Sam leaned close to him, sniffed. “On top of what you’ve had already?”
A silly grin spread across Willie’s face. “Does it surprise you?”
“No, of course it doesn’t, Willie. Now you just go out there with the boys and give those good people a song or two, and I’ll go and get you a nice fresh fifth of good stuff, whatever you want. Not the crud you’ve been gargling. How’s that? Look at it this way; you won’t be playing for a crowd, just for yourself. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Sam, I—” He blinked.
“I respect your grandfather’s opinions, too,” pressed Sam, “but you’ve also got a responsibility to those people out there. Most of ’em stood in line for hours for the chance to hear you, Willie. Listen to them!”
“WILLIE, WILLIE, WE WANT WILLIE!”
“You can’t disappoint all those thousands. Be like going back on your own generation!”
199
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
Willie stood quietly and for a moment seemed almost sober.
“They’re not my generation.”
“Okay, okay, however you want to look at it.” Sam was beginning to lose Ms patience. “But you go out there and play for them. You’ve got an obligation to them. And you’ve also got one to the boys here—” he indicated the three waiting musicians, “—a legal one to me, and to the folks who put up the money for this concert.”
Willie tried to draw himself erect but couldn’t quite hold it. “I see. That’s how it is, huh?”
Sam looked back at him without wavering. “I’m afraid it is, Willie. For tonight, anyway. You’ll feel better tomorrow and we can talk then and—”