Chapter 7: Coming Home

March 25, 1983
Portland, Oregon

A soft spring rain was drizzling down as the band walked from their hotel room to the tour bus. As usual, they were looking a little haggard, their faces unshaven, all dealing with varying degrees of hangover. By this point in their careers, however, being hungover was an almost normal state, something that a few more hours of sleep on the bus and a few lines of coke and a few beers upon awakening would take care of. Their humor was good since they were not only starting an extended travel day off but the extended travel day was taking them home for the first time in nearly a year. They were scheduled to perform for two nights in Heritage.

"I think I like this whole having our own rooms thing," Matt was saying as they boarded. "Now that we have some privacy I was able to try out a few new things with my groupies last night."

"What kind of things?" Jake asked, wondering what there could possibly be that Matt was too embarrassed to do in front of others.

"Well," Matt said, "I always wanted to see what the whole water sports thing was about."

"Water sports?" Jake asked, folding down his bunk and tossing his bag up on it. "You tried water sports?"

"Yeah," Matt said. He shrugged. "It was all right. I don't see why all those weirdos in the porno mags get off on it though. I wasn't nothing spectacular."

"Wait a minute," Coop said, folding down his own bunk. "Are you talking about pissing? That kind of water sports?"

"Yeah," Matt said. "What's the big deal?"

"We're you pissing on the bitches or were they pissing on you?" Darren asked.

"I tried it all," Matt replied. "I had two of them up there last night. First I pissed on them."

"Where at on them?" Darren asked, seemingly fascinated.

"Their stomachs, their tits, their pussies."

"Did you do this on the bed?" Coop asked.

"No, in the fuckin bathtub, you moron," Matt told him. "Anyway, it didn't do much for me, other than relieve my bladder. So then I had them piss on me. They squatted over me and let go all over my cock and balls."

"That is purely disgusting," Bill said, though he seemed fascinated by it as well.

"It wasn't that bad," Matt said. "It was a little hotter than me doing it to them but nothing mind-blowing or anything. The only part that actually gave me a boner though was when they pissed on each other. That was so nasty it was hot."

"How'd they do it?" Darren asked. He was nearly drooling.

"Well, first they were making out with each other and then they pissed while their pussies were rubbing together. Then, later, after I'd already drilled them a few times, they sixty-nined in the tub and pissed in each other's faces."

Greg had come on the bus during this story and had caught the tail end of the conversation. He seemed genuinely appalled. "That is the sickest thing I've ever heard of, Matt," he said. "That is truly abusing Heavenly Father's gift of sexuality for perverted ends."

"Hell yeah," Matt said. "Give me a gift - any gift - and I'll abuse it any way I can think of."

Greg shook his head, took a moment to compose himself, and then put his grin back on his face. "Before you all climb in your bunks to sleep off last night's licentiousness, I do have something you'll probably want to see." He held up a copy of Spinning Rock magazine from a stack he carried under his arms. "The latest issue just came out. And look who's on the cover."

The picture was one of the few the group had actually posed for during the twenty-four hours Gloria Castle had followed them around back in New York City. It had been taken just prior to their hitting the stage at Madison Square Garden. They were dressed in their stage garb, Jake and Matt standing in the center of the shot, the rest of the band gathered in the background. But it was not the picture that captured Jake's attention. It was the print below it.

DESCENT INTO DEPRAVITY, it read. A DAY IN THE LIFE OF WHAT MAY BE THE MOST DEGENERATE ROCK BAND OF ALL TIME.

"The most degenerate rock band of all time?" Jake asked.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Greg said. "I just read the article. I couldn't have written it better myself. You boys performed splendidly for her, just splendidly. The publicity you'll get from this will be better than any advertising we could have taken out. In fact, there is already an article in the Portland newspaper's entertainment session about it. They're outraged at you boys. Absolutely outraged! It's beautiful."

"They're outraged?" Bill asked.

"And that's good?" Coop chimed in.

"Of course its good," Greg said. "Negative publicity is the best kind for a rock and roll act. Remember Ozzy Osbourne and the bat? Well that little trick you did with the cocaine in that trollop's buttock crack is going to be just as infamous. You'll be remembered forever for that thanks to this article and the follow-ups that will be done in the mainstream newspapers."

"She wrote about the coke in the groupie's ass crack?" Jake asked, horrified. His parents would see that article! Angie would see it!

"She wrote about the entire party at the hotel room," Greg confirmed. "The drinking, the drugs, the sex, everything! But the cocaine in the buttocks is the centerpiece of it all. And then there are the pictures!"

"The pictures?" Jake said, feeling a little sick to his stomach now.

"Oh yes indeed," Greg said. "The most gloriously depraved pictures I've ever seen in a mainstream publication. I imagine she had to get special permission to print some of them since they're borderline pornographic."

"Yeah?" Matt said, excited. He snatched a copy of Spinning Rock out of Greg's hands. "I need to check this shit out."

"Oh Jesus," Jake moaned as the rest of the band grabbed copies as well.

The bus pulled out of the hotel parking lot and began heading for the freeway. Jake listened to the hoots and yells of Matt, Coop, and Darren as they paged through the magazine, checking out the article and the photographs. He simply sat for a few minutes, staring at the caption on his copy, afraid to even open it. Finally he decided he might as well get it over with. He opened it up and consulted the table of contents, turning to page 19, where it started.

The first thing he saw was a picture of himself in the shower. The shot was only from the stomach up but it was quite obvious what was going on. His head was back, an expression of bliss on his face, his hands reaching downward, disappearing at the bottom of the frame but set in the universal position of a man receiving a blowjob. The caption below read: Lead singer Jake Kingsley enjoys the attention of a young female fan while showering after the show at Madison Square Garden. The group demands that five young ladies are brought back for such activities immediately following each performance.

"Oh my God," Jake said. "I can't believe this."

"I know," Greg said, nearly orgasmic with joy. "Me either. People will be outraged. This might be one of the best selling issues of Spinning Rock of all time."

There were plenty of other pictures as well - shots of the beer and liquor table, shots of the groupies being led backstage after the show, shots of the hotel room with all the girls in it just before the clothing had started to come off. Each one had a caption beneath explaining just what had been going on when the shot was taken. Jake looked at each one and then returned to the beginning and started to read the article itself.

I was recently asked to spend twenty-four hours with one of the hottest upcoming bands of the year, Intemperance, as they visited New York City for three sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden. I thought I would merely be interviewing another rock band, something I've done dozens, if not hundreds, of times in my ten years as a Spinning Rock journalist. What I encountered instead was a one-day trip into the darkest, most depraved recesses of gross intoxication and sexual perversion I have ever witnessed.

And that was just the beginning. The entire article took up twelve pages of the issue - almost ten thousand words. She touched only briefly on the background of the band members and how they had come together, covering the entire subject in three paragraphs. And one of those paragraphs contained an out-of-context quote from Jake that seemed to say he had learned to play guitar only so he could get laid. The subjects of the album, the tour, and the show itself were covered by another six or seven paragraphs. The rest of the article was almost entirely dedicated to describing in graphic detail the events that took place after the show.

The members of Intemperance are demanding and specific when it comes to their after-performance pleasures. After leaving the stage they return immediately to their dressing room where ice chests full of beer and a complete array of hard alcohol and mixers are laid out, along with a supply of both marijuana and cocaine. While cooling off after an hour of performing, they imbibe in all three of these substances, which puts them in the mood for phase two of their after-gig festivities: The shower. Now most bands simply get into the shower after their performance and get clean. Intemperance, however, likes to utilize their shower-time to get dirty. Their security force has orders to bring back a young female fan for each member of the group - that's five girls - and these girls then undress and join the band beneath the spray. The sex in the shower is usually oral in nature and the band members use terms such as "bitch" and "ho" and even the dreaded C-word as they instruct the girls on just how they like to be administered to.

And that, like the actual events themselves, was just for the warm-up. She chronicled exactly what each band member drank, smoked, and snorted. She frequently quoted the banter that went on between them. She told how the security force brought in thirteen more girls to go with the original five and how they loaded onto the tour bus and went back to the "opulent suite overlooking Central Park" and engaged in a sex and drug party that "defies description or terminology. Merely calling it an orgy is like saying the World Trade Center towers are merely tall buildings".

And then she got to the part that was going to make Intemperance a household name and put her article into the running for a Pulitzer Prize.

By this point in the party I was speechless, beyond appalled at the debauchery I was witnessing. All of my years of watching rock acts party after their shows had led me to believe I had seen it all but it was obvious I hadn't. These musicians had managed to shock me. But the greatest shock was still coming. It came when Tisdale, still completely naked and unashamed, ordered one of the girls to perform oral sex on another one of the girls. He then grabbed yet another girl and ordered her to hold open the buttock cheeks of the girl performing the oral sex. Once this was done he actually poured cocaine in between her buttock cheeks and snorted it out of there with a drink straw. He then offered the straw to the girl who was holding the cheeks apart. She seemed reluctant but she finally took it and did what she was told. After that, Tisdale called Kingsley in from the other room (where he had taken another two girls - presumably Kingsley has at least a little shame) and poured some more cocaine into her buttocks for him to snort. Kingsley's only remark was "this is different", before he took the straw and snorted his fill as well.

"Oh, man," Jake groaned as he read this. Yes, Greg was probably right. This story was going to make them infamous. But infamy was not exactly what he had been shooting for when he signed up for this gig.

At 7:30 that night, Jake was sitting up in front of the bus next to Ken Adopolis, who was behind the wheel for this last stretch. He and Ken had just taken a few hits of marijuana from Ken's pipe and both of them were drinking from bottles of beer when the sign appeared out of the darkness in front of them.

HERITAGE CITY LIMITS

Population 343,316 Elevation 44

"There it is," Jake said, smiling as he saw it. "I never thought I'd be almost crying to see that sign."

"It must be like totally awesome, dude, to like come back to your hometown as a fuckin' star," Ken said.

"It's just nice to be home," Jake said. "To be able to see things I'm familiar with." He looked out the side window. "The river is right over there, and in a minute we'll be able to see the buildings downtown. God, I missed this place."

"I can dig it, dude," Ken said. "I can really dig it."

Ken drove them to the Royal Gardens Hotel - the same place they had met with Shaver for the first time. Since this was their hometown and the local media attention was going to be quite intense - even without the controversial article in Spinning Rock - they had been given deluxe accommodations, the best available in Heritage, in fact. WELCOME HOME, INTEMPERANCE!!! read the marquee in front of the hotel. KEEP ON ROCKIN' AND ROLLIN'.

Their check-in was quiet and uneventful. They were handed their keys and led to the sixteenth floor and their individual suites. Jake found that he had been given the exact suite they had negotiated their representation with Shaver in. He found a strange sort of irony in this.

He lay down on his bed and picked up the phone, excited about calling a local number for once. He dialed from memory the number of his sister's house in Gardenia - a house not far from that of Matt's parents. It was the second time he'd contacted her since going out on tour, the first being a collect call from a Seattle hotel room while rehearsing for the opening night of their headline tour.

"What's up, overachiever?" he asked her when she picked up the phone.

"Well if it isn't my little brother the rock star," she responded. "I've been reading about you today. Very interesting article in Spinning Rock."

"Oh great," he groaned. "I was hoping no one had seen that."

"Everyone has seen it," she told him. "You guys are all anyone talks about in this town since you got that first single on the air. They play your songs three or four times an hour on every radio station, even on stations that don't play rock music. The news has been reporting for a week that there was going to be an article about you in Spinning Rock. I hear every copy they sent to the Heritage area has sold out."

"Wow," he said. "I didn't realize people were that... you know... into us here."

"You're the first musical group from Heritage to gain nationwide popularity," she reminded. "What the hell else does this town have to be proud of?"

"I never thought of it that way," he said. "So did... you know... Mom and Dad see it?"

"Their only son gets his picture on the cover of a famous national magazine and you want to know if they saw it?"

He sighed. "Well, when you put it that way... Did they say anything about it?"

"Dad didn't. You know how hard to read he can be. Mom seems to be hoping its all just fabrication."

"This is so embarrassing," he said.

"So... did you do it?"

"Did I do what?"

"The butt-crack thing, you idiot. What do you think everyone's been talking about?"

"I thought the blowjob in the shower and the drugs might've taken precedence as the topic of conversation."

"Well, they're talking about all of it, of course, but it's the butt-crack that seems to stand out the most. It has a little bit of the sex and the drugs all in one story."

"I see," he said.

"So how much of the story is true?" she asked him.

He sighed again. "It was written in a slanted manner - very slanted actually - but the basic facts are pretty much true."

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully. "I can see why you're concerned about the price of all that cocaine if you're dumping a quarter-gram at a time into some bimbo's ass. Does that sort of thing go on every night?"

"Usually not to that degree, but... yes. It goes on pretty much after every show."

"Well I have to admit, little brother, you're job is certainly more interesting than mine."

"If not better paying," he agreed. "Were you able to get a copy of our contract?" That had been the subject of the first call from Seattle. He wanted a lawyer to look over the contract and see if everything Gordon Strong had told him was true, and, if so, if it were enforceable. And since Pauline was the only lawyer he knew, he had turned to her for assistance. In order for her to legally get her hands on a copy of the contract, she had instructed him to send her a signed, notarized piece of paper proclaiming that she was representing him in a legal capacity and that he authorized release of all documents to her. This had been embarrassing in and of itself because in order to do this she had to wire money to him.

"I got it," she said. "Finally. I had to send a notarized copy of your authorization twice because they claimed they'd lost the first one. Then I had to spend about two hours on the phone getting passed around from person to person like a joint. Eventually, I wore them down and got hold of that Acardio guy."

"A real prince, isn't he?"

"Yeah, about as fun as a yeast infection. Anyway, he tried to play some hardball with me but he finally sent me a copy after I threatened to fly down there and get a subpoena. It just arrived yesterday. Postage due no less."

"And what do you think?" he asked. "How screwed did we get?"

"Pretty damn screwed," she told him. "I'll go over it with you tomorrow. Are we still getting together for breakfast?

"Fuckin' A," he replied. "I'm looking forward to it. I'm at the Royal Gardens, room 1602."

"A suite," she said. "I'm impressed."

"It's all for show," he said. "There's going to be a stream of media people interviewing us tomorrow and National wants them to be impressed with our decadence. Usually we stay in second rate hotels."

"Ahh," she said. "That makes sense. What time should I be there?"

"How about seven?" he suggested.

"That early?" she groaned.

"Sorry, we have to be over at KROT at nine for our first radio interview."

"I guess I can drag my ass out of bed then," she said. "Did you get tickets for all of us?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "Tickets and backstage passes for you and Mom and Dad." He hesitated. "Are you sure they still want to come? I mean... after the article and all?"

"Of course they want to come," she said. "You're still their only son, even if you do snort coke out of ass-cracks."

Jake went to bed at ten o'clock that night, his mind troubled but his body fatigued enough to allow him to drift off. A wake-up call at six-twenty got him out of bed and - as was usually the case on the rare occasions when he went to bed sober and got a good night's sleep - he felt almost giddy with energy. It was getting so it felt strange not to wake up exhausted and hungover.

He shaved, showered, and took care of his other morning duties. By the time he finished this and got dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a fresh pullover sweater, the room phone began to ring. It was the front desk, inquiring if a "Ms. Pauline Kingsley" was authorized to visit him. Typical of Pauline, she was ten minutes early.

"Send her up," he said.

Less than five minutes later she was knocking on the door.

She was as beautiful as ever. Dressed in a fashionable pair of slacks and a tight sweater, her brunette hair neatly styled, her make-up just right, she smiled broadly as she saw him. Jake was surprised to find himself near tears as he looked at her. Hers was the first familiar face he'd seen outside the band since leaving Heritage. They hugged affectionately and sincerely. Jake then gave her a brief tour of the suite, suitably impressing her. They then retreated to the sitting room, taking seats on the couch where they perused the room service menu for a few minutes before Jake placed the order.

Jake wanted to get into the discussion of their contract right away but Pauline told him that he might want to tune into the morning news instead.

"The news?" he asked. "What for?"

"I caught the six o'clock edition while I was getting ready," she said. "You guys have been moved from the entertainment section to the top story."

He took a deep breath. "The Spinning Rock article?"

She nodded. "Turn it on and see."

He turned it on, getting a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing what channel to turn to. The timing was perfect. The seven o'clock edition of the Channel 4 Reports was just starting.

Again, he felt a sense of melancholy nostalgia when they introduced the two lead anchors for the news show. He knew their names and faces, had grown up watching them deliver their daily reports to the citizens of Heritage County. It was Maureen Steward and Mike Jacobs, faces he hadn't seen or even thought of in almost a year. His nostalgia withered, however, when Jacobs began discussing their top story of the day.

"Excitement over the return of Heritage's own Intemperance for two sold-out concerts at the Community Auditorium have been somewhat marred by an article that appeared in the latest edition of Spinning Rock," he read, his face staring solemnly at his audience. "In the article, penned by veteran Spinning Rock reporter Gloria Castle, who spent twenty-four hours with the band when they visited New York City in February, are allegations of heavy cocaine and marijuana use, gross alcohol intoxication, and sexual debauchery with a number of young girls in their hotel room after the show. Ms. Castle alleges that she witnessed a drug and sex orgy in which young girls were forced to strip naked and engage in lesbian sex as well as group sex with the band members."

"Forced?" Jake nearly yelled. "Where they hell did it say..."

"Shhh," Pauline hushed him. "Just listen."

"The most disturbing allegation made is that two of the band members - lead singer Jake Kingsley and lead guitar player Matt Tisdale - ingested cocaine from the nude buttocks of a young girl while she was performing oral sex upon another young girl. The descriptions of the activities in the hotel room that night are a little more graphic then we're able to go into on the air, but many people around the country - particularly here in Heritage, the band's hometown, and in New York City, where the alleged activities took place - are shocked and disgusted."

They cut to a series of interviews in which a reporter was asking people what they thought about the allegations. The first was an overweight, middle-aged woman. "I think it's completely disgusting," she opined. "I bought my daughter tickets to that show when they went on sale but now she's certainly not going to go."

"They're just a bunch of degenerates," said the next interviewee, a middle-aged man in a suit and tie. "I never liked their music to begin with, but now I truly find it revolting."

"Would you let your children go see an Intemperance show?" the reporter asked him.

"Never," he said. "I wouldn't let them within ten miles of those people."

"Jesus," Jake said, shaking his head.

The showed a few more clips of interviews - all of them negative in nature - and then Jacobs reappeared, still looking solemn. "Intemperance sold out both of the scheduled shows in Heritage within two hours of the tickets going on sale. However, reports now are that many parents who had given permission for their teenage children to attend one of the shows have revoked that permission in light of the allegations. It is also reported that a coalition of parents are attempting to get the shows at Community Auditorium canceled."

They cut to another interview, this one with a mid-thirties woman with a beehive hairdo and thick glasses covering her eyes. She was listed as Monica Toland, member of something called the Family Values Coalition of Heritage.

"This is just another symptom of the disease that these rock music personalities are inflicting upon the American youth," Ms. Toland said angrily. "This is a band that spits upon everything American families hold sacred. They make videos about Satanism and twisted serial killers. They advocate promiscuousness, homosexuality, and drug addiction. We are calling on the Heritage City Council to meet and pass an emergency decree revoking the performance permit for this band and to pass a further measure permanently banning any future performances. Lacking that, we will picket their performances tonight to show them just what they're up against."

The scene cut back to Jacobs. "Meanwhile, in New York City, the scene of the already infamous after-show party, the NYPD is opening an investigation into the events of that night. Captain Barry Stern, spokesperson for the NYPD, had this to say at a press conference outside New York City Police Headquarters just an hour ago."

A uniformed police officer appeared on the screen, the caption listing his name and title. There were several microphones before him as he addressed the issue for the citizens of his city. "Obviously we are very concerned about these allegations of illegal drug use and possibly of unlawful sex acts. Unfortunately we are not able to pursue indictments regarding the drug use, as there is no way to get hold of any concrete evidence. However, we are attempting to locate some of the young ladies who were present at that party that night to determine if any of them were underage or if there were any issues of non-consent involved. If that is the case we will push for a grand jury indictment of any band members or their support staff who were involved and we will request arrest and extradition from whatever jurisdiction they happen to be in when the indictment is handed down."

"Holy shit," Jake said, his mouth wide open now. "Indictments? Can they really do that?"

"Were any of those girls underage?" Pauline asked him. "Or was there any... rape involved."

"They were all willing participants in everything that went on," Jake told her. "They're groupies. Nothing but common sluts who would do anything to get it on with a band member. They have to give blowjobs to the security staff just to get backstage with us."

"That's disgusting," Pauline proclaimed.

Jake shrugged. "I suppose when you come down to it," he said. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure none of them were underage either."

"Pretty sure?"

"They have to get their ID checked in order to be issued a backstage pass. Our security guy is always careful to make sure we have rubbers and that they get used and that the girls don't have weapons and all that. I never actually asked but I wouldn't think he would allow any underage girls to come back."

"Well, if that's the case you should be all right. Especially if he keeps a log of who the passes are issued to. If any underage girls tried to claim they were raped by you or one of the other band members, they would have to prove they were even there. Something they wouldn't likely be able to accomplish if they really weren't there."

"That's a relief," Jake said.

"My guess is that it's all just bluster on the NYPD's part. They get up there and jerk off the reporters and claim they're looking into it, but I imagine they actually have much better things to do with their time." She gave him a stern look. "However, I would be a little more careful if I were you, particularly when a damn reporter is in the room and taking pictures."

He nodded, ashamed. "Yeah," he said. "I think I'll keep that in mind."

Their breakfast came a few minutes later and Jake switched off the television set. When the room service waiter left they began to eat, talking of inconsequential things between bites. Pauline caught him up on family gossip. Jake shared some of his tamer anecdotes about life on the road. It was only when they were finished and the plates were put back in the tray and covered that she asked a serious question.

"How bad are you into the drugs, Jake?" she wanted to know. "No bullshit."

He thought it over for a moment, not completely sure of the answer himself. Finally, he said, "It could become a problem if I don't do something about it."

"It could become a problem?"

"Yeah," he said. "At this point - New York hotel rooms aside - I'm still in control. When we have days off I can go without it. In fact, I like going without it on my days off. But its kind of part of the routine on show nights. You just kind of get swept away by it. I mean, when everyone worships you and you get done with a show and there's cold beer and bonghits and coke just waiting for you, and when you get in the shower someone sends in a bunch of beautiful naked chicks..." He shrugged. "It's kind of hard to say no, you know?"

"Yeah," she said. "I suppose it would be."

"I think once the tour is over things will slow down. I think I have the willpower for that."

She looked doubtful but did not contradict him. Instead, she opened her briefcase and removed a large manila envelope. "Let's talk about your contract then," she said.