Jake flipped the album cover over to look at the back.
Here, taking up the upper half of the space, was a group photo of the band. Darren and Coop were sitting cross-legged in the foreground. Standing behind them were Matt, Bill, and Jake. All were dressed in their usual torn jeans and beat-up T-shirts. Matt had dark shades on. Jake had a two-day stubble. Coop was holding a set of drumsticks. Darren had a cigarette dangling from his lips. None of them were smiling.
The shot looked candid. It wasn't.
Prior to the shoot, makeup artists had gone to work on their faces, hairstylists had combed and sculpted their manes, and wardrobe stylists had picked out each piece of clothing like it was a damn runway show. It had taken the better part of six hours just to get that single shot.
Below the photo was a listing of the band members and their roles:
Darren Appleman, bass guitar, vocalsJohn "Coop" Cooper, percussion, vocalsMatt Tisdale, lead guitar, vocalsBill "Nerdly" Archer, piano, vocalsJake Kingsley, lead vocals, rhythm guitar, acoustic guitar
"I still think you boys should've listened to us about the name changes," Acardio said with a note of disappointment. "Stylish names really help with image. Just look at U2."
Jake bit back a few colorful responses and simply shrugged.
He and Matt had gone round and round with Acardio, Bailey, and even Shaver about their names. Acardio thought Coop and Nerdly were hip enough to keep, and Darren—well, nobody cared enough about bassists to worry. But Matt Tisdale and Jake Kingsley? Apparently those were just too dull for the big leagues.
"It's what we do here in Hollywood," Bailey, the real pusher behind the name-change effort, had told them. "Why live with a plain name when you can change it to something that reflects your style and your outlook?"
He'd looked Matt over, thinking hard. "How about Rajin Storm?" he suggested. "That's a great name for a guitarist like you."
"Raging Storm?" Matt had blinked. "Are you out of your fuckin' mind?"
"Not Raging, Rajin. R-A-J-I-N Storm," Bailey had said, like spelling it out would magically make it cool.
Then he turned to Jake. "You, I'm thinking something like… JD King."
"JD King?" Jake had echoed.
"Exactly. 'King' has power. Elvis. Royalty. It hits. And 'JD'? It's short, it's punchy. Fans will speculate about what it means. Could be your initials, could be Jack Daniels. Hell, maybe we can land an endorsement deal with them. Imagine—your parents named you after their favorite whiskey. You drink it on stage. Jack Daniels sponsors a tour."
Jake had lifted a hand. "You're seriously suggesting I tell people my parents named me after a bottle of booze? That they fed it to me as a kid?"
"It's not a slam on your folks, Jake. It's showbiz. You give the audience what they want."
"I'm not dishonoring my parents, who were goddamn good people, just so you can turn me into some fake image."
Bailey had rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. We'll skip the parent angle. We'll just say—"
"We'll say my name is Jake Kingsley," Jake had interrupted. "That's the name I was given. That's the name I'm keeping."
"Fuckin' A," Matt had chimed in. "I'm Matt Goddamn Tisdale, and I'm not changing either. Heritage knows me that way. That's who I am. Rajin fuckin' Storm? What fantasy world do you people live in?"
The conversation hadn't gone over well. Bailey had complained up the food chain and even whined to Shaver. It was hinted that their entire contract might be in jeopardy. But the album was already in production by then, and neither Jake nor Matt believed the label would pull the plug over something as dumb as a couple of name changes.
They'd been right. The pressure kept up for a bit longer, but eventually Acardio and Bailey accepted defeat. This little jab from Max was the first time the subject had come up in weeks.
Jake ignored it. Instead, he pointed to the lower portion of the album cover, below the track listings, at the section labeled "Special Thanks To."
He hadn't been asked who he'd like to thank. He was pretty sure none of the other band members had either.
"Who are all these people we're thanking?" he asked.
"Oh, the usual," Acardio said. "Our production team, our techs, our sound engineers. They've all worked hard on this. Don't you want to thank them?"
"Sure. They've been great. But what about these others? These companies?" Jake let his finger trail the list. "Brogan Guitars? Lexington Drums? Caldwell Pianos?"
"They're the ones who provided your instruments for the recording. You know that."
Jake did. Back during orientation, they'd been told his beat-up Les Paul and Matt's scratched Strat weren't good enough for studio quality. Jake had been handed a brand-new Brogan six-string and an electric-acoustic. Matt got a Brogan Battle-Axe—top of the line and, in his words, a "soulless piece of trash." Darren already had a Brogan bass, so he got nothing. Coop's entire kit was replaced by a monstrous Lexington twenty-five-piece setup, complete with the band's name on the bass drums. Bill was outfitted with a Caldwell electric piano and a full-sized grand.
"So this is an endorsement thing?" Jake asked. "Is that why we had to use those?"
"No," Acardio said quickly. "Those instruments just sound better on tape. That's all. Nothing sinister."
"But you're getting money to list them, aren't you?"
"Well… yes. But that's got nothing to do with why we use them. Since they're already in use, we just figured we might as well collect a few endorsement checks. And look—because of that, you got free gear. It's not even part of your recoupable costs."
"Uh huh," Jake muttered, clearly unimpressed. He didn't want to revisit the whole recoupable costs mess again. It was still a sore spot.
He slid the album cover back across the desk.
"Very nice, Max. Thanks for showing it to me." He started to stand.
"Uh… before you go, Jake, there's one thing I need to talk to you about."
Jake sat back down. "Sure. What now?"
Acardio gave him an apologetic smile. "It's about the outside work clause in your contract. I assume you remember the terms?"
"Yeah," Jake said bitterly. "I remember."
The clause was ironclad. No member of The Saints could perform music for anyone outside the label unless they had permission. And that permission was basically never granted. When Jake and Matt had asked Shaver to get them some side gigs around L.A. to make a little extra money, Shaver had predicted the label would say no.
He was right.
"No one sees you live until the album's done and we get you on tour," Acardio had told them. That was that.
"So what's the issue now?" Jake asked. "We haven't played anywhere. You'd know that."
"Well," Acardio said, "I've received information to the contrary."
Jake raised his eyebrows. "Someone said we had a gig?"
"Not the band. Just you."
"Me?" Jake blinked. "Someone said I played a solo gig?"
"Had a gig," Acardio clarified. "I'm told you engaged in a live musical performance yesterday evening before a crowd. Is that true?"