they premiered the video on MTV. It opened with Keven and her boyfriend in their jungle suits, then cut back and forth between a sort of stylized Tarzan plot and the synched-up footage of the band playing under the palm trees.
The phone rang. "Dude, you watching?"
"Yeah, Darryl. I'm watching."
"Totally crucial video, bud. I'm serious."
"Good drummer," Stan said.
"The best. This is going to make your career. You are on the map."
"I could live with that. Listen, Darryl, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I want to catch the rest of this."
Stan squatted in front of the TV. Keven sang hard into the camera. Stan could read the words of the song on her face. She turned and looked over her shoulder and the camera followed, panning past her to the drummer, a good-looking, muscular guy in his middle thirties, with black hair that hung straight to his collar. The drummer smiled at Keven and then bent back to his work.
The clear, insistent power of his drumming echoed through the jungle afternoon.
?
(c) 1992 by Lewis Shiner. First published in In Dreams, Spring, 1992. Some rights reserved.
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