Different Circles

“I’ll find a way,” Matt said, a plan already formulating in his brain. It was not a plan he was enthusiastic about since it would necessitate the swallowing of a considerable amount of pride, but in a situation like this, you had to do what you had to do.

KVA Records’ main studio in Santa Clarita was a busy place today and would continue to be busy for the next several weeks. During the day from 9:00 AM until roughly 4:30 PM, Jake was using the studio to start putting together his set for the upcoming TSF. As it was the very first day of rehearsal, most of it had been spent with Jake and the members of Lighthouse—Phil, Ben, Ted, and Lenny Harris—just getting their equipment set up and sound checked under the supervision of the Nerdlys and then Jake showing the boys—particularly Lenny—the basic melodies of some of his songs. At 4:30, the members of Lighthouse went home for the evening and, now that it was just past 5:00 PM, the members of Brainwash were here for their first full evening of workups and demonstrations of the tunes they wanted considered for the next album. They would work until at least 9:00 PM, maybe later if the groove was particularly groovy. Jake and the Nerdlys had both stayed behind for this. Pauline, on the other hand, was just about to walk out the door. She had spent much of the day making travel arrangements for when Brainwash headed up to Oregon on June 15^th to start their sessions at Blake Studios and issuing ‘no comment’ statements to the media reps who were still calling endlessly about the Celia Valdez/Laura Kingsley lesbian sex scandal.

Just before Pauline made it to the door between the reception area and the parking lot, the phone began to ring on the receptionist’s desk. Melissa, the latest KVA receptionist (the previous one had quit two months ago after getting knocked up by her boyfriend) had already gone home for the day. Pauline pondered just letting the voicemail system field the call—after all, it was undoubtedly just another reporter fishing for lesbian sex details—but in the end, her work ethic and sense of professionalism just wouldn’t let her. She diverted her path and walked over to the desk.

“KVA Records,” she said into the phone. “How can I help you?”

A voice with a heavy, odd-sounding accent began to speak in her ear. “This is the international operator from Rotterdam, Nederland calling for a person to person call from Matt Tisdale to Pauline Kingsley. Is Ms. Kingsley available to accept the call?”

Pauline immediately wondered if this was some kind of joke or mistake. Matt Tisdale calling me? He would never do that! Especially not from freaking Rotterdam. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head a little. “Did you say that Matt Tisdale is calling?”

“That’s what she said,” Matt’s voice interjected. “Is that you, Pauline? It sounds like you.”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said. “Is it really you, Matt?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding meek and very un-Matt-like. “It’s me. And I’m not calling collect either. National will pay for the charges. Could you do me a favor and accept the call? I really need to talk some shit with you.”

Interesting, she thought. “Uh ... sure, I’ll accept the call.”

“Thank you,” the operator said and then clicked off the line.

“What’s up, Matt?” Pauline asked. “I was under the impression that I was part of the ‘never’ you laid down when you left Intemperance.”

“You were,” he said with a sigh. “But even though I hold you partially responsible for Darren’s death and I vowed to never speak with you or do business with you again, I never lost respect for you and your ability as a manager and a lawyer, you dig?”

“I dig,” she said. “And I think I might be flattered by your words, but I haven’t had time to fully analyze them yet. So ... what’s the deal? What kind of help do you need?”

“I need a good tax lawyer,” he said. “Do you know any?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “What’s the issue? Are you in tax trouble?”

“My fuckin’ accountant says I’m not,” he said, “but he’s about as trustworthy as Slick Willie in a fuckin’ Catholic girls school.”

“A good analogy,” she said. “Why don’t you give me a brief on what’s going on?”

He gave her a summary of the situation, using the word ‘fuck’ or one of its derivatives eleven times, the word ‘shit’ six, and the word ‘schlong’ twice. Pauline listened with growing alarm and disbelief as she heard the tale.

“You’re saying that you have paid no taxes whatsoever on any of your solo artist revenue for the past four years?” she asked incredulously.

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “Hopple told me that since I own a house in Mexico, I can claim I don’t live in the United States.”