When the Nines Roll Over And Other Stories

by Benioff, David

• ISBN13: 9780670033393
• ISBN10: 0670033391
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2004-08-19
• Publisher: Viking Adult

Summary

David Benioff burst onto the literary scene with The 25th Hour, a debut praised by Janet Maslin of The New York Timesfor its pungent, funny urban tableau full of shrewd operators and unfulfilled desires.”Now, with When the Nines Roll Over, Benioff uses humor and rich characterizations to explore the sometimes thrilling, sometimes pathetic state of the American urban male. Over the course of eight stories, some with an appealing touch of the surreal, we are introduced to a faded football star, soldiers in a Russian winter, a punk rocker, and other young men on the cusp of discovery and loss. As he evokes the various states of agony and pleasure—humiliation, rebellion, camaraderie, and desire— Benioff displays a profound understanding of the contemporary male psyche. With its knowing, often amusing stories, When the Nines Roll Overconfirms the promise of a gifted writer emerging as a storytelling force.

Author Biography

David Benioff adapted his first novel, The 25th Hour, into the screenplay for the Spike Lee film of the same name.

Table of Contents

When the Nines Roll Over	1	(36)
The Devil Comes to Orekhovo	37	(38)
Zoanthropy	75	(28)
The Barefoot Girl in Clover	103	(28)
De Composition	131	(16)
Garden of No	147	(14)
Neversink	161	(26)
Merde for Luck	187

Excerpts

WHEN THE NINES ROLL OVER SadJoe is a punk rocker, he rents by the week and if his landlord ups the rent he?ll be living on the streets he?s never had a run of luck, deuces load his deck his rottweiler?s name is Candy and she?s tattooed on his neck his girlfriend sells tickets at the Knitting Fac-to-ry she gets him in to see the bands and every band for free so raise a glass for SadJoe, for SadJoe raise a glass he?s going, going, going gone but going with a blast! The singer had presence. She wasn?t a beauty, and her pitch was imperfect, but she had presence. Tabachnik watched her. Lord, the girl could yell. From time to time he surveyed the young faces in the crowd. The way the kids stared at her?the ones in back jumping up and down to get a better look?confirmed his instinct. The girl was a piggy bank waiting to be busted open. Tabachnik and a foul-smelling Australian stood by the side of the stage, in front of a door marked Redrum Staff Only! Most of the kids in Redrum were there to see the headliners, Postfunk Jemimah, but the opening act, the Taints, was threatening to steal the show. There was no slam-dancing or crowd-surfing or stage-diving?everybody bobbed their heads in time with the drummer?s beat and watched the singer. She prowled the stage in a bottle-green metallic mesh minidress so short that Tabachnik kept dipping his knees and tilting his head to see if he could spot her underwear. He could not spot her underwear. When the band finished the song Tabachnik turned to the Australian and asked, ?What?s that one called?? The Australian had recently started an independent label called Loving Cup Records. The Taints were the first band he signed. His head was shaved and his black tracksuit stank of sweat and cigarette smoke. ?It?s good, huh? ?Ballad of SadJoe.? SadJoe?s the drummer. He started the band.? ?Who writes the songs?? ?Molly,? said the Australian, pointing at the lead singer. ?Molly Minx.? She didn?t look like a Molly Minx. Tabachnik wasn?t sure what a Molly Minx should look like, but not this. He guessed that she was Thai. Her hair was cropped close to the scalp and bleached blond. A tattooed black dragon curled around her wrist. ?The story is,? continued the Australian, ?she has a big crush on SadJoe, and she writes this song, and one night she sings it to him. Right on the street, a serenade. So, you know, love. Boom. And he asks her to join the band.? Tabachnik had never heard of the Australian before tonight, which meant that the Australian did not matter in the music business. Whatever contract Loving Cup Records had with the band would be a mess, whipped up one night by a cocaine-addled lawyer who passed the bar on his third try. That was Tabachnik?s guess, anyway, and he was generally right in these matters. Making money off musicians was so easy that third-rate swindlers from all over the world thought they could do it; they swarmed around talentless bands like fat housewives around slot machines, drinking cheap beer and exchanging rumors of huge payoffs. Third-rate swindlers were doomed to serve as rubes for second-rate swindlers?unless they were unlucky enough to get conned by a true pro. After the Taints finished their set Tabachnik retreated to the VIP room with the Australian. He expected the man to light a joint and offer him a hit; when it happened Tabachnik shook his head and took another sip of mineral water. ?I got you,? said the Australian, leaning back in the overstuffed sofa. He sucked on the joint and kept the smoke in his lungs for so long that it seemed as if he had forgotten about the exhale part. Finally he released the smoke through his nostrils, two plumes curling toward the ceiling. It was an impressive gesture and Tabachnik appreciated it? Australians were always doing shit like this?but it was meaningless. He wasn?t going to deal with Loving