Read Online The Five by Robert McCammon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert McCammon
Ads: Link
noble ? You trying to make some kind of political statement?”
“It’s a song,” Nomad answered.
“Let me tell you.” Gogo stared into Nomad’s eyes, and there was something about his expression that was at the same time both angry and weirdly fatherly. “I’ve seen bands come and go. Seen the bigshots and the blowhards pass through by the dozens. And they were all talented in some way, yeah, but talent’s no big thing. Shit, talent’s a piss-poor third to ambition , and ambition is second to personality . So I’m going to give you some free advice, huh? Don’t get into political shit. Don’t stir up anybody’s water. You’re an entertainer, that’s what you do. I interviewed The Rock a couple of years ago. Remember when he was a wrestler? His motto was ‘Know Your Role’. That’s what I’m saying to you. Know your role, and you might get somewhere.”
“Where would that be?” Nomad asked.
“Not in the crapper, which is where ninety-nine percent of you people end up. Listen, you’ve got a good voice and a good presence. I like you. I’m just saying, the reason blacks rule music these days is because their songs are about fun and sex. The guys sing about getting bling and finding fresh pussy, and the girls sing about getting bling and cutting the nuts off the guys who screwed them over, huh?” Gogo waited for that point to sink in. “White musicians are singing about angst and the cruel world and how nothing’s any damned good. What’s the fun in that? Who’s going to dance to that beat, huh? Now you want to be fucking political . I’m telling you, don’t go that way.”
“Maybe I don’t have a choice.”
“What, because you’re such an artist ? Because you’re going to teach the world to sing? Yeah, right.” His face got up closer to Nomad’s, and Nomad could feel the heat coming off it. “ Everybody’s got a choice. And if you’ve got any brains, you’ll know your role. Comprende ?”
Nomad didn’t answer for a few seconds. He was feeling his own heat. “I think I’d better go,” he said.
“One more piece of free advice,” Gogo offered. “Ditch the dyke.”
Nomad turned his back on the man, and he walked to the Scumbucket where his family was waiting.
FOUR.
The McD’s that Mike had mentioned was about two miles back toward Waco along East Lake Shore. It was connected to a gas station, but it did have a drive-up window. George gave the orders: two cheeseburgers, Coke and double fries for Mike; a burger and a Coke for Nomad, and the same for himself. The others didn’t want anything. They hadn’t done much talking since the interview. The Scumbucket’s air-conditioning continued its off-key humming, the sun beat down mercilessly upon the hood and windshield, the sky was almost white with heat, and all was not right with this world.
They were waiting for their order to come up at the window. Berke took a drink from her bottle of tepid water. “I’ll bet he screws us over. I’ll bet when we see the segment we won’t even recognize ourselves.”
“I don’t want to see it,” said Ariel, picking the silver polish off her fingernails.
“It’ll be okay,” George told them. “He won’t screw us over. It was a favor for Roger, remember?” As if he knew Roger Chester well enough to call him by his first name.
“I’m sick of rude mechanicals,” Terry said, frowning toward a distant field where cattle searched for shade. “They run the world.”
“Yeah, but it’s the only world we’ve got.” Mike was watching for the sack of burgers to appear. “Have to live in it, bro.”
Nomad had his sunglasses back on. He offered no comment. He felt worn out, his energy sapped by the heat, and it was hardly noon. Before they headed over to Common Grounds they were due to check in at the Motel 6 in South Waco. Two rooms, three and three, at forty dollars each. If they didn’t sell enough T-shirts and CDs tonight, they’d already be behind the curve.
The chow
“It’s a song,” Nomad answered.
“Let me tell you.” Gogo stared into Nomad’s eyes, and there was something about his expression that was at the same time both angry and weirdly fatherly. “I’ve seen bands come and go. Seen the bigshots and the blowhards pass through by the dozens. And they were all talented in some way, yeah, but talent’s no big thing. Shit, talent’s a piss-poor third to ambition , and ambition is second to personality . So I’m going to give you some free advice, huh? Don’t get into political shit. Don’t stir up anybody’s water. You’re an entertainer, that’s what you do. I interviewed The Rock a couple of years ago. Remember when he was a wrestler? His motto was ‘Know Your Role’. That’s what I’m saying to you. Know your role, and you might get somewhere.”
“Where would that be?” Nomad asked.
“Not in the crapper, which is where ninety-nine percent of you people end up. Listen, you’ve got a good voice and a good presence. I like you. I’m just saying, the reason blacks rule music these days is because their songs are about fun and sex. The guys sing about getting bling and finding fresh pussy, and the girls sing about getting bling and cutting the nuts off the guys who screwed them over, huh?” Gogo waited for that point to sink in. “White musicians are singing about angst and the cruel world and how nothing’s any damned good. What’s the fun in that? Who’s going to dance to that beat, huh? Now you want to be fucking political . I’m telling you, don’t go that way.”
“Maybe I don’t have a choice.”
“What, because you’re such an artist ? Because you’re going to teach the world to sing? Yeah, right.” His face got up closer to Nomad’s, and Nomad could feel the heat coming off it. “ Everybody’s got a choice. And if you’ve got any brains, you’ll know your role. Comprende ?”
Nomad didn’t answer for a few seconds. He was feeling his own heat. “I think I’d better go,” he said.
“One more piece of free advice,” Gogo offered. “Ditch the dyke.”
Nomad turned his back on the man, and he walked to the Scumbucket where his family was waiting.
FOUR.
The McD’s that Mike had mentioned was about two miles back toward Waco along East Lake Shore. It was connected to a gas station, but it did have a drive-up window. George gave the orders: two cheeseburgers, Coke and double fries for Mike; a burger and a Coke for Nomad, and the same for himself. The others didn’t want anything. They hadn’t done much talking since the interview. The Scumbucket’s air-conditioning continued its off-key humming, the sun beat down mercilessly upon the hood and windshield, the sky was almost white with heat, and all was not right with this world.
They were waiting for their order to come up at the window. Berke took a drink from her bottle of tepid water. “I’ll bet he screws us over. I’ll bet when we see the segment we won’t even recognize ourselves.”
“I don’t want to see it,” said Ariel, picking the silver polish off her fingernails.
“It’ll be okay,” George told them. “He won’t screw us over. It was a favor for Roger, remember?” As if he knew Roger Chester well enough to call him by his first name.
“I’m sick of rude mechanicals,” Terry said, frowning toward a distant field where cattle searched for shade. “They run the world.”
“Yeah, but it’s the only world we’ve got.” Mike was watching for the sack of burgers to appear. “Have to live in it, bro.”
Nomad had his sunglasses back on. He offered no comment. He felt worn out, his energy sapped by the heat, and it was hardly noon. Before they headed over to Common Grounds they were due to check in at the Motel 6 in South Waco. Two rooms, three and three, at forty dollars each. If they didn’t sell enough T-shirts and CDs tonight, they’d already be behind the curve.
The chow
Similar Books
