Chapter 16: I Remember You

Los Angeles, California

October 6, 1995

“I’m fucking out of here,” Matt said, spinning on his heal and turning himself to walk back out the door.

“Matt, wait a minute!” Crow said, pleading in his voice.

“I’ll be leaving too,” said Jake. He stood from his chair.

“Gentlemen!” said Doolittle. “We’re all adults here, aren’t we? At least stay long enough to hear what we’re proposing!”

“Right,” said Crow. “The financial gains to be realized by our suggestion would be innumerable!”

“Unimaginable!” Doolittle added.

Matt paused, which forced Jake to pause as well, unless he wanted to physically push by the guitarist to exit the office. He did not want to do that. It was entirely possible that if he and Matt made physical contact with each other, blows would result. He did take a moment to look at the man, however. Matt wasn’t looking so hot since the last time Jake had seen him—what was it? Five years ago now? He had lost weight and he looked at least ten years older than his thirty-six years. His hair was thinner, his skin color was not right, looking far too pale, with a hint of grayness.

“What is this shit about?” Matt demanded. “Did you bring us here to try to talk us into putting Intemperance back together? Because you can just take a flying fuck if that’s the case.”

“Amen to that shit,” Jake said. “You two have a lot of fucking nerve, bringing two people who are quite on record as not wanting to be around each other into your office without telling them.”

“Goddamn right,” Matt agreed. “Do you assholes think this stunt is helping you get me to sign for the next contract period? You think I’m not going to remember this shit?”

“Or me?” asked Jake. “You probably just got our latest master CDs in the mail, didn’t you? Do you really think pissing off one of the KVA owners is in your best interest?”

“Gentlemen,” Doolittle said, “I understand the emotion of the moment here. Really, I do. But hear us out before you storm out of here.”

“That’s right,” said Crow. “At least give us the courtesy of listening to our proposal.”

Jake looked over at Matt, who was still standing in the doorway, one foot out the door. Matt looked back at him. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Finally, Jake gave a little shrug. Matt hesitated a little longer and then returned the gesture. He stepped back inside the office and closed the door behind him.

“All right,” Matt said. “Make this shit fast. My patience is already in the fucking negative.”

“Absolutely,” Doolittle said, smiling. “Why don’t you two have a seat?”

“I’ll stand,” Jake said. “I don’t think this is going to take long.”

“Me too,” said Matt.

“As you wish,” Doolittle told them. “Before we get started, would either of you like a refreshment? Maybe a line or two of...”

“Just fucking tell us why we’re here!” Matt yelled.

“All right, all right,” Doolittle said, projecting hurt feelings. “There’s no need to raise your voice, Matt.”

“I’m gonna be raising my fucking fist in a few seconds,” Matt threatened. “And it ain’t Kingsley it’s going to be flying at. You dig?”

“I dig,” Doolittle said. “I’m sorry for the deception. Sincerely sorry. But I really thought it would be in the best interest of everyone if the two of you met face to face on neutral ground so we can discuss matters of mutual interest.”

“And what would those ‘matters of mutual interest’ be?” asked Jake.

Doolittle put that car salesman grin on his face in all of its glory. “We think the time has come for an Intemperance reunion tour,” he said.

Matt’s glare became downright dangerous looking. “You did not just fucking say that to me,” he said.

“Now ... hear us out, Matt,” Crow said.

“Yeah,” said Jake brightly. “Let’s hear them out, Matt.”

Matt’s head whipped around. He glared at Jake. “Hear them out? Are you high?”

“Not at all,” Jake said. “I’m sure that Mr. Doolittle and Mr. Crow here have a perfectly good reason for believing that me and you, two people who had a very public, very personal, and very nasty parting of ways five years ago, will be willing to put our differences aside and get the boys back together so they can make a little money off of us. I mean, doesn’t it seem perfectly reasonable that I will forget all of my petty little grievances about a man who publicly accused me of murdering a good friend and bandmate; who then convinced said bandmate’s mother to not allow me to attend his funeral; who has gone on record time and time again repeating those accusations and declaring that he will—and I quote—’never stand on a stage with any member of Intemperance again, as long as I live’. Very reasonable, right? Why don’t we just hear them out?”

“You see, Matt,” Doolittle said. “Jake knows where we’re coming from.”

Matt slowly turned his head back to Doolittle. “I believe that that was sarcasm, Doolittle,” he informed him blankly.

“It was?” Doolittle asked, looking over at Jake.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “It was. There will be no reunion. Not now. Not ever.”

“A-fuckin’-men to that shit,” Matt said.

“But ... but ... don’t you two understand?” Doolittle pleaded. “Classic rock concerts at market value pricing is the up-and-coming trend in the industry! The Eagles started it and Celia Valdez helped set the precedent. Everyone is jumping on the bandwagon now. Styx has reunited and is right now putting together a national tour. Bad Company, Def Leppard, and REO Speedwagon are working on tours as well. I even heard a rumor that Journey will be reuniting to get in on this action. Journey! For the love of God, if Steve Perry and Neal Schon can put aside their differences in the name of profit, surely you two can as well!”

“Don’t call me Shirley,” Jake said, deadpan.

“What?” Doolittle yelled.

“I was gonna say that,” Matt pouted. “Only I was gonna say, ‘don’t fucking call me Shirley’.”

“That is more fitting coming from you,” Jake agreed.

“Listen, guys,” Crow cut in. “Do you have any idea how much an Intemperance reunion tour would bring in? It would set the new gold standard for ticket prices! Seriously! We’re talking a hundred and fifty dollars for the fucking nosebleed seats in the back! Two hundred dollars for the side bleachers. Floor seating will be four hundred dollars apiece behind the soundboard and six hundred to a thousand for the stagefront seats! We’re talking more than a million dollars in raw, unadulterated profit per show!”

Jake could not help but whistle at these figures. “You really think people would pay that much?” he asked.

“We know they will!” Doolittle said. “Market research has already been done!”

“That is some pretty good coin,” Matt said pensively.

“Yes, it is,” Crow said. “Can you understand now why we felt the need to get you two together and talk about this?”

Jake nodded. “I do understand why you felt that need,” he said. “How about you, Matt? Do you understand?”

“Fuckin’ A,” Matt said. “I probably would have done the same in their shoes.”

“Me too,” Jake said.

Doolittle and Crow were both grinning now. “Then you’ll consider what we’re suggesting?” Doolittle asked.

“Fuck no,” Matt spat. “I was just saying I understood why you did it. There’s no way in hell I’m ever going to play with this fucking sellout again. I thought I’d made myself clear on that point.”

“As did I,” said Jake. “I wouldn’t have this asshole up on my stage if he were the last guitarist on Earth. Not after all the shit he’s put me through. Intemperance is dead, guys. You need to accept that.”

“Well put,” Matt told Jake.

“Thanks,” Jake said with a nod.

“And, now that that is said,” Matt said, “it’s time for me to fuck off.” He stepped forward and glared at the two record company suits with a dangerous expression. “Don’t you ever pull any shit like this again,” he warned them. “I played nice this time. Next time, I’ll be kicking someone’s ass.”

With that, he turned and opened the office door. He stepped through it and then slammed it behind him, leaving Jake alone with Doolittle and Crow.

Jake looked at the closed door for a moment and then turned back to the desk. “You two didn’t really think that was going to work, did you?”

“Yes,” Doolittle said. “Actually, we did. We were counting on your common financial sense overriding your past grievances.”

“They’re pretty strong grievances,” Jake pointed out.

“How can you two turn down that kind of money?” Crow asked, almost cried. “More than a million dollars per show, with a minimum sixty set tour. I don’t understand.”

“Because, Crow,” Jake explained, “there are some things that are more important than money. Things like honor and integrity.”

Crow shook his head in disgust. “I always knew you were a communist, Jake.”

Jake hung out in Doolittle’s office for a few more minutes, and then in the outer office for a few more before heading downstairs. He wanted to give Matt enough time to leave the premises so they would not run into each other again. When he figured enough time had gone by, he went to the elevator and pushed the call button. The car arrived and he stepped in, riding it back down to the lobby.

As he stepped out through the main lobby door and into the valet area, he saw that he had not waited long enough. Matt was sitting on a planter, talking angrily into his cellular phone to someone. Sitting next to him was a guy in his thirties with a rolling suitcase. Jake had no idea who the suitcase guy might be.

“Heading out already, Mr. Kingsley?” asked the Hispanic valet who had parked Jake’s truck earlier.

“Yeah, it was a short meeting,” Jake said, handing him the valet slip.

The man looked over at Matt. “Were you and Mr. Tisdale in the same room together?” he whispered.

“For a few minutes,” Jake said.

“Is Intemperance going to get back together?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Jake said simply. “How about you go get my truck for me, amigo? I’ve already wasted too much of my day here.”

“Right away,” the valet said. He disappeared into the parking garage.

Jake pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet to tip him with and then stood waiting. He glanced over at Matt again. Matt had just turned off his phone and clipped it to his belt. He seemed quite unhappy. Acting on an impulse he did not quite understand, Jake walked over to him.

“No ride?” he asked.

Matt looked up him. “My limo went out on another run,” he said. “That fucking asshole Crow told the driver I’d be up there at least two hours. Two motherfucking hours! Can you believe that shit?”

“He seemed pretty confident that we would play ball,” Jake said. He then looked at Matt’s companion, who was staring at him in amazement. “Who are you?” he asked.

Matt looked over and then seemingly remembered his manners. “Oh ... sorry,” he said. “Jake Kingsley, this is Jim Ramos, my tour paramedic. Jim, meet Jake.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Jake,” Jim said, holding out his hand.

Jake shook with him. “A tour paramedic? What’s that all about?”

“Sometimes my heart does this funky shit,” Matt said. “My man Jim is here to put it back into low gear when that happens.”

“Really?” Jake asked. “What kind of funky shit?”

“It’s nothing,” Matt said dismissively.

“All right then,” Jake said with a shrug. “Are you still staying over at your pad downtown when you’re in LA?”

“Yeah, the same condo I bought back in the day,” Matt said. “We’ll be heading to St. Louis first thing in the morning. I got a show there tomorrow night.”

“They pulled you off tour for this shit?” Jake asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Can you fuckin’ believe it?”

“And they flew you here private?”

“They did,” Matt said. “From KC. We got in just past midnight.” He shook his head. “I could’ve fucking told them last night how this was gonna go down and saved everyone the goddamn trouble.”

“Me too,” Jake agreed. “Listen, I can give you a lift to your pad if you want.”

Matt’s face turned to a scowl. “A ride?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “It’s not that far. And it’s kind of on my way.” It really wasn’t. Jake would be heading back to the valley and Whiteman Airport so he could get back to his Oceano home. Downtown was actually in the opposite direction from Hollywood. But he was still following an impulse.

“Why would you want to give me a ride?” Matt asked. “Maybe you want to try talking me into this reunion thing?”

“No,” Jake said sincerely. “That is not the reason.”

“Maybe you were in on this the whole time,” Matt suggested. “Maybe them sending my limo away was part of the plan.”

“Matt,” Jake said simply, “you’re starting to sound like Coop when we talk about the moon landings or the Challenger explosion. I’m just offering you a ride because it’s the decent thing to do. Sure, our friendship ended badly and there’s a lot of uncomfortable baggage between us, but we were pretty tight once, right?”

“Well ... right,” Matt admitted.

“You and I did some unbelievable things together back in the day. We made some badass music, we boned some serious groupies, we even stuck it up the asses of those suits in there. Remember all that?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, smiling a little now. “I remember.” He turned to Jim. “Me and this guy used to get up to some epic shit together. Amazing shit. Shit for the fuckin’ ages!” He turned back to Jake. “Remember that time they sent us to that fuckin’ movie premier? And we fuckin’ toked up in that fancy ass shitter while those fuckin actors and producers were snorting their coke and acting like they were all better than us?”

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “I remember,” he said. He turned to Jim. “That was the movie premier where I first met Mindy Snow. Thinner Than Water, I think it was. A stupid flick, really, but they all acted like it was Gone With the fucking Wind and Schindler’s List combined. Everyone in that place had a stick up their ass and was walking around with their nose in the air. Matt drags me into the bathroom and pulls out a joint and sparks it up, right in front of these snooty tuxedo wearing Hollywood assholes. They look at us like we’re dogshit on the bottom of their shoes, and Matt just looks at them and says, “you guys want a hit of this? I’m not a Bogart.’”

All three of them started laughing at this tale.

“That’s awesome,” Jim declared. “What did they say?”

“They didn’t say shit,” Matt said. “They left that fuckin’ shitter like they were on fire.”

“Goddamn hypocrites,” Jake said. He turned back to Matt. “And that was the night you fucked that actress, right?”

“Yeah!” Matt said. “What the fuck was her name? Holy shit, I can’t remember it now. Some blonde bitch who is probably doing late-night infomercials or some shit like that these days. One of the worst lays I’ve ever had. She wouldn’t slurp my schlong, wouldn’t take it from behind, just laid there on her back like she was on a goddamn autopsy table waiting for a postmortem. The only time I got her to move was when I pulled out my shit and splooged on her face. She didn’t dig that at all.”

“What did she do?” asked Jim.

“Bitch started hitting me with a fuckin’ blow dryer,” he said, shaking his head. “Chased me out of the goddamn building.”

All three of them had a laugh about that. Just as the chuckles faded away, Jake’s truck emerged from the garage and parked in front of the entry doors. The young uniformed Hispanic hopped out.

“Come on,” Jake said. “My truck is here. Let me give you a lift home.”

“You bought a fucking truck?” Matt asked in disbelief.

“It’s my LA vehicle,” Jake said. “I only use it when I’m in town. It’s practical. I can haul things in it if I need to or I can use the four-wheel drive to get over the passes if it’s snowing and my plane is grounded.”

Matt continued to look at the F150 for a few moments. “Funky,” he said at last. “All right. We’ll go with you as long as you don’t start talking no shit about a fuckin’ Intemperance reunion.”

“I will talk no shit like that,” Jake promised.

“And ... as long as you understand that I still fucking hate you, that I still think you’re a sellout,” Matt added.

“Understood,” Jake said. “As long as you understand that I still think you are an unreasonable asshole who pouts like a fucking baby when he doesn’t get his way.”

Matt gritted his teeth a little at this but nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s hit it.”

They hit it, Jake climbing behind the wheel, Matt getting into the front passenger seat, Jim and his suitcase settling into the spacious back seat. Jake tipped the valet and dropped the transmission into gear. He pulled out onto Hollywood Boulevard and started heading for downtown.

“I heard you got married not too long ago,” Matt said as they worked their way through the late morning traffic.

“Yeah,” he said, showing Matt the ring on his left hand. “Laura was the sax player for Celia and me on our first solo releases. We kind of hit it off. Our first anniversary is next month. November 4.”

“You didn’t invite me to the wedding,” Matt grumbled.

“What?”

“The wedding,” Matt said. “I saw that shit on TV and that was the first I heard about it. You had Coop there, Nerdly and his bitch, even Freakboy, but you didn’t even send me an invitation.”

“Uh ... it didn’t occur to me that you would want to be there,” Jake said slowly.

“I didn’t,” Matt said. “I would’ve just wiped my ass with the invite and sent it back to you, postage due. But you still should have invited me. All the other living Intemperance members were there.”

Jake looked over at him for a moment, seeing that he was serious. He then put his eyes back on the road. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get married,” he said.

“You do that,” Matt said. “How is it?”

“Being married?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “I never thought you’d do something like that. I mean, you love gash as much as I do, right? And you can have almost any bitch you want. How is any one bitch worth it?”

“She just is,” Jake said, knowing that Matt was incapable of understanding. “There’s a lot to be said for being married. Laura and I have a lot in common. We’re both musicians, we both like to fuck. We love each other. It works out.”

“But isn’t it like looking at the same fucking porno mag every day?” Matt asked. “Doesn’t nailing the same pussy all the time get old?”

“Not really,” Jake said. “There’s more to a relationship than just pussy. Having meaningless sex was all right back in the early days, but I like the relationship part of being with a woman long-term. We’re a team and Laura is a great person to have on that team with me. She always has my back and I always have hers, no matter what. It’s us against the world. I like that.”

“Interesting,” Matt said thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the mating habits of African bush people during the rainy season.

“How about you?” Jake asked. “You and Kim still together?”

“We’re not together the way you mean it,” Matt said. “She hangs out at my house and we fuck, and I help her with her business. She has that porn company, you know. She pulls in pretty good coin with that and doesn’t have to fuck on camera anymore.”

“I’ve seen some of the videos she makes,” Jake said. “Good quality fuck films. I’m particularly fond of the amateur lesbian series.”

“Those are pretty fuckin’ hot,” Matt agreed.

“And they’re really amateur chicks?” Jake asked.

“Oh yeah,” Matt said. “It’s fuckin’ amazing how many hot sluts in LA are willing to get it on with another hot slut on camera. And most of them are doing it because they really want to try dyking out and this is their chance. They’re not doing it for the exposure, or the measly thousand bucks Kim pays them for the shoot. That’s what makes those videos so hot. They’re not really acting.”

“God bless America,” Jake said proudly.

“Fuck yeah,” Matt agreed.

They drove on in silence for a bit. It was not as awkward as it should have been. Matt was the one to break it.

“I heard that new tune you got going with Bigg G,” he said.

“I Signed That Line,” Jake said. “We’re getting a lot of airplay on the hards and the pops with that one. What do you think about it?”

“I really wanted to hate it,” Matt said. “You know? Because of our history?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I understand.”

“But I don’t,” Matt said. “It’s a solid fuckin’ tune. You guys did a good job of fusing the two styles of music. And you even pulled off modulating the key back and forth. That’s something I’ve never had the balls to even try ... but maybe I’ll give it a shot.”

“We put a lot of work into that tune,” Jake said, smiling a little at Matt’s praise. “The lyrics were definitely from the heart.”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “A punch in the face at National fucking Records and their first-time contracts.”

“You picked up on the meaning,” Jake said.

“Couldn’t help it,” Matt said with a shrug. “You’ve done some good work with your other solo shit too. A little mellower than I’m really into, but good solid tunes.”

“Thanks,” Jake said. “I’ve been listening to your shit as well.”

“And what do you think?”

“You were off to a good start with Next Phase, and I could see what you were trying to do, but you should’ve let them engineer that a little bit. It was hard to enjoy it raw like that. It was like a piece of pork loin that wasn’t cooked through, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” Matt said softly. “A common complaint about that CD.”

“The shit you’ve put out since then, though...” He nodded his head. “Solid, Matt. Really fuckin’ solid. Your guitar playing has evolved a lot since the Intemp days.”

“I think that’s mostly because I’m not tied down to a particular sound like I was with Intemp,” Matt suggested. “I can do all the palm-muted chords I want now. I don’t have to worry about how to fit a fucking piano into the rhythm.”

“That’s part of it,” Jake agreed. “But a lot of it is just your innovation. The stuff you do with the effects pedals is amazing. How do you get those kinds of sounds out of that old Strat of yours?”

“Experimentation,” Matt said. “I plug in all the effects pedals and start fucking around with different combos until something catches my ear. And then I start fucking around with that, trying different chords, different riffs, different solos and see what I can come up with.”

“I like it,” Jake said. “It’s very unique, very powerful at times.”

“It’s what I do,” Matt said. “I play the guitar.” He hesitated for a moment. “There’s something I want to ask you, while we’re talking about guitar playing.”

“What’s that?”

“Why didn’t you take credit for the guitar tracks on that beaner bitch’s CDs? Or on your own CDs?”

“You knew that was me, huh?” Jake asked.

“Of course I knew it was you,” Matt scoffed. “I’m fucking astounded that everyone who heard those cuts didn’t know it was you. Those riffs fucking screamed Jake Kingsley. And they were decent enough riffs too. Even the solos you did on some of the cuts—like the one in Playing Those Games—they’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of them,” Jake said. “It’s just that they’re not Matt Tisdale riffs, not Matt Tisdale solos. I didn’t want the comparison game detracting from people’s enjoyment of the music. Especially if I’m not going to be coming out on top of that comparison.”

Matt considered this for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “But you did take credit for the guitar parts in I Signed That Line. What’s the difference there?”

“A little agreement between G and I,” Jake said. “I’m playing some of his tour dates with him as a special guest.”

“I heard about that,” Matt said. “It must’ve felt good to step back up there after all this time.”

“It really did,” Jake said with a smile. “Anyway, since I’m playing some of the dates, G thought I needed to take credit from the beginning for the guitar tracks. I agreed to do that if he agreed to take credit for the piano tracks, and to play them onstage.”

Matt nodded. “That makes sense,” he said.

Another silence developed. The downtown high rises began to grow larger and larger before them. This time it was Jake who broke it.

“Hey,” he said, “you remember that time we went to Helen’s softball game in Ventura and that hoity-toity housewife bitch came up to Kim and asked her why she thought it was appropriate for a porn star to be there?”

Matt nodded his head enthusiastically, laughing. “Fuck yeah!” he said. “That trip was fuckin’ classic!” He turned to look at Jim, who had been silent as a mouse in the back seat. “That was right after Jake learned to fly. Helen was his instructor, and he was boning her the whole time he was taking lessons from her!”

“Not the whole time,” Jake said with a chuckle.

“Goddamn, did she have some fuckin’ titties on her,” Matt said nostalgically. “And she was a squirter too, right?”

“That’s right,” Jake said.

“Whoa,” said Jim, holding up a hand. “A squirter? You mean, like... really a squirter?”

“Really a squirter,” Jake confirmed. “When she came, it would come flying out at you and hit you in the face. Pussy juice, not pee. And if you were fucking her and she came, she’d leave a wet spot two feet wide.”

“No shit?” Jim whispered in awe. “I always thought that squirting was a myth.”

“So did I until I saw it,” Jake said.

They talked about Helen’s squirting, and Kim’s response to the hoity-toity housewife at the softball game (“at least I get paid to take a cock up my ass,” she’d told her. “You let your husband do it for free”). From there, Matt told the story of the time he and Jake and the rest of Intemperance had hotboxed the limousine on the way to the Grammy awards and then stepped out in front of the cameras while a cloud of marijuana smoke came pouring out.

“Those were the fuckin’ days,” Matt said nostalgically.

“Yep,” Jake agreed. “Remember when you asked Steve Billings to toke up with us?”

“I still think that would’ve been epic,” Matt said.

“It would have,” Jake agreed. He looked back at Jim again. “And then Coop askes Steve Billings to tell us some stories from Vietnam. He actually believed that old urban legend about how Billings had been a sniper there!”

“Billings was fucking cool about it though,” Matt said, laughing. “A shame what happened to him.” Billings had died last year in a plane crash when he ran out of fuel over Flathead Lake in Montana.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “You should always check your fuel level before you take off, on the gauges and visually. That’s like the first lesson Helen’s dad taught me.”

By now, they were on 6^th Street, just passing Pershing Square. Matt’s condominium building was right in front of them. Jake pulled into the entryway and stopped in front of the doors. He put the truck in park.

“Well ... here you are,” he said.

“Yeah,” Matt said, nodding a little. “Here we are.”

Jim opened the back door and climbed out. He pulled his suitcase out and sat it on the ground next to him.

Matt looked over at Jake. “Thanks for the ride, dude,” he told him.

“No problem,” Jake said.

“I still fuckin’ hate you. You know that, right?” Matt asked him.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “The feeling is mutual.”

“But ... we had some good times together before shit went south, and ... while I might hate you these days ... I respect you. I always have. Always will. You dig?”

“I dig,” Jake said. “And that feeling is mutual as well.”

Matt made a fist and held it out to Jake. Jake looked at it for a moment and then made one of his own. He tapped his fist to Matt’s a single time.

“Take it easy, Matt,” Jake told him.

“I’ll take it any way I can get it,” Matt replied. He closed the door and headed for the entrance. Jim fell in behind him. Jim looked back at Jake’s truck once, as if to confirm that the last twenty minutes had really happened.

Matt did not look back.

Jake and Laura stayed in their house in Oceano for the next week, neither of them climbing into their cars a single time. They slept in until late morning each day, enjoyed meals prepared by Elsa, went for long hikes on the trails through the sand dunes, frolicked on the beaches, had hot, steamy sex at least once per day, and stayed up late every night, drinking wine and smoking pot in their hot tub. They basked in the isolation of their new home. And Elsa was quite happy to have them there as well.

Alas, their solitude was destined to come to an end. At the end of that week, Jake got a phone call from Pauline.

“Aristocrat has the lowest bid for our CDs,” she told him. “They’re offering twenty-three percent, plus a fully funded Celia Valdez eighty date tour, plus a fully funded Jake Kingsley eighty date tour if you’re willing to do at least half of each set as Jake Kingsley written Intemperance material. They will pay all relevant licensing fees to National Records if you agree to this.”