Read Online Spider Kiss by Harlan Ellison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harlan Ellison
Tags: Fiction, Psychological
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verse.
By then, Luther had made it.
He was on his way.
He had come up with a product for which there was — at the moment — no demand whatsoever. But he had two of the most silken supply-and-demand men in the country on his side, seeing him not as a tall, willowy Kentucky street-snot with a guitar, but as a seven-figure bank account in the Chase Manhattan.
Luther What'shisname was about to become famous. "Shelly," the Colonel said reverentially, when the boy had stopped playing, "you have dipped into pig slop and come up with a diamond."
Luther Whateverhisname smiled. Knowingly. Complacently.
Cool.
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Four
Big men, happy men, are often equated with stupid men, slow men … men who substitute camaraderie for the sleek slyness of the professional sharpie. There had been such equations made of Colonel Jack Freeport. They had been made when he was in college, a penniless undergrad with pretensions to Southern nobility. Those who had seen in him a slightly overweight Good Time Jack had been rudely awakened; Freeport had managed to become a power on the campus, had talked any number of the most eligible co-eds into his bed, had promoted several offbeat deals that had made his financial way through higher education infinitely easier, and when he graduated, was labeled by the yearbook NOT NECESSARILY MOST LIKELY TO SUCCEED, BUT A SHOO-IN TO GET ANYTHING WORTH HAVING.
Jack Freeport had started small.
His first promotion was a string of girlie shows made up of local talent recruited from eight of the widest-open towns in the decadent South. Ostensibly song and dance grinds, the girls were emotionally and physically equipped to do double service as prostitutes, and in little over eighteen months, Freeport was able to sell the operation to three brothers (one-quarter Seminole) and invest his capital in the next ventures …
Indoor, year-round ice skating rinks.
A carnival, top-heavy on grifters and nautch shows.
A dog track.
A traveling country music and revival show.
Some calculated gambling in Reno, Las Vegas, Monte Carlo, and Hot Springs, Arkansas, utilizing the services of a gentleman with only three fingers on his right hand, a need for twenty-seven thousand dollars, and a face seen on posters often tacked-up in metropolitan police stations.
Some gun-running.
Another dog track.
A talent show.
Another talent show.
A third talent show, packaged by Freeport's own outfit.
A girl singer with connections.
An ill-starred publishing venture (no one was really very interested in reading), The Alexandre Dumas Adventure Magazine .
A Broadway musical featuring a girl singer with connections.
Some more gun-running.
And then, the organization of FREEPORT, SERVICES UNLIMITED. From which foundation emerged young talents and well-known personalities in new formats that, within the space of five years, made the name of Colonel Jack Freeport a touchstone in the trade. The name no longer elicited a querulous, "Who?" in the Brill Building.
With one-minded verve, Freeport made his way, built his fortune, grew older and surer of himself, to pour substance into a dream. The old days, in Atlanta, when the Freeport family had owned Freeport, a family name and a plantation whose fields and rooms and eyries had known light. A dream to rebuild a tiny empire of regal living on land charred by Sherman and his marauders.
Too poor, too long, living with the slightly stale smell of decaying memories. This was the driving force of Colonel Jack Freeport — no more a Colonel than his great-great-grandfather (who had been a pillaging privateer) had been.
And any means to this end was a valid, honorable means. How much more potent is the drive to regain stature than mere love, motherhood, honor, security. Of this substance are made dictators, nations, dynasties, empires, rock'n'roll singers.
Colonel Jack Freeport had a good eye.
His ears were excellent, also.
He saw what Shelly had seen in Luther
By then, Luther had made it.
He was on his way.
He had come up with a product for which there was — at the moment — no demand whatsoever. But he had two of the most silken supply-and-demand men in the country on his side, seeing him not as a tall, willowy Kentucky street-snot with a guitar, but as a seven-figure bank account in the Chase Manhattan.
Luther What'shisname was about to become famous. "Shelly," the Colonel said reverentially, when the boy had stopped playing, "you have dipped into pig slop and come up with a diamond."
Luther Whateverhisname smiled. Knowingly. Complacently.
Cool.
| Go to Table of Contents |
Four
Big men, happy men, are often equated with stupid men, slow men … men who substitute camaraderie for the sleek slyness of the professional sharpie. There had been such equations made of Colonel Jack Freeport. They had been made when he was in college, a penniless undergrad with pretensions to Southern nobility. Those who had seen in him a slightly overweight Good Time Jack had been rudely awakened; Freeport had managed to become a power on the campus, had talked any number of the most eligible co-eds into his bed, had promoted several offbeat deals that had made his financial way through higher education infinitely easier, and when he graduated, was labeled by the yearbook NOT NECESSARILY MOST LIKELY TO SUCCEED, BUT A SHOO-IN TO GET ANYTHING WORTH HAVING.
Jack Freeport had started small.
His first promotion was a string of girlie shows made up of local talent recruited from eight of the widest-open towns in the decadent South. Ostensibly song and dance grinds, the girls were emotionally and physically equipped to do double service as prostitutes, and in little over eighteen months, Freeport was able to sell the operation to three brothers (one-quarter Seminole) and invest his capital in the next ventures …
Indoor, year-round ice skating rinks.
A carnival, top-heavy on grifters and nautch shows.
A dog track.
A traveling country music and revival show.
Some calculated gambling in Reno, Las Vegas, Monte Carlo, and Hot Springs, Arkansas, utilizing the services of a gentleman with only three fingers on his right hand, a need for twenty-seven thousand dollars, and a face seen on posters often tacked-up in metropolitan police stations.
Some gun-running.
Another dog track.
A talent show.
Another talent show.
A third talent show, packaged by Freeport's own outfit.
A girl singer with connections.
An ill-starred publishing venture (no one was really very interested in reading), The Alexandre Dumas Adventure Magazine .
A Broadway musical featuring a girl singer with connections.
Some more gun-running.
And then, the organization of FREEPORT, SERVICES UNLIMITED. From which foundation emerged young talents and well-known personalities in new formats that, within the space of five years, made the name of Colonel Jack Freeport a touchstone in the trade. The name no longer elicited a querulous, "Who?" in the Brill Building.
With one-minded verve, Freeport made his way, built his fortune, grew older and surer of himself, to pour substance into a dream. The old days, in Atlanta, when the Freeport family had owned Freeport, a family name and a plantation whose fields and rooms and eyries had known light. A dream to rebuild a tiny empire of regal living on land charred by Sherman and his marauders.
Too poor, too long, living with the slightly stale smell of decaying memories. This was the driving force of Colonel Jack Freeport — no more a Colonel than his great-great-grandfather (who had been a pillaging privateer) had been.
And any means to this end was a valid, honorable means. How much more potent is the drive to regain stature than mere love, motherhood, honor, security. Of this substance are made dictators, nations, dynasties, empires, rock'n'roll singers.
Colonel Jack Freeport had a good eye.
His ears were excellent, also.
He saw what Shelly had seen in Luther
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