Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

them up-to-date.
    The boys pulled up about a half an hour later in their rented Fair-lane, and gave me a toot on the horn. I collected the folder that contained all the accounts and contracts and such-like that Tex had loaned me, then collected the dog, then off we went to Norwalk . To get to Norwalk from me what you do is pick up the Hollywood Freeway just south of me, take it through Hollywood until it becomes the Santa Ana , and follow that southeastward through Maywood , Commerce, and Bell Gardens , and there you are. If you had a car full of screaming, overweight kids or were just plain mentally impaired, you could continue on to Knotts Berry Farm, or, even worse, Disneyland .
    Tom, who was driving, wheeled us smartly off the freeway at Bloomfield, turned along Alondra Boulevard, and then immediately turned into, and then parked in, a short, no-name, dead-end alley right in front of the studio, according to the large sign over the front door that said “Western Music, Inc.”
    On the drive, I’d given the boys the details of my encounter with Dick and Annie Distler which, in sum, was that I thought they both were terrific and they both had nothing but praises to sing about Tex ’s business ethics. In other words, all was kosher so far, as I’d said in the message I’d left for them a few days ago. They did not seem inordinately pleased with the news. I wondered briefly if they really wanted to go through all the hassles of getting together again, what with all the work and uncertainty involved—would I? Merely to be on top of it all again, to have money rolling in, stretch limos at my beck and call, wall-to-wall gorgeous groupies cluttering up my penthouse, and Johnny Carson holding on the other line? Music lovers, I’ll leave that one to you.
    While the boys unpacked their three guitars from the trunk, King lubricated the side of a nearby garbage can, and I stretched. Then Tom produced a key to the studio, opened up, and in we filed. He turned off the alarm system first, then switched some lights on. As everyone these days knows what a recording studio looks like, I will describe Jonesy’s but briefly: Inside the front door was a small, carpeted receptionist’s area with an unoccupied metal desk and a couple of occasional chairs. Through an archway beside the desk there was a much larger rec room, or rumpus room, or turning on room, call it what you will, complete with pinball machine, pool table, a space invader game, a Coke dispenser, and assorted other conveniences thoughtfully provided by the management in a hopeful attempt to so divert visiting bands and their pals and their gals and their roadies that they might actually refrain from tearing the place apart for once.
    A heavy, soundproof door with a light above it led into the control room, of which the mighty thirty-six-track board, it being itself about the size of a pool table, occupied about half the available floor space. The rest was taken up by large reel-to-reel machines that did the actual recording, plus a couple of leather settees for the kibbitzers. On the far side of the board, soundproof glass, giving a view into the actual recording studio itself. Another huge, counterweighted and padded door gave access into this inner sanctum, into which Jerry promptly went, while Tom began activating the board.
    “Nice of old Jonesy to give you guys the run of the place,” I said. “Umm,” Tom said. “We’re like two kids in a sweetshop, we are. I myself figure he’s a frustrated muso, he’s always hanging around. You’ll see, he’ll be by later just to see what us geniuses are up to. Oh no he won’t, I tell a lie, Saturdays he and his missus always pop in about noon, then he takes her for a picnic in the country.”
    “Like, exactly what are you genuises up to, man?”
    “We are laying down one last guitar track, man,” he said. “Then, man, like, we is laying down some vocals.”
    “Sounds cool to me, baby,” I said. “Can I help?”
    “Do you know harmony?”
    “Maybe,” I said. “Hum me the first few bars just in case.”
    He shook his head dolefully and went over to switch the reel-to-reel
    on.
    “What I could do,” I said, “is have a look around.”
    “Now there’s an idea,” Tom said. He tossed me his key ring. “The little key is for the secretary’s bottom drawer. In there are the keys to everything else.”
    “Ta ta for now,” I said. As I was withdrawing, Tom was saying into the small microphone that