unfortunately. Let me introduce you to the guys.”

“Right,” Jake said, looking at the band members who were all looking at him. “Hey, guys! I’m Jake.”

They laughed (except for the scowling guy). All knew who he was, of course. Laura then made the official introductions. He had never met Z before, but had spoken to him on the phone. Z had a firm handshake and did not seem the least bit effeminate. Next came the scowler, who was called Homer and who played the drums. Groove was the bass player. Sally played the trombone. And then there was Squiggle, who played the trumpet. Squiggle told Jake that he’d always admired his work and was looking forward to playing with him.

“Well ... we’ll see how this goes,” Jake said. “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to put together anything with such limited rehearsal time.”

“You never know until you try, right?” asked Z.

“I suppose so,” Jake allowed.

“I really want to perform up on stage with you, Jake,” Laura said. “Let’s try really hard.”

“I promise to give it my best,” Jake assured her.

She smiled and then pulled him into another hug, squeezing him tightly and covering his face with kisses again. “Sweet Lord, you feel good,” she whispered into his ear. “I just want to eat you alive.”

“I could get into that,” Jake whispered back, feeling even more blood go rushing south.

“But, business before eating,” Z said. “We have a sound check to do, and Jake is going to want to plug in and dial in his sound as well, right, Jake?”

“Right,” Jake said with a sigh. “Business first.”

The sound check went quickly, as they tended to do once a band was in the groove of touring and used to performing them day after day (and didn’t have the Nerdlys to nitpick and over-analyze every adjustment). When all of the primary instruments and microphones were dialed in, the techs had Jake plug in his Brogan to a pre-amp. Since he would be playing clean—if he played at all—there was no need for effects pedals of any kind. He strummed his strings when told as the techies adjusted volume levels on the pre-amp, the amp, and then the speakers themselves. Once that was done, they set up a microphone stand and a voice mic for him next to Z’s piano and went through the same process with that.

“All right,” Z said in satisfaction once Jake and his guitar were locked in. “Do you want to dial in that soprano sax now, Teach?”

“Let’s do it,” Laura said, pulling it from the case and attaching a clip-on microphone to it.

It took her a little bit of time to tune the instrument and get it warmed up for proper playing. The techies used her trips up and down the scales to dial in the sound as she did this. Finally, she and Z were both happy with the sound.

“Okay now,” Z said. “Are we ready to try a little South Island Blur now?”

“I suppose,” Jake said. “You all have the sheet music I brought?”

They all did, except for Squiggle and Sally. There was no trumpet or trombone in Blur and trying to fit them in just for the sake of doing it would have increased the complexity of what they were trying to accomplish exponentially.

“Okay,” Jake said. “I’m told you’re all familiar with the tune from hearing it on the radio and CD copies, but that you’ve never actually played it before. Is that correct?”

“Not in a formal manner,” Z said, “although I have been practicing the piano parts by ear since you agreed to give this a shot.”

“This should be interesting,” Jake said. “Let’s do it just like the studio version, except you should probably allow me to lead in with the guitar and then have Laura pick up on it after the first repetition and then everyone else jump in for the third rep. It’s a four, in the key of A minor, and the beat is consistent at one hundred. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Z said, giving a nod of respect. “So, we’re talking four reps of the intro melodies before the vocals start instead of two reps like in the recording?”

“That’s right,” Jake said.

“Everyone down with that?” Z asked.

Everyone was down with it.

“All right,” Jake said, gripping his guitar. “Let’s do this thing.”

He began to play. Laura jumped in on the second rep, blowing that sweet, sad melody from her soprano sax. Z, Groove, and Homer jumped in on the third rep. After the fourth rep, the melody settled down and Jake began to sing.

They ran through the entire song and it sounded much better than any of them had any right to expect. Things got a little rough during the bridge section, when Homer misplayed the changeover and Groove followed his lead, and then again when they brought the tune to end and didn’t quite hit unity in silencing their instruments, but all in all, it wasn’t shitty, particularly not for a first run through of song that three of the five had never played before.

“I think we can do this,” Z opined once they were done. “We just need to jam it out a few more times.”

“Yeah,” Jake said pleasantly surprised with their efforts. “Maybe there is something to those Hollywood jam sessions after all.”

They ran through it four more times and each repetition sounded better than the one before it. They were not performing the tune flawlessly, by any means, but any errors made were easily covered for and would likely not have been even noticed by the audience had they been there to hear them. True, the rendition wasn’t as polished as it could have been, but they were going to be presenting it to the audience as an impromptu piece anyway. It was actually desirable for it to sound a little rough around the edges and quickly thrown together.

“All right,” Jake said when they finished the fourth rendition. “I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

“Perfect,” Z said, smiling. “We’re going to replace Sea Breeze with Blur for the next five shows then. Jake, that’ll be the sixth song in the set, right after Time to Talk. You down with it?”

“I’m down with it,” he said.

“Excellent. Now then. Which one of my tunes do you want to sing?”

“My favorite Bobby Z tune—and the one I’m most familiar with—would have to be I’ll Call You Tomorrow.”

“Aww man!” Z complained. “That’s one of my most popular pieces! One of the few that actually hit mainstream.”

“It’s a good tune,” Jake said. “I like the cynical tone of the lyrics quite a bit. And you did say I could do any of your tunes I wanted, right?”

“I did say that,” Z said, shaking his head. “All right. Let’s hear you do it. If you can pull it off, we’ll move that one from the number eight slot and make it the first encore. Do you need the specs on the tune, Jake?”

Jake shook his head. “As long as you’re playing it in G major and I’m only singing, I think I can handle it.”

“We are indeed playing it in G major,” Z said. “All right. Let’s give it a shot.”

This turned out to be even easier than playing Blur had been. The band, including Sally and Squiggle this time, were already well-rehearsed on this particular tune since they had been playing it nightly for the past three months. Jake was familiar enough with the tune and the lyrics to it that it was simply an exercise in karaoke for him. Again, it sounded a tad rough at times (primarily because of Jake’s timing), but again, that was kind of the effect they were going for.

“Very nice,” Z said when they finished. “Let’s do it again.”

They did it again, and then again, and then one more time for good measure. After that, they decided to go through Blur two more times, just to be sure of themselves. They continued to play Blur in an aesthetically pleasing manner as well.

“All right then,” Z said with satisfaction. “It looks like we got ourselves a special guest for the next five shows.”

“Looks like it,” Jake agreed.

Laura had her own private dressing room in the arena. She and Jake retired to it as soon as the sound check was done and Z’s opening band (they used local jazz bands to open for them at every venue—in this venue it was the West Texas A&M ensemble) began to assemble their equipment for their own sound check.

“Jake, I should take a shower first,” Laura said breathlessly as Jake threw her against the sitting chair and began tugging on her shirt to remove it.

“Shower after,” he told her, running his hands over the smooth skin of her flanks for a moment before returning to the task of taking off the shirt.

“But I’ve been on the bus all day,” she panted. “And then out doing record store signings in this muggy heat, and then in the hot arena doing the sound check. I’m all smelly and gross! And I haven’t shaved ... you know... down there in a couple of days now.”

“I don’t care,” he told her, pulling off the shirt and tossing it behind him. “I’ve been waiting months for this moment. I need you now.”

“But...”

“No buts,” he said, covering her mouth with his. He slid his tongue between her lips while his hands went to the snap on her bra. A second later it was loose and fluttering to the floor.

“Wow,” she breathed as his hands covered her breasts, squeezing them, pinching at the nipples. “I find you make a good argument.”

“Yeah,” he said, nibbling at her neck. “Let’s get those pants off of you.”

She dropped her pants and underwear to the ground and he turned her around, bending her over the back of the dressing room chair. He then dropped his own pants. A moment later, he had himself in hand and was rubbing the head of his little buddy against her slit. She was very wet down there, red stubble and all. And there was indeed a strong odor of musk and girlish sweat rising into the air from her. This did nothing but turn him on more. He pushed forward and sank inside of her in one stroke.

“Ohhh, my god,” she moaned. “Yes! Fuck me!”

He fucked her, falling quickly into that age-old motion of love, thrusting away, his hands gripping her hips as his member felt the glorious friction of an orifice that was specifically designed to pleasure it for the first time in forever.

“Oh ... Jake,” she panted as she thrust back at him. “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Me too,” he breathed.

“Do it harder!” she commanded. “And feel my tits! Put your hands all over them!”

He was nothing if not obedient.

None of the members of Bobby Z’s band caught the West Texas A&M jazz ensemble as they performed their forty-five minute set. Jake didn’t catch them either. They were all in the locker room area, sitting in chairs, drinking water from plastic bottles, and telling each other tales from the road. All were now dressed in their stage clothes. For Z it was a pair of tight black pants and a black button-up shirt. For Laura, this was a green and white dress that fell to just above her knees. Her hair had been washed and styled by Roger “Ribby” Jones, the flamboyantly gay hairdresser who proclaimed that the highlight of each of his days on this tour was getting to style an actual female’s hair. Squiggle and Sally were both dressed in neatly pressed slacks and dress shirts to match Laura’s look in the horn section. Groove and Homer, like Jake, were both dressed in jeans and simple dark colored pull-over shirts. All of them had their all-access backstage passes hung around their necks.

“So, I hear you and Celia Valdez have been working with Dexter on your latest projects,” Z said casually. It was the first time he mentioned his former lover.

“That’s right,” Jake said with a nod. “We had to sign him up after you stole Laura from us.”

Z chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair enough,” he said. “He’s a great sax player, a great musician in general.”

“He is,” Jake agreed. “He was able to get into our groove pretty easily.”

“Unlike someone else you used to play with?” Laura asked. She was sitting in one of the large chairs next to Jake, her legs stretched out across his lap.

“Hey, you got into it eventually,” Jake said. “Once we broke you of that snobby attitude.”

“Shut up,” Laura said, slapping at his shoulder. “I wasn’t that bad of a snob.” Jake gave her a look and she giggled. “Okay, maybe I was,” she then conceded.

“I’m glad to hear Dex is doing okay,” Z said. “A great musician, but not so great as a boyfriend. A little too much jealousy in that heart. Couldn’t stand to see the ladies fawning over me after the shows. He kept accusing me of going all hetero on him behind his back.” He shook his head. “As if.”

“That’s kind of an interesting dynamic,” Jake had to admit.

“Right,” Z said. “If you think being hetero in this business is complicated, try being a homo sometime.”

“I think I’ll pass on that one,” Jake said. “Seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

“A pity,” Z said with true regret. He had been admiring Jake’s derriere ever since he’d arrived. “Anyway ... has Dex been ... you know ... seeing anyone?”

“Well...” Jake said carefully, “I kind of make it a point to mind my own business in matters such as that, but ... honestly ... I don’t think he’s been seeing anyone exclusively. He and Phil—that’s Laura’s ex-roomie who sings some backup for us—were in the habit of going out together on Saturday nights after rehearsal, but I’m pretty sure they were not ... you know... together. They were just going out to hit the clubs and pick up a little something for themselves.”

“Yeah, I know Phil,” Z said. “We met a few times in the studio. He’s a bottom boy, like Dex. They wouldn’t be into each other in that way.”

“A bottom boy?” Jake asked.

“Are you sure you want to know what that means?” Z asked with a grin.

“I’m thinking you probably don’t,” Laura advised him.

“All right then,” Jake said. “Moving on to the next subject. What’s the word on that South American tour?”

Z chuckled and shook his head in amusement, but he let the subject drop. “It looks like the tour is going to happen. They love me down there, particularly in Brazil and Venezuela. The suits over at National are working on coming up with some kind of schedule and booking venues. If all goes well, we should be heading south just after the last leg of the US tour is done.”

Jake nodded sadly. That meant another three or four months away from Laura. And she would be in a place where it was a little more complicated for them to communicate or he to visit. “I hope it works out for you,” he said, almost sounding sincere. “I’ve never done the South American thing. There was talk about it with the last Intemperance tour, but ... well ... you know how that worked out.”

“Yeah,” Z said. “I heard about it. Drama and a shitshow all wrapped up in one. Is Tisdale really as big an asshole as he seems to be?”

“Sometimes an even bigger one,” Jake said. “Still, he and I went through a lot of shit together. It’s hard for me to hate him. I felt bad that his last album bombed like it did, but ... you know ... part of me was kind of glad too.”

“I heard that shit he put out,” Z said, shaking his head sadly. “It was astounding how unrefined those tracks were. I mean, the dude’s got incredible talent, but he should’ve let the engineers go to work on his shit. Even straight jazz cuts get more engineering than Tisdale’s shit had.”

“That was the downfall of that album,” Jake agreed. “He was always a hard-core traditionalist when it came to post-production. Even back in the good old days, before Darren’s botulism and Charlie’s tranny issues, we fought tooth and nail over every overdub, every double track, and every tweak of the levels. He basically just wanted to record a live cut in the studio and call that the tune.”

“Have you heard the new shit he’s put out?” asked Squiggle. “That road song they’ve been playing on the radio sounds pretty tight.”

“I’ve heard it,” Jake said, and he had, and had been fairly impressed with it. “It sounds like maybe he learned from his mistake—which is odd because learning from a mistake was never one of Matt’s strong points.”

The door to the locker room opened and Ron poked his head in. “The jazz ensemble has cleared the stage,” he said. “Our locals from the radio contests are being brought back right now.”

“All right,” Z said with a sigh. “I guess it’s time to get into character, huh?”

“Let’s do it,” Squiggle said, standing up.

Homer just scowled, but he stood as well.

“Time to go smile pretty for the locals,” Laura said, pulling herself up from Jake’s clutches.

“What about me?” Jake asked. “You want me to hang back here or go meet and greet with you?”

“Why don’t you hang back here?” Z said. “We don’t want anyone in the audience to know you’re here until you step out on that stage.”

“Sounds good,” Jake said.

“I’ll send someone to come get you right before stage time,” Ron said.

“I’ll be here,” Jake promised.

“I’ll see you out there,” Laura said, leaning down and giving him a big, juicy kiss on the mouth. She then whispered in his ear. “I can’t wait until after the show.”

“Me either, hon,” he told her. “Me either.”

Jake watched the show from the stage left area, peeking out through the access door as Bobby Z and company laid down their collection of smooth jazz. He paid particular attention to Laura, whose saxophone playing was required on every tune, unlike Squiggle and Sally, who got to sit out several. Laura played very well, hitting her notes with the expression and phrasing that came from being firmly in the touring groove. She looked incredibly cute in her dress and sneakers and had developed some pretty good showmanship, moving about on the stage now that they had gone to using a clip-on microphone to her horn instead of a fixed one on a mic stand. At one point, during the song Last to Go, she stood shoulder to shoulder between Squiggle and Sally as they blew out a lengthy harmonious outro to the tune. The three of them moved in near unison and then stood with hands clasped together and held high after the finale, giving each other warm looks as the applause washed over them.

She certainly seems to be having a good time doing this, Jake thought with a smile, remembering his first national tour, how it felt to know that you were playing well, that you were clicking with your bandmates, and that the audience was into you.

As the group launched into the tune Time to Talk—which meant South Island Blur would be the next one on the list—Jake felt the familiar nervousness of stage fright, which had been mildly simmering to this point, ramp up considerably. It was nothing even close to what he’d felt that first performance at D Street West back in Heritage, or that first performance in Bangor, Maine on the first national tour, but it was there all the same. It seemed that no matter how experienced one became at the game of performing, that anxiety of stepping out in front of the audience never quite went away.

As Time to Talk came to an end, one of the roadies suddenly appeared at Jake’s side. He was called Toadie, though no one had explained why, and he held Jake’s guitar in his hand. “You ready for this?” he barked into Jake’s ear.

“Ready as can be,” Jake said, removing his backstage pass and handing it over. He then took the guitar and slung it over his shoulder.

“Now remember,” Toadie said. “We’ve got your cord dangling from your mic stand. Just flip it over the hook to free it and plug in. All your knobs are exactly where you left them from the sound check.”

“Right!” Jake replied as the audience applauded the ending of the tune. Squiggle and Sally came trotting off the stage. Both of them clapped Jake on the shoulder as they passed and gave him a thumbs up.

“How is everyone doing out there tonight?” Z asked the audience. They cheered that they were doing pretty goddamned good.

“All right,” Z said, picking up his microphone out of the stand and standing up from his seat at the piano. He walked over to Laura and put his arm around her. “This is Laura Best blowing the sax for us tonight. How is she sounding out there?”

Another enthusiastic cheer erupted, a little louder this time, and Laura smiled at the audience.