Chapter 14B: The Core

They put in their normal jam sessions on Tuesday and Wednesday, with none of the core members speaking of the conspiracy they were hatching to Darren or to Coop. Not that it was likely to matter if they did. The drummer and the bassist were both so strung out on what Matt, Jake, and Bill were increasingly coming to suspect was heroin that it was chore enough just to keep them focused on their musical tasks. On Wednesday, Coop actually fell asleep a few times — nodded off you might say — during some of the longer discussion periods of the jam.

"If this scheme of yours actually works," said Matt when they finally wound up and got ready to depart the warehouse to start their Thanksgiving break, "the first change we make is to put band member discipline back in our hands."

"Agreed," said Jake, watching as Darren and Coop stumbled and staggered their way into their limousine.

Jake and Bill climbed into a limo of their own, their suitcases already loaded into the trunk by the driver. They were driven to LAX where they waited for an hour in the first class lounge before boarding a 737 bound for Heritage County Airport. They landed at 7:10 PM and were off the plane, luggage in hand by 7:25. A small mob formed around them as they were recognized in the terminal and they spent another fifteen minutes signing autographs, deflecting questions, and ignoring caustic remarks about Satanism and sexism.

When they were finally able to break free they parted company. Bill went with his mother and Jake went with his father. They would not see each other again until the Archer family arrived at the Kingsley house late the next morning for the annual Thanksgiving feast.

Jake gave his dad a hug when they finally made it through the mob and out into the relative sanctuary of the airport parking garage. As before, the emotion of actually seeing a family member, a familiar face that did not belong to someone who lived in Hollywood, was intense and he found himself near tears. His dad seemed equally glad to see him alive and safe. They made small talk until they climbed into the car. It was then that Tom Kingsley turned to him and asked, "How are you doing, Jake? Really?"

Jake knew this question entailed a lot more than a simple enquiry into his health and well-being. They had not seen each other since The Thrill Of Doing Business tour had made a single stop in Heritage a month and a half ago, and even then it had only been for a few minutes during the chaos of the post-show backstage area. He had spoken to his parents a few times on the phone during the last week but that had only been to make arrangements for coming home. He had not sat down in the same room and actually talked to them since that chaotic visit with Mindy more than a year ago.

His parents worried about him incessantly — with good reason he had to admit. Since Intemperance was the first musical act from Heritage to gain national fame, virtually everything their son did or was involved in ended up splashed across the headlines of The Heritage Register. When Jake and the rest of the band were busted in New York City, charged with possession of cocaine and lewd behavior, every detail had been reported, including the police reports themselves. When Darren had been blown off the stage in Austin, everything about that incident had been reported as well, including the fact that Darren was reported to be "under the influence of alcohol and cocaine".

"I'm doing fine, Dad," Jake said. "Really, I am."

"Are you sure?" he asked, probing a little, his voice flirting with disbelief.

Jake gave a reassuring smile. "Well, we're still locked into a crappy contract that keeps us from making any actual money..."

"Yes. Pauline told us about that. You really should have had her look that over before you signed it."

Jake gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Anyway, we're having some problems with that but hopefully we'll be working them out soon."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we have a little weight to swing now. We're thinking that maybe its time to start swinging it."

"I see," Tom said thoughtfully. "And what about the drugs?"

Jake looked down at his feet, uncomfortable. "What about them?"

They had reached the parking kiosk. Tom stopped before the closed crossing gate and handed a longhaired attendant his ticket. The attendant — who was listening to track three of The Thrill Of Doing Business album on a boom box — took it and ran it. He named his price and Tom paid it. As the attendant took the money he peered closely in the car at the passenger.

"Hey, dude," he said. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like Jake Kingsley?"

Jake shook his head. "Naw," he said. "No one's ever said that."

"It's true, dude," the attendant assured him. "You're dead on him. You could totally score some babes lookin' like that."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jake said.

Tom drove away, ending the conversation. He turned down the access road that led to the freeway and continued his conversation. "Look," he said, "your mother and I know you're an adult now and you make your own choices. But we're also still your parents and we always will be. Parents don't like to open the newspaper and read that their son was busted in a New York City hotel room with cocaine in his possession and an orgy in progress."

"It wasn't really an orgy per se," Jake said.

"The definition of an orgy is a bit dependent upon the interpretation of the participants and the observers," Tom allowed.

"Exactly," Jake said.

"But the definition of cocaine is not."

"We were set up, Dad," Jake said. "They threw out the case and made the police commissioner apologize to us."

"Yes, I read the details on that. It was perhaps the most flagrant falsification of probable cause I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot of trumped up probable cause writs."

"Damn right," Jake said. "They made everything up."

"But there was cocaine in the room, wasn't there?"

"Well... uh... yeah," Jake admitted.

"About eight grams of it if I remember correctly." He turned his head and stared hard at his son. "That's a lot of blow, Jake. A hell of a lot of blow."

"Yeah," Jake said softly, feeling like he was fifteen years old again and had just been caught smoking cigarettes in the backyard. "It is."

"Are you a cocaine addict?" Tom asked him. "Don't give me the answer you think I want to hear, tell me the truth."

"No, Dad," he said.

"No, you're not going to tell me the truth, or no, you're not a cocaine addict?"

This broke the tension just a little bit. "No, I'm not a cocaine addict," he said.

"You're sure about that?"

"I'm sure," Jake said. "I'm not going to tell you I don't use it because, obviously, I do, especially when we're out on tour. The parties we have after our shows sometimes... well, you've read the reports."

"They are somewhat exaggerated by the press, I hope," Tom said.

"Somewhat," Jake said, although, in actuality, the press didn't know the half of it. "It's a recreational drug, just like the pot and the alcohol. A little more dangerous I will agree, and a lot more expensive, but that's all I use it for. When we're off tour, I pretty much leave it alone."

"That's the truth?"

It wasn't, not entirely. Jake still snorted up once or twice a week during the off periods — usually when he was going out — but his dad didn't need to know that. "It's the truth," he said. "At least for me and Bill. Matt uses it considerably more, even off-tour, but then Matt goes out a lot more than Bill and I."

"What about Darren and Coop?" Tom asked. "I understand Darren was quite intoxicated when he was injured in that explosion."

Jake nodded. "He was. That's one of the problems we're having in relation to our contract. He and Coop are into things a little worse than cocaine now."

Tom looked shocked. "Heroin?" he asked.

"We think so."

"Jake, you're not using that stuff are you?"

"No," Jake said. "Absolutely not. I may be a bit reckless but I'm not a complete moron."

"And Bill?"

"He's not doing it either. Neither is Matt for that matter. It's those two idiots. It started with the painkiller shots they gave Darren after he got burned. They ended up shooting him up before every concert after that. Sometime when the tour was over they started replacing the Demerol with heroin."

"The record company is actually supplying them with this drug?"

"They supply us with everything, Dad. From the food we eat to the houses we stay in to the booze we drink. We're owned by the company store right now."

"And you're going to try to change this?"

"We are going to change it," Jake said firmly. "Come hell or high water, I'm not going to keep living this way. That's a promise."

Tom smiled respectfully at his son. "Good," he said.

Mary Kingsley hugged her only son for the better part of a minute as soon as he walked in the door. She cried on his shoulder she was so glad to see him safe and sound and in his family home without any news helicopters hovering overhead or reporters peeking in their window.

When she finally released him Jake saw an exchange of glances between his two parents, a form of silent communication that only long-married couples could accomplish. Jake, having grown up observing such glances, was able to loosely interpret what they were not saying to each other.

Did you talk with him? his mother asked.

Yes, his father responded, and it's not as bad as we thought.

He carried his luggage upstairs, leaving them alone in the living room to confirm their silent communication with real communication. When he came back down, both of them seemed a little more at ease. His mother's tears had disappeared and his father handed him a cold bottle of beer. They sat down on the couch and talked, Tom and Jake smoking cigarettes, Mary giving her motherly disapproval at what she considered a nasty habit. Now that Tom had addressed the subject of drug abuse, Mary gradually brought the conversation around to another concern that had been lodged in their heads by he local media: the subject of girlfriend abuse.

"What exactly happened between you and Mindy Snow?" she asked him. "She seemed like such a nice girl when you brought her home to meet us."

"We broke up, Mom," Jake said with a shrug. "It was fun while it lasted but it just wasn't meant to be."

"The papers and the news," Mary said, "all reported that you were... you know... not very nice to her. And she told Johnny Carson that you were... uh... abusive. You weren't... you know... hitting her or anything, were you, Jake? Because we certainly didn't raise you to be like that."

Jake sighed. He had hoped his mother would let the subject drop but apparently she wasn't going to. "No, Mom," he said. "I never hit her or any other woman. And I was never abusive to her either."

"Well why would she say such things?"

So Jake explained it to her, telling her about the importance of image in Mindy's mind, about how she had started the relationship in the first place so she could shed her good girl image and get more adult roles, about the manipulation she had put him through, about how she had tipped off the photographer so he could take pictures of them in compromising positions.

"She told that photographer where you would be?" Mary asked, appalled. "And then she goaded you into being... you know... naked?"

"She did," Jake confirmed. "And then, when it was time for us to go back out on tour, she decided it was time to break up with me. I guess she figured it would help her get her role in Handle With Caution if she herself had been the victim of abuse, so she implied that I had been abusive to her."

"Why that manipulative little bitch!" Mary cried.

Jake nodded. "So that's the story of Mindy," he said. "She's in the middle of filming her movie and I haven't spoken a word with her since that last phone conversation while we were on tour. She's still dating John Carlisle and probably manipulating him just as badly."

"What a horrible person," Mary said.

"She's kind of typical for Hollywood," Jake said.

"I certainly hope you never get like that, Jake," she said.

"Me too, Mom," he said. "Me too."

The Thanksgiving get-together filled Jake a strong sense of pleasant nostalgia. It was the first time in four years he had been able to participate in the celebration with his family and it was just like it had always been while growing up. Stan and Lorraine Archer were there with Bill. Pauline was there. The men watched football and drank beer while the women gossiped and prepared food. At 2:00 PM the turkey was removed from the oven and Tom meticulously carved every last bit of meat from it, leaving a shredded carcass. They feasted on the meat, on Mary's homemade cornbread stuffing, on mashed potatoes and homemade gravy, on Lorraine's candied yams and fresh corn and green bean casserole, on Pauline's fruit salad. They drank several bottles of expensive Chardonnay that Jake had brought and put in the refrigerator to chill the night before. And they engaged in the pleasant exchange of family, talking of the upcoming Christmas season, the past year and all the good things that had come from it.

It was only as the get-together was winding down, after the dishes had been done and they were sitting in the living room eating homemade pumpkin and cherry cream cheese pie with strong coffee, that the subject of Jake and Bill's profession entered the conversational stream.

"Your success as rock musicians has done wonders for the Philharmonic," said Lorraine.

"Oh?" said Jake.

"Oh yes," Lorraine said. "Over the past two years attendance at our performances is up by more than a hundred and twelve percent. We've actually sold out the auditorium on more than a dozen occasions."