Stephen King - Sneekers

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SNEAKERS

John Tell had been working at Tabori Studios just over a month when he first noticed the sneakers. Tabori

Studios was in a building which had once been called Music City but wasn't much anymore.

The sneakers were white, or had been once, when they were new. From the look of them that had been a long

time ago. That was all he noticed about them then: just a pair of elderly sneakers under the door of the first stall

of the men's room on the third floor. Tell passed them and went into the third and last stall. He came out a few

minutes later, washed and dried his hands, combed his hair, and then went back to Studio F, where Paul Janning,

the man who had hired him-and just maybe the first friend Tell had ever made-was mixing an album by a heavy

metal group called The Dead Beats.

Tell had met Janning, a rock producer of some note, at a party following the premiere of a concert film. They

knew some of the same people, and got along. Tell, who normally had problems with ordinary conversation,

found he could talk easily and naturally to Paul Janning. Janning asked for his phone number and called him a

few days later to ask if he would like to be part of the three-man team mixing The Dead Beats' first album. 'I

don't know if it's really possible to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear," Janning had said, "but since Atlantic's

paying the bills, why not try?"

A week or so after he first saw the sneakers, Tell saw them again. He only registered the fact that they were the

same sneakers because they were in the same place: under the door of stall number one in the third floor men's.

White-once, anyway-with dirt in the deep creases. He noticed an empty eyelet. Sneakers had laced one of them

wrong. Must not have had your eyes all the way open when you did that, friend, Tell thought, and went on down

to the third stall (which he thought of, in some vague way, as "his" stall).

This time he glanced at the sneakers on the way out and saw something odd: there was a dead fly on one of them.

When he got back to Studio F, Janning was sitting at the board with his head clutched in his hands.

"You okay, Paul?" Tell asked.

"No."

"What's wrong?"

"Me. I was wrong."

"What are you talking about?" Tell looked around for Georgie Ronkler and didn't see him anywhere. It didn't

surprise him. Janning had periodic fugues and Georgie always left when he saw one coming on. He claimed his

karma didn't allow him to deal with strong emotion. "I cry at supermarket openings," Georgie said.

"You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear," Janning said dully. He gestured at the glass between the mixing

room and the performance studio. "At least you can't make one out of pigs like those."

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SNEAKERS

"It's not that bad," said Tell, who knew he spoke only the truth: it was worse. The Dead Beats, comprised of four

dull bastards and one dull bitch, were personally repulsive and professionally incompetent.

"Fuck you," Janning said.

"God I hate temperament," Tell said.

Janning looked up at him and giggled. A second later they were both laughing.

The mix ended a week later. Tell asked Janning for a recommendation and a tape.

"Okay, but you know you can't play the tape for anyone until the album comes out," Janning said.

"I know."

"And why you'd ever want to, for anyone, is beyond me. These guys make The Dead Kennedys sound like the

Beatles."

"Come on, Paul. At least it's over."

He smiled. "Yeah. There's that. And if I ever work in this business again, I'll give you a call."

"That would be great."

They shook hands. Tell left the building which had once been known as Music City, and the thought of the

sneakers under the door of stall number one never crossed his mind.

Janning, who had been in the business twenty years, had once told him that when it came to mixing bop (he never

called it rock and roll, only bop), you were either shit or Superman. For the month following the Beats' mixing

session, John Tell was shit. He didn't work. He began to get nervous about the rent. Twice he almost called

Janning, but something in him thought it would be a mistake.

Then, near the end of May, the music mixer on a film called Karate Masters of Massacre died of a massive

coronary and Tell got two weeks' work at the Brill Building (which had once been called Tin Pan Alley),

finishing the mix. It was mostly library stuff in the public domain - and a few plinking sitars - but it paid the rent.

He had no more than walked into his apartment following his last day on the show when the phone rang and Paul

Janning was asking him if he had checked Billboard lately.

Tell said he hadn't.

"It came on at number seventy-nine." Janning managed to sound simultaneously disgusted, amused, and amazed.

"With a bullet."

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Stephen King - Sneekers

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