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[For my newer readers, this post is a continuation of a series relaying the story my record deal in Nashville back in 1996. You can start this story from the beginning, or catch up with any posts you may have missed by going to the Record Contract Index page. You will be able to navigate through the story from there.]

I was right about where to find a margarita at 9am. Hoss was happy to oblige, as I’ve mentioned before, he keeps a water cooler in his kitchen full of pre-made margaritas.

I made a dozen frantic phone calls that morning to my parents, Shane, Matt, and Al Cooley. The only advice anyone could offer was, “just wait and see what happens next.”

Al hadn’t yet heard about the contracts, but tried to reassure me that some sort of agreement would be arranged.

I made a conference call to Doug and Jerimy in Oklahoma. I was dreading the conversation.

“What the hell happened? All you had to do was wait one more day!”

“Paul, I’m sorry! We didn’t know what to do,” Jerimy said. “Jeff called us and said that if we didn’t sign that contract and Fed-Ex it him yesterday that we were never going to get a record deal. He said that it was all over. We would be nothing, just hicks stuck in Oklahoma forever.”

“When did he call you?” I asked.

“About 20 minutes after you called.” He responded. “He told me that you were wrong, there was no deal with Al Cooley and never would be. He even said that he would sue us if we didn’t sign the contract.”

“Did you tell him that I called you and told you about my conversation with Al?” I was getting extremely pissed. “I seem to recall telling you to keep your mouth shut about it! Of course he would tell you not to listen to me! He’s the sleazeball. He’s the reason we all agreed to get a lawyer.”

Doug answered, “We didn’t say anything. He knew about it already.”

“Who the fuck told him!? We were so close! Who would do that? The only people that know about it are you guys, Matt, and… shit… Stephen.” The light bulb went off. “Oh my god. He’s been in on this from the beginning. He was at the first rehearsal, sitting with Delious. He was there for everything. He’s part of Trijon. Fuck!”

Jerimy was the first to break the agonizing silence that followed. “What do we do now, Paul?”

“Well, now, I guess you guys get a record deal and Matt and I get screwed.” I sighed.

“But we can’t do this without you and Matt,” Doug interjected.

“I don’t think you guys have a choice. You signed the contract.”

“Oh man. Paul, I’m so sorry. Jeff said it was the only way we’d get a deal. I really need this.” Jerimy said.

“I know. Maybe we can fix this.” I answered.

We said our goodbyes. Despite several attempts on my part over the past few years, it would be the last time I ever spoke to either of them.

Stephen didn’t take my call.

I will admit that I probably should have stopped drinking at that point. I mean, here it was barely noon, and I could barely stand up. I was physically and mentally drained from discussing the situation with Hoss.

A few hours later, Hoss got a phone call and I heard him laughing hysterically and offering a dinner invitation to the caller. He said it was just going to be a couple of us for dinner, that a friend of his had just gotten royally shafted by “a Hollywood scumbag, you know, one of *your* type of people” and we’d be getting good and soused as a result.

He hung up and joined me at the kitchen table.

“Who’s coming for dinner?” I asked.

“I don’t think you’ve met him,” he said vaguely.

“I haven’t met most of your friends, they’re all old and crusty, remember?” I joked.

Mama Sharon came in from work just then and helped herself to the margarita cooler and asked, “What’s shaking?”

“Superstar isn’t having a very good day… and I just realized that Paul Reubens is coming to dinner in an hour and a half and I haven’t even started cooking,” Hoss responded.