Read Online Bloodbrothers by Richard Price - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Price
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face.
"What's that? James Brown, right?"
Stony shrugged again, still smiling, looking down now.
"Yeah, I ain't that old." Chubby grinned.
"I didn't say nothin'," Stony mumbled.
"I seen that guy once on Ed Sullivan. If I could make all that bread screamin' like a momo faggot pimp I'd quit work tomorrow."
Stony imagined Chubby on TV dancing like James Brown. He chuckled.
"That's funny, hah?" Chubby downed his Scotch, then nodded to Banion for two more. Banion zoomed down in his wheelchair.
"Mikey." Chubby grabbed Banion's hand. "You know who this is?" He nodded at Stony, who studied his reflection in a small puddle of liquor on the bar. "Guess who's kid this is."
"Tommy's?"
Chubby cackled. Banion squinted at Stony, who wouldn't look at him. "You goin' in?" he asked Stony.
"Hah?"
"You goin' in? The 'lectricians."
"I dunno." Stony turned to him. He focused on the network of red veins in Banion's nose.
"You got a good uncle," Banion said, still squinting, his mouth slightly open, "and a good father." He pushed a button and the wheelchair glided backward, away from Stony.
"I'll tell you about nigger music." Chubby sipped his drink. "It died wit' Nat King Cole." He paused, waiting for that fact to sink in. Stony gulped half his Scotch during that comment. "I used to say Johnny Mathis, then I read he was queer. Stony, what the fuck is goin' on wit' you?"
Stony was startled. "Nothin'," he answered in a cracked voice.
"Stony, don't bullshit a bullshitter, it's Cheri, right?" Chubby grabbed Stony's wrist. "She got you doin' a hurtin' dance. I know the fuckin' signs, baby. The first sign is you don't talk to your fuckin' favorite uncle when he takes you out for a good time."
Stony shrugged and halfheartedly tried to remove his hand from his uncle's beefy grip.
"It's Cheri, hah?" Chubby squeezed.
Stony rubbed his other hand across his eyes. "Chub, you don't know."
"Stony, I remember when you was born. I remember the shit smell of your diapers if you wanna be honest. Baby, I remember stuff about you that you ain't gonna wanna know for a million years."
"Like what?" Stony freed his hand. He felt a little looser.
"Like you don't wanna know." Chubby finished his drink. "Take my word for it."
"Like what?" Stony persisted.
"Like that time when you first got a piece?" Chubby laughed.
Stony remembered that night when he was fourteen and drunk doing somersaults in the living room and accidentally kicking in the screen of the three-week-old color TV. Tommy went to belt his ass but Chubby got his old man in a bear hug until he cooled down. Chubby had poured them all a victory Scotch. For a second Stony was flooded with a feeling of love for his uncle. He flushed and felt a corny lump in his throat.
"You remember that, hah?" Chubby lightly punched him on the biceps. "So don't tell me I don't know."
"Every time ... every time I think about her, Chub, I get so sick. I love her so bad. She puts out like her cunt was spare change, and it hurts me, like I wanna break somethin', you know? She used to be so ... so innocent." Stony's face was twisted with grief. He searched his uncle's eyes for some kind of answer.
"I get this ... itch ... this hunger in my head when I'm around her like I got poison ivy inside me and I can't scratch it. I feel really clutchy, like I can't have her out of my sight ... out of my
arms
almost. I keep driven' her crazy. Sometimes it feels like anything I say comes down to 'Do you love me?' in some way or another. An' when we're screwing an' I feel like that I feel like I weigh six hundred pounds on top a her. I don't know what I
want
from her. It makes me so crazy sometimes. When I'm home alone I feel so lost in space I gotta put on some record that's real familiar to me, some Sly, some James Brown, an' I gotta sit down an' lissen to the music an' let it hook me back to Earth ... like I'm stoned or something. I can't swing it no more. Somethin's gotta give."
Chubby stared at the ice cubes in his
"What's that? James Brown, right?"
Stony shrugged again, still smiling, looking down now.
"Yeah, I ain't that old." Chubby grinned.
"I didn't say nothin'," Stony mumbled.
"I seen that guy once on Ed Sullivan. If I could make all that bread screamin' like a momo faggot pimp I'd quit work tomorrow."
Stony imagined Chubby on TV dancing like James Brown. He chuckled.
"That's funny, hah?" Chubby downed his Scotch, then nodded to Banion for two more. Banion zoomed down in his wheelchair.
"Mikey." Chubby grabbed Banion's hand. "You know who this is?" He nodded at Stony, who studied his reflection in a small puddle of liquor on the bar. "Guess who's kid this is."
"Tommy's?"
Chubby cackled. Banion squinted at Stony, who wouldn't look at him. "You goin' in?" he asked Stony.
"Hah?"
"You goin' in? The 'lectricians."
"I dunno." Stony turned to him. He focused on the network of red veins in Banion's nose.
"You got a good uncle," Banion said, still squinting, his mouth slightly open, "and a good father." He pushed a button and the wheelchair glided backward, away from Stony.
"I'll tell you about nigger music." Chubby sipped his drink. "It died wit' Nat King Cole." He paused, waiting for that fact to sink in. Stony gulped half his Scotch during that comment. "I used to say Johnny Mathis, then I read he was queer. Stony, what the fuck is goin' on wit' you?"
Stony was startled. "Nothin'," he answered in a cracked voice.
"Stony, don't bullshit a bullshitter, it's Cheri, right?" Chubby grabbed Stony's wrist. "She got you doin' a hurtin' dance. I know the fuckin' signs, baby. The first sign is you don't talk to your fuckin' favorite uncle when he takes you out for a good time."
Stony shrugged and halfheartedly tried to remove his hand from his uncle's beefy grip.
"It's Cheri, hah?" Chubby squeezed.
Stony rubbed his other hand across his eyes. "Chub, you don't know."
"Stony, I remember when you was born. I remember the shit smell of your diapers if you wanna be honest. Baby, I remember stuff about you that you ain't gonna wanna know for a million years."
"Like what?" Stony freed his hand. He felt a little looser.
"Like you don't wanna know." Chubby finished his drink. "Take my word for it."
"Like what?" Stony persisted.
"Like that time when you first got a piece?" Chubby laughed.
Stony remembered that night when he was fourteen and drunk doing somersaults in the living room and accidentally kicking in the screen of the three-week-old color TV. Tommy went to belt his ass but Chubby got his old man in a bear hug until he cooled down. Chubby had poured them all a victory Scotch. For a second Stony was flooded with a feeling of love for his uncle. He flushed and felt a corny lump in his throat.
"You remember that, hah?" Chubby lightly punched him on the biceps. "So don't tell me I don't know."
"Every time ... every time I think about her, Chub, I get so sick. I love her so bad. She puts out like her cunt was spare change, and it hurts me, like I wanna break somethin', you know? She used to be so ... so innocent." Stony's face was twisted with grief. He searched his uncle's eyes for some kind of answer.
"I get this ... itch ... this hunger in my head when I'm around her like I got poison ivy inside me and I can't scratch it. I feel really clutchy, like I can't have her out of my sight ... out of my
arms
almost. I keep driven' her crazy. Sometimes it feels like anything I say comes down to 'Do you love me?' in some way or another. An' when we're screwing an' I feel like that I feel like I weigh six hundred pounds on top a her. I don't know what I
want
from her. It makes me so crazy sometimes. When I'm home alone I feel so lost in space I gotta put on some record that's real familiar to me, some Sly, some James Brown, an' I gotta sit down an' lissen to the music an' let it hook me back to Earth ... like I'm stoned or something. I can't swing it no more. Somethin's gotta give."
Chubby stared at the ice cubes in his
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