growing so fast they start to blur together. Like gunfire...
A cavernous space. Sound-proofed walls. And in the center, a
zeroed on his single-stroke roll, is ANDREW NEIMAN.
He’s 19, slight, honors-student-skinny -- except for his
Sorry... I’m -- I’m sorry--
It’s ok. Stay there.
him as FLETCHER.
The room is silent now. And then, softly, as he’s one of
What’s your name?
Andrew Neiman, sir.
(It’s pronounced “Nayman”.)
What year are you?
I’m a first-year, sir.
You know who I am?
You know what I do?
So you know I’m looking for players.
Then why did you stop playing?
off this time. Rolls, fills, speedy stick-work. He finishes.
Andrew looks at him.
I’m sorry, I misun-
version of an answer was to turn into a
wind-up drummer monkey.
Show me your rudiments.
roll, paradiddle, ratamacue, flam, flamadiddle.
Uh-huh. Double-time swing.
No. Double-time. Double it. Bop-bop-bopbop-
CLAPPING. The sign of death.
eyes widen. Maybe it’s not over...
Woopsy-daisy. Forgot my coat.
Shaffer Conservatory of Music
are patches, buttons, names: Krupa. Roach. Buddy Rich...
really know it. More to the point, she doesn’t seem to care.
Her name is NICOLE.
Nah, not this time, thanks...
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