After the show was over, everyone went to a party, of course, at a hotel suite where one of the other Letterman guests was staying. We walked in, the whole rock band entourage, and someone took my coat and handed me a rum and coke. The “suite” was the whole top floor of the hotel more or less. So this was what success looked like. I moped around the party; I would rather be at home, alone, making love to Janine. Sheila found me in the kitchen. “This is how it is, sugar. It’s good for her, it’s good for the band. You’re going to have to get used to this.”
“I know.”
“Come on. Mingle with me.” She dragged me out into the crowd where strippers were handing out Jell-O shots. I looked around. Dean was talking to Dave Letterman. Bobby and Angela were sitting on a sofa, making out like teenagers
