Chapter 15b

Jake did not stand, did not rise to the bait. "I've told you this before, Matt," he said mildly, "and I'll tell you again. This isn't high school. You don't win just because you can kick my ass. I will tell you that if you lay a hand on me in anger, you and I will never play music together again."

"Gentlemen!" Crow said, now truly alarmed. "We must stop this! We must..."

"Shut your ass, Crow," Matt told him without even glancing in his direction. He continued to glare at Jake for a few moments. When Jake didn't drop his eyes, he slowly sat back down. He looked over at Nerdly. "What about you, Nerdly?" he asked. "How firm is your position on this? You vote to kick Freakboy out and we have a majority. We can start working on the next album by the end of the week."

"I'm afraid not," Nerdly told him, obviously scared to say so, but sticking to his guns. "I foresee nothing but disaster if Darren were to return to the band. Like Jake said, he is unreliable in matters of sobriety."

Matt slammed his fist down on Crow's desk. "Well goddammit!" he yelled. He turned to Crow. "You might as well start processing your breach of contract lawsuit now, Crow, because it's obvious we ain't gonna resolve this fucking thing."

"This is just awful," Crow said. "We don't want to have to sue you guys. We want you to put this album together so we can all make some money here. Surely there must be a solution to this problem?"

"Not if these two motherfuckers are willing to go to the wall for Freakboy," Matt said. "Coop and I are prepared to go to the wall for Darren, so that means it ain't gonna get resolved."

"What about that, Coop?" Jake asked the drummer, who had been watching the angry conversation go back and forth mostly in silence. "Are you willing to go to the wall on this for Darren? Willing to let this thing go breach of contract?"

"Coop is with me on this!" Matt yelled. "Don't even try to convince him to..."

"Isn't that what you just did with Nerdly?" Jake asked him. "Didn't you just try to convince him to vote with you less than twenty seconds ago?"

"I thought maybe Nerdly might have some fuckin' loyalty in him, unlike you," Matt said.

"And I'm thinking that maybe Coop has some common fucking sense in him, unlike you," Jake said. He turned back to Coop. "So what do you say, Coop? Are you going to the wall on this, or not?"

Coop took a few deep breaths before answering. Finally, he said, "This shit is fuckin' stupid, man. It ain't the way the fuckin' world's supposed to work."

"So what's your answer then?" Jake asked him.

"Don't give in to these motherfuckers, Coop!" Matt said. "Don't fuckin' sell out your brother, man!"

Coop looked down at the desk, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "I'll vote for Darren," he said softly. "Matt's right. We fuckin' owe it to him."

An uncomfortable silence descended in the room. Not even Crow broke it with his whining. Finally Jake suggested that they adjourn for the day since any hope of a solution to the problem was pretty much shot. Pauline agreed with his reasoning.

"Everybody think real carefully about this situation you're in," Pauline told them as they stood to leave the office. "Real carefully. One of you four is going to have to back down or you're all going to be looking at a whole shitload of legal trouble."

By the time Jake got home he had pretty much written the entire day off as one of the shittiest of his life. First, the band he had "discovered" in Boston — Brainwash — and that he knew (fucking knew!) would be a runaway success, had been shot down by his record company without even being listened to. And then there was the fight over the Darren vs. Charlie issue. He and Matt had gone head to head on that one and the very future of the band was now hanging in the balance, with neither of them prepared to give in. Though he and Matt had butted heads on occasion — the Shaver contract issue and the palm-muted chords issue were two that immediately came to mind — they had never gone after each other like they had today. Could their friendship survive something like this? Even more important, could their musical compatibility survive it? Jake didn't know and he was worried sick about how this was going to turn out.

Needless to say, the last thing in the world Jake felt like when he arrived at home was entertaining a visitor. But he had invited Gordon — Bigg G — over for dinner so he was going to be a proper host. He made sure there was a good variety of beer in the refrigerator and that Elsa knew to have extra portions of what she was making. He also told her Gerald and Delilah should hang out for dinner as he had a surprise for them.

"What kind of surprise?" she asked, perhaps a little dubiously.

"That rapper they've been pestering me about getting an autograph from is my dinner guest."

"The one they refer to a Bigg G?"

"That's the one," Jake confirmed.

"I see," she said. "Well, it should be an interesting experience for them. Just as I was starting to think their use of the English language could not get any worse, you arrange for a genuine rap musician to make an appearance."

"Sorry, Elsa," Jake said, knowing she was not entirely serious. "He's actually a nice enough guy."

"So he won't be carrying a firearm into the house?"

"He's under a first contract. He probably can't afford a firearm."

"Very well then," she said. "I'd better get back to work. It's almost time to start cooking the meat."

Gordon arrived just past 5:30 that afternoon. Jake opened the front door to let him in.

"What do you say, Jake," he greeted as he looked around the entryway in appreciation. "Nice crib you got here."

"Thanks," Jake said, shaking with him. "It's a place to lay my head at night."

"And it all belongs to you?" Gordon asked.

"Well... some of it still belongs to the bank, but yeah, I am the registered owner."

Gordon gave an appreciative whistle. "Sweet. Now I see what awaits me when I'm done with this first contract."

Jake's reply was almost automatic. "What makes you think I'm not still operating under a first contract?"

"Shee-it," Gordon scoffed. "Everyone in the industry knows you renegotiated your contract after your second album. I heard you submitted a tape full of shitty-ass songs and refused to do anything else until they caved."

"Really?" Jake asked. Apparently more of the truth had leaked out than he'd thought.

"Is it true?" Gordon asked.

"I'm not allowed to say," Jake said, nodding his head as he said it.

Gordon laughed. "I see," he said. "I'm glad it worked out for you. How about you give me a tour of this place? Show me what kind of action I'm looking at in the future."

"You got it," Jake said.

He gave him the full tour, starting with the upstairs portion, which was where he spent most of his time. When they headed back to ground level he showed him around the entertainment room and the back deck but deliberately left the kitchen until last. When they finally entered Elsa's domain, Elsa was standing at the stove watching over a panful of carne asada tacos, Delilah was at the counter, chopping onions, and Gerald was at the other end of the counter, grating cheese into a large bowl. No one looked up when they entered.

"Gerald, Delilah," Jake said. "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine from down at the recording studio."

Now they looked up. Once recognition kicked in, both mouths dropped open as if on hinges and both sets of eyes widened comically.

"It's... it's... oh my God!" Delilah whimpered.

"It's... Bigg G!" Gerald said. "I mean... uh... isn't it?"

Gordon was grinning. "That's what they call me," he said, stepping forward. "It's nice to meet you two. Jake's told me a lot about you."

"Oh my God!" Delilah suddenly screeched. "My hair! My make-up! I just got out of the pool! I have onions all over my hands." She turned angrily on Jake. "Couldn't you have warned us he was coming over? Oh my God, I'm gonna die!"

"You are not going to die, young lady," Elsa said, flipping her tacos over and then putting her spatula down. "And if you don't close your jaw, it is very likely an insect of some sort might fly into it."

Delilah's blush was visible even through her dark skin. "Nana," she hissed. "This is Bigg G. The Bigg G."

"Uh, you can call me Gordon, ma'am," Gordon said politely.

"Gordon?" Gerald whispered in disbelief.

"Surely you didn't think this gentleman's parents named him Bigg G, did you?" Elsa enquired.

"Uh... no," Gerald said. "But Gordon?"

"It's the name they gave me," Gordon said with a shrug.

"Don't worry, Bigg G," Gerald told him. "We won't tell nobody."

"You will tell nobody," Elsa said sternly.

"No, we won't!" Gerald insisted. "I promise!"

"I believe your nana was correcting your grammar," Gordon told him. "The proper phrase would be 'we will tell nobody', although it would be more correct to say 'we will not tell anybody'."

Gerald and Delilah were looking at Gordon in shock. A rap singer was correcting their grammar? But Elsa seemed strangely impressed.

"Oh, so you do hold some rudimentary grasp of the English language and its nuances, Mr. G?" she asked.

"I do," he agreed. "I just try not to let that get out."

The ice was effectively broken at that point. Jake formally introduced Elsa to Gordon and then did the same for the two kids. Elsa passed a few semi-kind words with him and then declared she needed to get back to work on her tacos. In light of the special guest, she excused Gerald and Delilah from further kitchen duties and allowed them to accompany Jake and Gordon out onto the back deck.

For the next twenty minutes the two kids pestered the rapper with a thousand questions about anything and everything they could think of. Gerald asked about the motivation for certain songs, about what kind of car he drove, about what kind of house he lived in. Delilah asked about his girlfriends and what life was like on the road and about when his next album was coming out. Gordon fielded their enquiries expertly, with the air of a man who had done so a thousand times before. Neither of the kids realized they were receiving pat, nothing answers to most of their questions. They were too much in awe to be even speaking with him.

Finally, Elsa called everyone in for dinner. Elsa generally did not allow the kids to eat with Jake when he had a guest over — she said it was not proper decorum for an employee to take advantage of her position like that — but in this case she made an exception since Bigg G had, after all, come over specifically to meet them. Elsa herself stayed in the background while the four of them tore into her platter of tacos, her homemade Spanish rice, and her homemade frijoles. Gordon seemed particularly appreciative of the food. He put away four of the tacos and two helpings of the rice and beans.

"Ma'am," he told Elsa when he finally finished up, "those were, without a doubt, the best tacos I have ever had in my life. Jake was right. You are an excellent cook."

"Why thank you, Mr. G," she replied. "I've always made it my policy to be the very best at what I do. That is why I work for the likes of Mr. Kingsley. He appreciates the work and the toil that has gone into perfecting my profession."

"I appreciate it as well," Gordon said. "Any chance I might be able to steal you away from him once I get my next contract going?"

She pretended to think this over for a second. "No, I'm afraid not," she finally said. "I've spent far too much time breaking in Mr. Kingsley. I'd hate to have to start all over with someone new."

Gordon and Jake both laughed at this.

Elsa didn't smile. It was not in her nature. She did, however, pull an expensive camera from one of her apron pocket. "If it's not a violation of any copyright rules," she said, "may I take your picture with the children, Mr. G? I'm sure they would love having photographic proof of this encounter to share with their peers."

"Of course you may," Gordon replied, much to the delight of Delilah and Gerald.

She snapped off about a dozen shots, Gordon the centerpiece in all of them. Some were of the four of them at the table. Some were of Gordon posing with each of the children and then with the both of them together. Though they didn't seem particularly interested in having Jake in any of the shots, they had enough manners not to say so when Elsa posed the four of them together.

"And now," Elsa proclaimed once the photography session was at an end, "I believe it is time for Jake and his guest to leave the table and for a certain couple of freeloading ruffians to help me clean up this kitchen."

"Aww, Nana!" Gerald proclaimed. "Why you wanna be doing that to us?"

"Yeah, Nana," Delilah echoed. "How often do we get to be hangin' with Bigg G?"

"You've hung with Mr. G quite enough," Elsa said. "And I already let you out of a portion of your meal preparation duties on his behalf. You will not be escaping your clean-up obligations. Remember my rules for allowing you to take advantage of Mr. Kingsley's hospitality."

"We remember," both said sourly. The rules in question were that if they were going to be at her employer's house, they were damn sure going to help her with her duties. In truth, the two kids actually tended to slow her down a bit when they helped, but it was the point of the matter to Elsa. If you wanted something in this world, you had to pay the price for it. The price for using Jake's swimming pool and watching his big screen television and listening to his vast music collection was a certain amount of mandatory housework.