Plastic Jesus Read Online Free
Author: Poppy Z. Brite
this band, he couldn't allow these kids to get their hopes up falsely. He ducked his head to clear the low frame of the backstage door. If the front of Blaggers was a filthy hole, the back of the place was positively cavelike. Ducking dislodged the James Dean-style cap he wore, and as he came around the stage, it slid off his head. He was about to bend and pick it up when a man did so for him.
Seth was transfixed by the sight of this slight, well-pressed, altogether normal-looking man stooping to pick up his greasy black leather cap, actually brushing off the grime from the floor before handing it back to Seth with a slight nod. Seth nodded back, his eyes wary as he readjusted the cap on his head. No man had ever knelt before him.
âSeth Grealy? I'm Harold Loomis. My family owns Loomis Gramophones and Records, on Hill Street? You may know itââ Loomis paused as Seth burst out laughing.
âSorry, sorry Mister Loomis, it's just Marky said you were a record manager and he must have thought you meantâwell, and I guess I did too. Joke's on us, you see?"
âPerhaps not,â Loomis said rather prissily. âI do manage a record store, but I also have connections with radio stations and with certain people in London. I can't make any promises, but I think at the very least I could help you record a demo tape."
Seth wasn't laughing anymore. His keen eyes studied this man, searching for any hint of fakery. âWhy'd you come to me?â he asked. âWe're a solid group, you know. We're together for the long haul."
âWell, it struck me that you were the de facto leader of the group. Being the front man and so forth. Also, I'd heard that you were calling yourselves, er, Seth and the Silver Dreams at one point, before you shortened itâ"
âDon't think much of our name, do you, Mr. Loomis?â It was the way Loomis pronounced the band's name, not quite mockingly but with no enthusiasm, that told Seth this. He'd wondered about it too; the name as much as anything else had to be perfect.
âIt's Harold, please. And frankly, no, I don't. Reallyâthe Silver Dreams? There are a hundred groups in England with names that sound the same, all trying to play American music better than the Americans. I think you're doing something more than that, and you should have a name to reflect it."
âSilver Dreams was Peyton's idea,â said Seth. âI'm not married to it. I suppose you've got a better idea, Harold? "
âI think so."
âLet's hear it then."
âThe Kydds,â said Harold.
Seth blinked. âKids?"
âK-Y-D-D-S. The unique spelling helps it to catch the eye, but the name itself is so very basic, so very rock and roll. Who buys rock records? The kids. Who can make you the biggest band in the world? The kids. This name shows that you're part of them."
âPart of who?â Peyton asked.
Both men turned. Peyton Masters stood in the shadows to the side of the stage, smiling slightly. Seth met his eyes and wondered how long he had been listening.
âPart of the Youth Revolution, Peyt. At least, this fellow reckons he can make us a part of it.â It seemed important to bring Peyton into the conversation, to prove Seth hadn't been having some kind of clandestine head-to-head with Loomis. âHe's a sort of record manager."
Peyton stepped forward and extended his hand. As the nineteen-year-old introduced himself and shook hands with the man, Seth had a sense that Peyton had suddenly grown older than his years. There was nothing of the innocent schoolboy to him just now. Instead there was a confident set to his jaw, a subtle squaring of his shoulders that made him look as though he knew all about managers, demos, and deals. It was at that moment, Seth reflected much later, that Peyton had shown Harold Loomis who was really the leader of the band.
v
Blaggers didn't even know enough to renew their contract as house band after a year. Harold Loomis
Seth was transfixed by the sight of this slight, well-pressed, altogether normal-looking man stooping to pick up his greasy black leather cap, actually brushing off the grime from the floor before handing it back to Seth with a slight nod. Seth nodded back, his eyes wary as he readjusted the cap on his head. No man had ever knelt before him.
âSeth Grealy? I'm Harold Loomis. My family owns Loomis Gramophones and Records, on Hill Street? You may know itââ Loomis paused as Seth burst out laughing.
âSorry, sorry Mister Loomis, it's just Marky said you were a record manager and he must have thought you meantâwell, and I guess I did too. Joke's on us, you see?"
âPerhaps not,â Loomis said rather prissily. âI do manage a record store, but I also have connections with radio stations and with certain people in London. I can't make any promises, but I think at the very least I could help you record a demo tape."
Seth wasn't laughing anymore. His keen eyes studied this man, searching for any hint of fakery. âWhy'd you come to me?â he asked. âWe're a solid group, you know. We're together for the long haul."
âWell, it struck me that you were the de facto leader of the group. Being the front man and so forth. Also, I'd heard that you were calling yourselves, er, Seth and the Silver Dreams at one point, before you shortened itâ"
âDon't think much of our name, do you, Mr. Loomis?â It was the way Loomis pronounced the band's name, not quite mockingly but with no enthusiasm, that told Seth this. He'd wondered about it too; the name as much as anything else had to be perfect.
âIt's Harold, please. And frankly, no, I don't. Reallyâthe Silver Dreams? There are a hundred groups in England with names that sound the same, all trying to play American music better than the Americans. I think you're doing something more than that, and you should have a name to reflect it."
âSilver Dreams was Peyton's idea,â said Seth. âI'm not married to it. I suppose you've got a better idea, Harold? "
âI think so."
âLet's hear it then."
âThe Kydds,â said Harold.
Seth blinked. âKids?"
âK-Y-D-D-S. The unique spelling helps it to catch the eye, but the name itself is so very basic, so very rock and roll. Who buys rock records? The kids. Who can make you the biggest band in the world? The kids. This name shows that you're part of them."
âPart of who?â Peyton asked.
Both men turned. Peyton Masters stood in the shadows to the side of the stage, smiling slightly. Seth met his eyes and wondered how long he had been listening.
âPart of the Youth Revolution, Peyt. At least, this fellow reckons he can make us a part of it.â It seemed important to bring Peyton into the conversation, to prove Seth hadn't been having some kind of clandestine head-to-head with Loomis. âHe's a sort of record manager."
Peyton stepped forward and extended his hand. As the nineteen-year-old introduced himself and shook hands with the man, Seth had a sense that Peyton had suddenly grown older than his years. There was nothing of the innocent schoolboy to him just now. Instead there was a confident set to his jaw, a subtle squaring of his shoulders that made him look as though he knew all about managers, demos, and deals. It was at that moment, Seth reflected much later, that Peyton had shown Harold Loomis who was really the leader of the band.
v
Blaggers didn't even know enough to renew their contract as house band after a year. Harold Loomis
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