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January 28, 2008

Raw Deal

Written by Girth McDürchstein on January 28, 2008 4:16 PM
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Feinstein called me into his office this morning and told me he had something urgent, a client he wanted me to meet regarding touring. Thinking it was a sponsor of some kind, I got dressed and drove down to Venice. His secretary, Sheila, gave me the usual look of lust and disdain, then sent me right in to see Herc.

I threw open the double doors as I said, “So what’s going on…”

I faltered when I saw, flanking Feinstein at the head of the conference table, Lacey and televangelist Hank Wooster.

“…Herc?” I finished anticlimactically.

“It’s okay, Girth. I don’t bite.” Wooster smiled, revealing teeth as blinding white as his lily colored suit. He spoke in a deep baritone with a rich Western twang.

“We’ll see about that,” I muttered.

He laughed a forced-sounding laugh, then gestured for me to sit down.

“Let bygones be bygones, McDürchstein,” Wooster said. “I have no objection to you, per se. Your music is awful and you have no faith in a true god, but aside from that, you are a good-natured person. You try to do your best. Your misguided enthusiasm has bought you a lot of credibility from me, as did your immediate kowtowing to the Senate. You’ve shown humility.”

“What the fuck is with this guy?” I asked.

“Girth,” Lacey said sharply.

Wooster continued. “You’ve dismantled your wicked charity. Fair enough. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Really?” I smirked.

“Lacey has drafted a press release for your approval,” Wooster said. “It states, in fairly blunt terms, that you did not shut down your charity because of pressure from church and family groups, from the Senate, or anything else. You shut it down because you were outraged at the moral indecency of the Den Himmel Clinic.”

“Why would I do that?”

“At the moment, you have Los Angeles’s ear, and you aren’t a Christian. Folks around these parts seem to think we’re nothing but a bunch of Bible-thumping jackasses—”

“Isn’t that true?”

Wooster scowled. “A press release from you describing horrific, immoral conditions at the Den Himmel Clinic will go a long way toward it shutting down for good.”

“I don’t want it to shut down,” I said. “They’re nice people, doing what they think is right. Your way isn’t the only—”

“Can it,” Wooster said. “You have a new group, this family pop group, Jefferson Starship—what is it?”

“Jupiter Starshine Collective,” Feinstein said.

“You want to tour family venues? You want the support of Christian audiences? I don’t care about your lyrics. I care about your money. Thirty percent off the top, and I can book you at mid-sized venues in every major city in the country, plus a dozen or so small towns and county fairs.”

“Fuck off,” I said.

“Look,” Wooster said impatiently, “nobody wanted to book Abysmal Cr—” He made a choking sound, then said, “Your previous band. Nobody wants to book your new band. You want to tour? You want popular support to lead to financial support, a real record deal, and songs that don’t sound like they were recorded in your mother’s basement?”

“Take the deal, Girth,” Lacey said. “You’ll make my job a lot easier.”

I turned to Herc, who shrugged. “I get 5% either way, but I’d rather get 5% from a successful band than…well, you know…”

I shrugged. “Fine. Asshole.”

Wooster sneered as he shook my hand. It felt as clammy and oily as his face looked. I shivered, having the sudden feeling I’d made a deal with Satan himself.