All The Young Punks Pt. 46

---- The Lit modertors dispatched of my part 46 error much faster than I expected. I apologize for my fuck up and the delay it caused. This is the chapter that should have been. ----

---- JANUARY 1, 1984 ----

Joe walked the streets of Manhattan at 4 AM. He couldn't sleep. He and Tina had a serious fight after a New Year's Eve party at Gail Mortensen's penthouse overlooking Central Park. He didn't want to attend this party of Manhattan socialites, but Tina insisted.

"I'm always here for you, Joe. I'm at all the big events for your band, every time. The least you could do is go to a dinner party."

"Except for the cover art for the new record."

"Oh please," her hands went to her hips. "You're gonna hold that against me?"

"You just said you're always there."

"I'm sorry that my gallery opportunity is taking all my free time. I have to work my day job and conduct that business. I don't have time to freelance." She stared intensely at him. "I'm asking you to attend a simple dinner party."

"It's not that simple. Those people don't like me, and I don't like them."

"Gail adores you. She will be offended if you don't come. I cannot afford to offend my biggest benefactor."

Joe caved in and attended Gail's extravagant, not the least bit simple, New Year's Eve dinner party and celebration. He wanted to stay home and have a quiet night because he had a special surprise for Tina. Once he was committed to the party, he decided to present that gift to her after midnight, his first official act of 1984. That moment never came. The art snobs torpedoed Joe's celebration and he handled it very poorly.

Walking through Soho, he lamented the sudden turn of events. Nineteen-Eighty-Three was a chaotic year. Even with his business problems, the band did very well on record sales and touring. Their fourth album, Feed The Rich, was set for release a month late due to cover art delays. He had his meeting with David Benjamin two days before Christmas. They reached an agreement. Joe would play the dates.

During the months since the canceled AA tour, Joe spent most of his time in NYC, recording, playing bar gigs, and spending all his free time with Tina. They were in a good place. She was delighted to have her man at home and excited about her future gallery. They had a fun Christmas in Brooklyn and Providence. New Year's Eve marked the end of their good run.

To make matters worse, in twenty-six hours Joe would be on the road for a six-week tour, leaving town with this fight hanging over his head. He could not sleep and Tina refused to speak with him, so he walked until dawn.

---- PRESIDENT AND CEO ---

Stubbornly defiant after his meeting with Stan and Marry, Joe let two more weeks pass before he agreed to meet with Entertainment International Corporation's founder and CEO. In the end, the only reason he agreed to meet was to satisfy his curiosity. He could not fathom why a man in David Benjamin's position would care to meet with a minor-league punk like him. He entered the offices of EIC with the intention of telling Benjamin to go fuck himself. Stan and Marty expressed concern that he'd do just that.

Walking through the twentieth-floor offices of EIC in Rockefeller Center, Joe recognized faces in the open office with three dozen worker bees. When a fan from Tommy's smiled and waved, he returned her gesture as he passed. He was trailing a serious woman with no time to stop and chat. Another young man waved. When a third familiar face saw him coming and put her head down, avoiding eye contact, Joe kept his eyes on her, thinking, "There's Deep Throat.'

The serious office manager lady opened a set of doors so tall Joe looked up, marveling at their solid wood grandeur.

"Where did he get these?" he quipped. "Did the Palace of Versailles have a yard sale?"

The woman did not laugh, not even a smirk. She waved Joe inside. "Excuse me Mr Benjamin. Your appointment is here."

David Benjamin sat at a massive wood desk as grand as his doors. He was on the phone, motioning to Joe to come in. Joe wandered to the side of the large office with dozens of photos and concert posters. As David continued with his call, Joe walked the wall, taking in two decades of EIC events.

The collection of framed photographs of David with rock stars was an impressive who's who in the business: David with Mick Jagger, David with Prince, Freddie Mercury, Duane Allman, Jeff Lynne, and David with Micheal Jackson. He examined concert promotion materials from Led Zeppelin's Song Remains The Same tour and AC/DC's Back In Black World Tour.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," David said as he hung up the phone. "That was Buddy Guy. Are you familiar with him?"

Joe made a WTF face. "Of course I am. He's a blues legend."

David walked over and offered his hand, "I know, but your generation isn't into the blues."

"I am. The blues are the roots of rock & roll." Joe shook his hand. "I just spent a few days on Beale Street."

"Very nice. It appears to be a dying art. We're trying to prevent that from happening. Maybe there's hope for the future. " He gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

Joe sat. "I'm all set. Thanks."

David returned to his desk. "We have a lot in common, Joe."

"Ha! I don't believe we have one thing in common."

"Is that so? Well, I was a self-starter," David pointed at him. "And so are you. I built this company from my high school locker. I booked bands to play in a VFW Hall in Queens and The Elks Lodge in Brooklyn. We used church basements and I promoted shows at a rollerskating rink. That was my senior year of high school. In your senior year of high school, you were building a network of bars and clubs for your band, and putting on shows, not just music."

"I started in my junior year," Joe corrected him. "Then you went to Columbia University and that's where any similarities end."

"Maybe. I'm not comparing EIB and Guerilla. I have a twenty-year head start on you. I would not be surprised if you had an office like this in twenty years."

Joe pointed outside. "I would jump out that fucking window. No offense, but I don't aspire to this," He glanced around the room. "corporate extravagance."

"I know, you're a left-wing musician, a performer, and a writer." David gestured to his office staff behind his giant doors from the Palace of Versailles. "You have fans out there. Many of the young people here love your band."

"I know. I recognized a few faces on the way in." Joe leaned forward.

"Some of the older staff too," David said. "They know a good band when they see one, and they talk about your shows at the water cooler."

"So that's how the big fish finds out about the little guppy, from the common people. And why is it that anyone who thinks our fucked up system is fucked is labeled a left winger? I'm not a leftist, I just call out corruption and injustice when I see it."

David smiled. "Roger told me you have a chip on your shoulder. He said it was a manhole cover-size chip." He held his hands far apart. "I'm okay with that because I had a big chip when I was your age. I don't want to appear presumptuous, but I think I understand you."

Joe withheld what he was thinking.

"I like how you fuck with your fans," David said. "the bits and pranks you do. I admire the showmanship. Most bands don't understand that you must put on a show, not just music."

Knowing he had never seen the band, Joe didn't put much stock in his opinion. "What is it you want from me? It's not a hundred and twenty-five nights in theaters. You have the Rolling Stones and fifty bands bigger than us. What do you want with my little band?"

"I just want to do business with you. I'm not your enemy, Joe. This isn't a hostile takeover."

"Sheila signing my band to you was an act of hostility. That greedy cow cashed in on the way out, and she won't earn a nickel of what you pay her for screwing me over. What are you paying her?"

"Sheila wanted her percentage of these dates she arranged."

"Her contract expires on January 2nd. She's not entitled to anything my band earns after that date."

"I've known her since college. Sheila has always been a free agent. It's just how she's wired. She always gets hers. That's why we parted ways years ago. I was the boss of my company, and she wanted a piece of what I built, and I said no."

"I heard..." Joe paused for effect. "Other stories."

"Oh, sure." David smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I'm familiar with the rumors. We had an office affair that went bad. I may have sexually assaulted her and paid her off, and my favorite... I'm the father of her only child."

Joe laughed. "I did not hear that one. So none of that shit is true?"

"Not a goddamn word." David waved his arm at his staff behind the giant doors. "Let them talk. Sheila and I had a relationship when I was at Columbia. That was over before I left school to build my company."

"What she did was sleazy and I won't play a single show under that agreement, because I didn't sign off on that. I don't want her earning from my band's work."

"She's been paid, Joe. It doesn't matter if you refuse to honor the deal and we end up in court. Sheila made sure she got her percentage."

"Fuck," Joe said half under his breath.

"Look, Joe. I'm sorry that your business partner provided you with a contract that was drafted in 1955. I don't know what year Irving and Stan first used that piece of paper to hoodwink young musicians, but that clause Sheila exploited was legal. She broke no law."

"Did you know she's been padding the invoices EIC sends her for services and bills my band with a 50% markup? And she doesn't lift a fingernail to work for us. She's a leech."

"Yeah. She was irate that you got your hands on our invoices. I was also, but for me, it was the fact one of your fans out there," he pointed at his doors, "stole company documents."

"I have no clue who it was," Joe said. "They were mailed to our office."

"I'm not worried enough to spend a minute investigating. It didn't hurt me, but if I find out who gave you that information they'll be fired."

"I can't help you with that."

"And if you could, you wouldn't." He leaned on his desk. "Sheila was a middleman, woman, whatever. People inflate invoices all the time for services rendered, even if it's just signing and passing papers around. That's what middlemen do."

"Are you sure you're not an insurance executive?"

David smirked. "Insurance may be the biggest scam in capitalism. They've made it impossible to do business without it. Now that's ingenious."

"You can thank the lawyers for that."

David went on about his company, built from the ground up, and the many famous musicians he's partnered with over two decades, gesturing to his wall of fame. He liked to talk about himself, and he did. Joe wondered if he'd get around to referring to himself as the wunderkind.

"As I said earlier, I'm not your enemy. I'm trying to help you and I can assure you that I have, in ways you don't know."

"Oh, really? What have you done besides provide Sheila with Ken Harris," he paused. "free of salary, and tour buses at cost?"

"We put you on the radio."

"What?"

"And we put you in larger venues."

"What about the radio?"

"After your meeting at RCA with Roger, you were never getting on the radio."

"We were on the radio."

"College radio... and I'm impressed that you broke through and made that happen. When I hired Roger I told him I wanted to work with you, and he went off about what a disrespectful little shit you were. I let him talk and then I told him I didn't care. I like what you're doing and I'd like to partner with you."

"So you conspired with Sheila Abrams to..."

"There's no conspiracy if there's no crime, and I assure you, what we did was perfectly legal. I provided her the resources to give you a taste of life on the other side; the buses, theaters, stage crew, and the perks of doing business with my company."

"To what end?"

"I knew you would not offer Sheila a new contract. I hoped that you might consider working with us once you fired her, after enjoying the benefits of our services."

"That was never going to happen."

"Maybe not. Once she found the loophole in your contract, she wanted me to sign you for two hundred theater dates. I recognized what she was doing, while legal, was borderline unethical, so I offered one hundred."

"And you settled on one-twenty-five."

"Correct. I hope that you'll agree to do these dates and after you see the benefits of working with EIC consider continuing with us after that obligation is met. We would move forward with new, agreed-upon terms. That's what I'm offering you, Joe. Do my dates and we can meet afterward to discuss the future."

"And what if my answer is still no?"

"You'd go back to your do-it-yourself guerilla plan and I walk away knowing I tried my best."

"So you're not coming after Guerilla Records?"

"No, why would I want that?"

"I heard you want to get into recording and developing bands."

"I can do that any time I want. I could build a state-of-the-art studio." He snapped his fingers, "Like that. With all due respect, Guerilla Records has no assets. Marty Cohen owns the building. You have your clubs and record shops, and a handful of small-time bands. That's all good, but without binding contracts, they're nothing but handshake agreements with no value to me."

"We don't do contracts."

"Yeah, I know, but it's time to grow up, Joe. Not understanding contracts is what led you here. Again, no offense intended."

Joe got a familiar feeling in his gut. It happened once before. He went into a meeting 100% certain and determined in his mission and then walked out compromised. His drummer did that to him. Now he was getting that feeling again, uncomfortably wavering.

David stood. "I need a drink. Would you like something?" He walked to his bar.

"No."

"I heard what you did in the theaters, staging auditions for female talent, and getting on the radio to promote your shows." He poured himself what appeared to be whiskey from a decanter. "That's why I want to be in business with you. You're a go-getter, you're creative, and you have the mind of not just a performer, but a promoter. I would like you to do the auditions on these tours, and we would provide everything you need to make that happen."

David returned to his desk. Joe felt sick that he was considering this offer. He also knew his partners, and the band, would be pleased that he did. Tina on the other hand..."

"Give me one hundred-twenty-five dates in 1984," David said, "and we'll see if you would like to continue working with us afterward."

Joe exhaled and leaned back. "I have one extremely important condition."

"If I can make that happen, I will grant it."

"I cannot be away from home in June, and maybe July too."

David laughed, "The summer? The big money season? Oh, Joe. You're killing me."

"I must be home when my girl opens her gallery. It looks like June, but you know how those things go, so I might need July too."

"I'll see what we can work out."

"Oh, there's one other thing. I want my driver, Larry."

"Okay, who's this Larry?"

"The best driver you provided us with. We like him."

"I'll look into it."

---- EIC PRESENTS ---

Joe left New York for the first leg of the EIC tour having not resolved the trouble he and Tina had on New Year's Eve. That fight was only one of their problems. She was also displeased with the six-week tour. When Joe explained that he had to bite the bullet now so he could be free of this contract as soon as possible, she wasn't moved, but she didn't allow it to ruin their holidays. When he left town on January 2nd, they were not speaking.

The tour was roughly the same route and cities Ken Harris had booked for the forty-five canceled shows. It started in Quebec City, the band's first show outside of the States, and the first time with an audience that wasn't primarily English-speaking. From there, they traveled west to Montreal and into Ontario. By the time they reached Vancouver, they had played fifteen Canadian cities.

"Why haven't you called?" Tina asked when Joe finally phoned from Toronto.

"You weren't talking to me and I had nothing to say."

"So, you're still angry with me?"

"Are you still angry with me?

Joe could hear her breathing. Her emotions were surfacing. "I don't know what to do about this. You hate my colleagues and I'll be in this business for years." She seemed to be on the verge of tears. "How is that going to work?"

"It's easy, T. I'm not attending any more of these gallery events or fundraisers. If I don't serve myself to them, they can't treat me like shit."

"So that's it? You won't support me in my work after all I've done for you?"

"I will always support you because I love you. And when you open your gallery, I will attend every event in your gallery. Outside of that, I'm done. I think that's a fair compromise."

"You'll attend Amethyst events?"

"What events?"

"I'm naming my gallery Amethyst. That's the shade of purple my hair is right now."

"Yes, I will attend Amethyst gallery events. The rest can go fuck themselves."

Tina didn't reply. Her breathing was erratic. Then the tears came. Joe listened to her sobbing for a bit before he spoke.

"I'm sorry we fought, T. I'm sorry I don't fit in your art world. I tried. I'm never rude to these people. It's them who have the problem, not me."

"Gail told me she witnessed it."

"She did?"

"Yes. She said Major Thomas was condescending and Ruth Morganstein scowled at you and walked away. Then Ruth told the others you were uncouth."

"Well, there ya go. Do you believe me now?"

"Yes, and she told me she's seen it before at other events."

"Do you want to know why, T? Because Gail spends time with me at these things. You don't."

"Please, Joe. Let's not fight. I understand how you feel and I want to work this out. I miss you. I wish you didn't leave angry."

"I didn't, T. You wouldn't speak to me, so I just left."

After Vancouver, The Whale crossed back into the States for shows in Seattle and Portland and then started the return route across the northern states. Having Larry as his driver at least made Joe's life on the bus tolerable, if not enjoyable. The band's fourth record, Feed The Rich, hit the stores during the first week of the tour when they were playing in Ottawa. He proudly showed Larry the record.

"The girl who did this photoshoot is amazing," Joe said, pointing to the black-and-white cover image. "I had the idea of putting filthy rich old people in gowns, fur coats, top hats, and tails, standing in a soup kitchen line. Then Angie suggested this." He turned the record sleeve over. "She had the women pose with us, beggars at our feet. It's so good."

Larry nodded. "Yup. I can see the idea. The wealthy are feeding at the troth meant for the poor."

"Isn't it great?"

"It's good. The monocle on that bearded man is a nice touch. And the fat cigars."

"Look," Joe pointed. "He's lighting his cigar with a hundred dollar bill while he stands in a bread line."

"I get it, Joe." Larry looked up at him. "I have to keep my eyes on the road."

"So, Joe," Sal called from the lounge. "What did you end up paying Angie for this?"

"I think he gave her six hard inches and made it hurt," Nate laughed.

"You fucked her twice and punched her in the face," Simon smiled. Sal, Nate, and Larry enjoyed that dig.

"Hey Larry," Sal called again. "This chick Angie is black and beautiful with legs up to here," He put his hand at chest level. "And our boy, Mr. Monogamy, has a hard-on for sweet Angie."

"You do?" Larry looked over at Joe who had returned to his side seat by the door.

"That was over four years ago."

"Are you saying you no longer want to fuck her?" Sal asked.