Intemperance Volume 2 Standing On TopChapter 6A
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Intemperance, Volume 2 - Standing On TopChapter 2a free porn video
New Beginnings
Los Angeles, California
December 9, 1986
Jake opened the door to his condo and led Jill Yamashito and her father, John, inside. The house was clean — the maid service had been in just that morning — and he gave them the ten-cent tour. They were both suitably impressed with his accommodations.
So far they'd been impressed with everything they'd experienced on this day, just as Jake had intended. It had started at 7:00 that morning when a limousine, sent by Jake, had picked them up at their respective homes and driven them to the Heritage County Airport. There, two first class tickets to Los Angeles had been waiting for them. They landed at LAX shortly after nine o'clock and another limo took them to their individual suites at the Hollywood Hilton Hotel. Once there they were offered use of either room service or the hotel restaurant for dining then allowed to rest up until eleven o'clock, at which point Jake arrived in yet another limo to escort them to Pauline's house to begin work.
At Pauline's they'd spent about ninety minutes going through every wire transfer receipt and every check Jake had received since the new contract had gone into effect. Pauline had then presented them with a document she'd drawn up regarding the band's contract with National Records. In order to look at the contract — and thus be able to calculate how much income Jake should be receiving from National Records — they had to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement that threatened severe civil penalties if the agreement was broken. This was because National — despite many rumors — had never actually admitted, either publicly or privately, that they'd renegotiated their contract with Intemperance for fear that other bands would try the same thing.
Jill and her father were both a little reluctant to sign such a document at first and Pauline had to explain to them that they would not be able to do business if they didn't. "It's not trickery of any kind," she explained to them. "It's a simple half-page document that's not even written in legalese. All it says is that if details of the Intemperance contract with National Records are made public and the source of that information can be proven to have originated with your firm and National, as a result, reverts to the old contract because of this, your firm will be held liable for damages."
"Which would be considerable," Jake added, much to Pauline's chagrin. "We weren't pulling in any money at all under the old contract."
"So in other words," Pauline said, shooting a dirty look at her brother/client, "as long as you keep your mouths shut about the specifics of the contract, there will be no problems."
Jill and her father both read the agreement several times, word for word, looking for hidden pitfalls but, as Pauline had promised, it was written in a simple, straightforward manner. They signed and Pauline then gave each of them a copy of the Intemperance contract to keep. She also gave them copies of Jake's contract with Gibson Guitars and Buxfield Limousines.
Both had spent the entire trip to Jake's condo reading through the documents.
"So the band is due another five hundred thousand dollar advance soon?" Jill asked as Jake led her to his office next to the condo's master bedroom.
"As soon as we submit a demo tape for the next album," Jake confirmed.
"Will that be before the end of the year?" she asked.
"Not a chance," he replied. "National is already pestering us for it but we haven't even all been in the same room together since the end of the tour, let alone jammed together."
"Jammed?" she asked, confused.
"Uh... yes, you know? Played together? Tried to compose new music?"
"Oh... of course," she said, filing that word away.
"Anyway, I've got two songs I've picked out on my acoustic there." He pointed to the battered Fender up on the wall. "And Matt's probably got one or two in mind as well. We need to come up with at least twelve tunes, maybe as many as fourteen, jam them out and perfect them, and then record them for submission. That won't happen until at least March, maybe even April."
"So your advance will not be forthcoming during this tax year?" she asked.
"Exactly," Jake said.
"Okay," she said. "We won't worry about that now then. What other income are you expecting this year?"
"All the big stuff is paid quarterly or on delivery," Pauline said. "Their next royalty checks will come in January. This includes the royalties from National and Jake's share of the profits from the Jake Kingsley signature guitar from Gibson. Merchandising profits are also paid quarterly and that will come in in January as well. The only thing left before the end of the year is the payments from NBC for the Saturday Night Live performance and the payments from CBS for their appearance on Rockline on December 28th."
"How much will those be?" Jill asked.
"SNL is fifty grand for the band," Pauline said. "Minus my twenty percent and divided by five, that will be another..."
"Eight thousand dollars for Jake," Jill said before Pauline could. "And the Rockline payment?"
"That's twenty-five thousand for the band," Pauline said.
"So that's another four thousand," Jill said. "Anything else?"
"Two more record store signings before the end of the year," Jake said. "Those are a flat five hundred bucks apiece."
"And two hundred of that goes to Pauline?" Jill asked.
"Yes," Pauline confirmed.
"So another eight hundred then," Jill said. "That means Jake is expecting another twelve thousand, eight hundred dollars before the end of the tax year?"
"Right," Pauline said.
"Okay," she said, consulting some notes she'd made while going through Pauline's neatly arranged files on Jake's income back in her office. "Last year, Jake pulled in one point three million dollars, upon which you paid $455,000 in federal taxes and $33,000 in state taxes?"
"Right," Jake said sourly. "They fuckin' raped me."
Jill and her father both blinked, shocked at his language.
"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "Hollywood sometimes brings out the crudity in me."
"To each their own," Jill said. "So in any case, this year, you've made roughly $820,000 in royalties and other forms of contractual compensation, not including the twelve thousand, eight hundred we were just talking about."
"That sounds about right," Jake said.
Jill looked at him strangely. As an accountant it was inconceivable to her that someone making as much money as Jake didn't know the amount down to the penny at any given point in the year. "Okay then," she said. "We have a starting point to work with. Now, my understanding is that you do not own this condo we're sitting in?"
"No," he said. "I'm renting it from a real estate company."
"So nothing that you've paid in housing costs over the year is tax deductible," she said.
"Right," he said sourly. That had come up last year as well.
"And all of your travel expenses are paid for by National?"
"Well... either National or someone else. NBC is paying for our flight down to New York this weekend. There is one exception though."
"Oh?"
"When the tour was over I paid nine grand for a chartered flight home from Seattle so I wouldn't have to ride the bus. Isn't that tax deductible?"
"No," she said. "Not if your employer had a way to get you home and you simply paid out of pocket for something nicer. That would be the same as a business traveler upgrading from the coach seating his employer gives him to first class out of his own pocket and then wanting to deduct it. It doesn't work."
"That's a rip," Jake said.
"A rip?" Jill asked.
"Uh... unfair," Jake said.
"Unfair or not, it's the law. This office we're sitting in. When did you furnish it?"
"Last year," Jake said. "I already deducted everything that's in here then."
"I see," she said. "Well... Pauline mentioned that you've kept all of your receipts and cancelled checks for all of your purchases this year in a file?"
"Yes," Jake said. "Well... most of them anyway."
"Most of them?"
"I might've misplaced one or two here and there."
"I see. Well how about we look through the file and see what, if anything, we can deduct."
"Sounds like a plan," Jake said. "Before we start that, I could really go for a beer. Anybody else want one?"
Pauline thought that sounded like a good idea but Jill and her father both declined.
"I rarely drink," John said. "And I never drink while working."
"I've only had one bottle of beer in my entire life," Jill said, somewhat proudly.
"No shit?" Jake asked, trying to comprehend that.
"No shit," Nell said. "Why don't you show me where your file is and I'll start going through it while you get your beer?"
"Okay," Jake said. "Why don't you sit down at the desk there and I'll go get it for you?"
"Thank you," Jill said. She sat in his six hundred dollar chair while Jake went across the room to the closet. She watched as he opened it and removed a cardboard box that had once contained a case of Corona. Written on the side of it in black magic marker were the words: RECEIPTS AND SHIT. He carried it over and upended it over the desk. Approximately ten pounds of paper scraps, receipts, cancelled checks, junk mail, and a few bottle caps and cigarette butts came pouring out.
Jill was appalled. Her mouth dropped open. "This," she said, "is your file?"
"Well... I'll admit it's a little disorganized," he said, "but everything is there. Well... most of it's there."
The two accountants stared at the heap of papers and debris that represented the worst sort of blasphemy to their profession.
"Maybe I'll take that beer after all," John said.
"Yeah," Jill agreed. "Me too."
December 12, 1986
10:00 AM, Pacific Standard Time
The NBC-owned Lear Jet roared down runway 16R of the Van Nuys Airport, lifted off the asphalt surface, and soared into the overcast sky above the San Fernando Valley. It turned left to a heading of 086 and climbed to a cruising altitude of 43,000 feet. Projected flight time to Teterboro Airport in New Jersey — a general aviation facility just twelve miles from midtown Manhattan — was five hours and twelve minutes, which would make it just after 6:00 PM Eastern time when they landed. The plane was not even out of California yet when the first round of drinks — served by Roberto, the cabin steward — was nothing but a bunch of empty glasses and bottles on the way to the trash and/or dirty dish storage drawer.
"Yo, fruit fly!" Matt barked at the obviously homosexual Roberto. "Get another round going here, huh? You ain't earning your tip!"
"Right away, sir," Roberto replied, seemingly nonplussed by Matt's slur.
"And hey," Matt said, pulling a large joint out of his shirt pocket and waving it around. "Is it cool if we burn in here?"
"Well... technically that's against the rules," Roberto said. "But I'm sure I wouldn't notice anything if you were to light that up. After all, we fruit flies are pretty unobservant about tiny little cylinders like that."
Matt laughed. "You're all right, Roberto," he said. "If I was a faggot I'd let you suck my dick for me."
"Give me a call if you ever decide to switch teams," Roberto said. "Will you be requiring a light?"
"Naw, just start working on them drinks. I'll use Jake's smoke. Hand that thing over, Jake."
Jake took a drag off his cigarette, tapped the ash into the ashtray and started to hand it over. Before Matt could grab it, however, Pauline, who was sitting near the door to the service area, suddenly spoke up.
"Uh... before you burn that thing," she said, "maybe we could have a little meeting first? I have a few things I need to go over with you guys and I'd prefer you keep your heads semi-straight for it."
Matt sighed dramatically. "I suppose," he said. "And there is that other matter we have to take care of too, isn't there?"
"Yes," Pauline said. "There's that too."
"What other matter?" asked Darren, who was reclining in the seat next to Coop on the right side of the plane.
"We'll get to it," Jake said, putting his smoke back in his mouth. "Go ahead, Pauline. Do your manager shit."
"Thank you," she said, pulling a notebook out of her purse and looking through it. "First thing is Crow and Doolittle. They're calling me every day and asking when you guys are going to hit the warehouse and start putting together some music for your next album. They seem particularly fond of reminding me of your submission deadline, which is March 15, and then reminding me that that is only the deadline. They'd like something sooner."
"What the fuck for?" asked Matt. "They're not gonna release anything until Balance starts heading down the album chart and it don't look like that's gonna happen anytime soon. Can't we enjoy a little vacation time?"
"They still want the album in production on schedule," Pauline said, "whether they plan to release it by next September or not. I hate to nag, guys, but if you don't have something for them by mid-March you are technically in breach of contract. I might remind you that any breach is grounds for reversion to the old contract, and none of us want that."
"Especially not you," Darren said, getting a little dig in on Pauline, who he most definitely did not like.
She did not take the bait. "Especially not me," she agreed.
"We'll have a submission for them by the deadline," Matt said. "It may not be early, but it'll be there."
"When do you guys plan to start working on your submissions?" she asked. "Just so I have something to tell them when they call me tonight at the Plaza."
"We'll start working full-time as soon as Jake's preliminary hearing is done with," Matt said. "As you can imagine, having the lead singer up on an obscenity charge in some fuckin' Victorian-American shithole of a city is a bit stressful."
"Fair enough," Pauline said. "And you do have some tunes to work on when you start?"
"I've been strumming some out at night," Jake said. "I have three solid pieces and two more in the beginning stages."
"I've got three good ones too," Matt said. "I've also got two more riffs I've composed that I haven't put any words to yet."
"How are the tempo changes in yours, Jake?" asked Darren, who preferred solid tunes with little variation in beat. Jake, to his chagrin, was quite fond of multiple tempo changes in his compositions.
"Only one with radical tempo changes so far," Jake told him.
"I guess I can live with that," Darren said, lighting another cigarette.
"Glad to hear it," Jake said.
"Okay then," Pauline said. "I'll let Doolittle and Crow know that you'll hit the warehouse as soon as the preliminary hearing is settled."
"Unless they throw Jake's ass in some jail cell and deny bail for him," Coop said. "I hear that's what that fuckin' prosecutor is shootin' for."
"Thanks for reminding him of that, asshole," Matt said.
"I ain't sweatin' it," Jake said. "My dad's an ACLU lawyer, remember? He tells me they don't have a prayer and I believe him."
"As do I," Pauline said. "If there's one thing Dad knows, it's First Amendment legal precedents and he's been making sure the National legal team defending Jake knows about them too. Jake will never do any time over this. That's pretty much guaranteed. All this thing is doing is giving you guys free publicity."
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