Spider Kiss by Harlan Ellison

Stag Preston's head came up and around, Shelly knew it wasn't true. The hard, wanting gleam was still there, shining dully.
    "Hi, Shelly," Stag answered.
    "Scared?" he asked again, by rote.
    Stag Preston's face twisted in the semblance of a smile. His voice sounded far away, bemused, preoccupied: "No, not scared, just thinkin'."
    Shelly sucked on the cigarette. "About what?"
    "Oh, about this 'n' that. Thinkin' about Lou'ville and gettin' outta there … 'bout what I was, what I'm gonna be."
    What are you going to be, Stag; what? Shelly thought.
    "You haven't come that far yet," Shelly said.
    Stag Preston looked at him sharply. "Oh, man, you don't know . You just don't know ! I've come all the world away. I've made it out, I've busted loose, an' I ain't — I'm not goin' to stop till I've got it all. All of it. You see."
    Shelly crushed the cigarette underfoot. Perhaps this was the moment of truth. Perhaps this might be the story Shelly had suspected might be there. He'd wet-nursed this kid for weeks through all the training, all the publicity preparations, but had gotten no closer to him. Maybe this would be the moment when he could work up some warmth for Stag Preston.
    "You really want to make it, don't you, kid?"
    Stag nodded. There was a softness in his smile now. "Ah sure do, Shelly. Ah never wanted anythin' so much in all my life. You don't know how bad I had it … really bad …"
    Shelly sat down on the bench beside the boy and lit another cigarette. His dark, searching eyes probed Stag Preston's face, looking for some things. For an instant he thought he found them.
    "Tell me, will you, Luther? Tell me what you can, how about it? I'd like to know. I mean, we're … friends now, as much as business partners. We should know about each other."
    The boy toyed with his full lower lip, worrying it with his teeth. Then he pursed his lips and nodded okay. "I s'pose you're right. I never told anyone what it was like, mostly maybe because nobody could do anythin' about it."
    Shelly waited. A silence.
    Beyond the locker room doors the sound of a combo striking up broke the hush. The show was beginning; but Stag Preston was the smash finale, so they had time — perhaps too much time. Shelly listened.
    "I'll tell ya about my father, Shelly. That's the important part. My old man was a gas, Shelly. He was the end, the livin' end. He came outta the oil fields — Burkburnett, Texas, how about that — and joined the Army, spent about eleven years pushin' stripes up his arms. Then he got mustered out at Fort Knox, met my old lady and decided to stay in Lou'ville. Except what he never told my old lady was that he'd been sick once, overseas somedamnplace and they'd put him on narcotics, some kinda junk I don't know, and he'd got hooked. That was why he got mustered outta the service. He was a real junkie. Spent ev'ry cent he made packin' in the dust.
    "Finally he pulled off a good one … got my old lady on the stuff. It's like when one of 'em has it he wants to give it to evr'ybody in sight. So my old lady got turned on, and one day the court just sent me off to the Home, took Pop and my old lady away and that was it.
    "I busted out, made it on my own, and that was when I met the Kemps —" he stopped, remembering his final encounter with Asa Kemp and his wife. It stopped him. He subsided. Finally, he added, "I don't want no pity, no handouts. I can make it on my own; I always have. I can make it, all I need is the chance."
    He stared up at Shelly with a mute pleading … and still that diamond glint of something else.
    Shelly felt pity nonetheless. Father a junkie, mother obviously so helplessly in love with the man she stood still for anything, even to becoming as sick as her mate. The kid a product of orphan or reform homes … no love … no direction … no friends … yes, there was room to admire and respect and love Stag Preston. If it was possible to cut away the hungry desire, the fat on his soul, then it might be possible