ORIGINAL FICTION: "The Man Who Would Not Be King" (Part 5)

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PLEASE NOTE: This is part 5 of the story, part 1 is online here, part 2 is online here, part 3 is online here and part four is onlinehere
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The opening act sucked. What made them worse, Aaron thought, was the elements of their songs were actually kind of good, but they just didn’t work in relationship to each other. Their Everly Brothers-styled harmonies were very nice and very tight, and their drummer was very, very good, but he kept launching in to Gene Krupa-like drum leads that completely overshadowed everything else. The lead guitarist - the one who’d been talking to Orbison about God earlier - was technically very good, but hadn’t developed any particular style or flash of his own, and he and the bassist were clearly at odds with each other musically. And that bassist - that bassist was just the worst thing Aaron had ever seen. Lord, he was terrible. Aaron had a thing for music, and when the music press had described the bassist as a ‘brilliant deconstructionist,’ He’d been interested to see them play live just so he could figure out what that phrase meant. Turns out it meant playing one note on one string for an entire song, then playing the same note on the same string for the next entire song, and so on, for the whole set. Terrible. John, Paul, George, Pete, and Stu might be the fab five of England, but it was pretty clear that The Silver Beatles were never going to amount to anything in the ‘States.

In the security booth, watching the closed circuit TVs, Aaron saw that the president looked a bit confused. He applauded. A featureless secret service goon whispered in to his ear. Nixon’s confusion apparently cleared, and he stopped clapping.

Evans, sitting to Aarons’ right, ventured an opinion: “I imagine he thought those Brits were Orbison.”

“I imagine so,” agreed Aaron. “ Roy - Mister Orbison - told me earlier that he doubted Nixon was actually a fan, just wanted to look cool.”

“Good bet.”

“What the hell was that stupid ‘No Pakistani’ song about?”

“I don’t - did you see that?”

“No…”

“Monitor Five, orchestra pit.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Evans said, “What about it?”

“Drums. Who’s assigned to the pit?”

“West.”

“Call him.” Evans did, but there was no answer.

“I’m going down there to check it out, Aaron said. You stay here, you’re in charge until I get back,” and he tore out the door.

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TO BE CONTINUED
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